Cheeky Sod

We all laughed, didn't we? Fucking pissed ourselves at mankind's future slaughterer writing a poem in a Yorkshire accent! “Ey'up, love!” Fucking hilarious. Quick, ask it to write one about gravy and Yorkshire puds!

Then you start using the cunt at work. Emails, ticket replies, the lot. You're brilliant. You've never been so fucking articulate in your life. It's the true you!

You smash out a reply, open the ticket again five minutes later, and read your own response! Not the customer's reply, fuck that. Your own fucking reply. Because it's so good. Look at you, you eloquent bastard. What a dickhead.

Then you finally read what they've written back, and your eyes can't keep up with your brain.

The bloke you once had to teach how to upload an index.html file is now suggesting you investigate inode exhaustion, kernel semaphore limits and TCP retransmission anomalies.

This cheeky sod has used AI!