The number of times I’ve seen this accusation in the last year is astounding.
Sounds like something a bot would say.
This was such an obvious comment that even Copilot could’ve come up with it.
Wouldn’t a bot call it a compliment?
Trust me, we got waaaaaaaaay worse insults
Good chatbots right now have great spelling and decent grammar. That already makes it not the worst insult.
This is a great comment! You’re right, good AI chatbots do have great spelling and decent grammar. For these reasons, calling another human an AI chatbot might not be the worst insult, after all.
It’s a reverse double insult because you’re telling someone they sound too intelligent to be a human idiot.
The greatest insult of this month.
By next year it might be a compliment.
It already is depending on the model and training. I might get a mild kick out of someone calling out a 7B, or smaller like most bots are built with. Tell a 70B or 8×7B “in the style of doctorate-level dialog and vocabulary” and watch what happens.
Models are mirrors of the dataset culture and the person writing the prompt. A junk bot is like a drunk human; the good ones are indistinguishable.
Why hello fine AI Chatbot. How are you bleep blooping today?
After what seemed an insufferable wait, the sim before her was duly rejected and she at last found herself standing before one of the most cartoonish-looking functionaries she had ever seen. He was small and rodent-faced, with a pair of old-fashioned glasses pinching the end of his nose and a pair of small, suspicious eyes peering over them. Surely he must be a Puppet, she thought—a program given the appearance of humanity. No one could look so much like a petty bureaucrat, or if they did, would perpetuate it on the net, where one could appear as anything he or she desired.
“Purpose in Inner District?” Even his voice was tight as kazoo music, as though he spoke through something other than the normal orifice.
“Delivery to Johanna Bundazi.” The chancellor of the Polytechnic, as Renie knew, kept a small node in the Inner District.
The functionary looked at her balefully for a long moment. Somewhere processors processed. “Ms. Bundazi is not in residence.”
“I know.” She did know, too—she had been very careful. “I’ve been asked to hand-deliver something to her node.”
“Why? She’s not here. Surely it would be better to send it to the node she is currently accessing.” Another brief moment. “She is not available at the moment on any node.”
Renie tried to keep her temper. This must be a Puppet—the simulation of bureaucratic small-mindedness was too perfect “All I know is that I was asked to deliver it to her Inner District node. Why she wants to make sure it has been directly uploaded is her affair. Unless you have contrary instructions, let me do my job.”
“Why does the sender need hand-delivery when she’s not accessing there?”
“I don’t know! And you don’t need to know either. Shall I go back, then, and you can tell Ms. Bundazi you refused to allow her a delivery?”
The functionary squinted as though he were searching a real human face for signs of duplicity or dangerous tendencies. Renie was glad to be shielded by the sim mask. Yeah, go ahead and try to read me, you officious bastard.
“Very well,” he said at last. “You have twenty minutes.” Which, Renie knew, was the absolute minimum access time—a deliberate bit of unpleasantness.
“What if there are return instructions? What if she’s left a message dealing with this, and I need to take something else to somewhere in the District?” Renie suddenly wished this were a game and she could lift a laser gun and blast the Puppet to shards.
“Twenty minutes.” He raised a short-fingered hand to stifle further protest. “Nineteen minutes, fifty . . . six seconds, now—and counting. If you need more, you’ll have to reapply.”
She began to move away, then turned back to the rat-faced man, occasioning a grunt of protest from the next supplicant, who had finally reached the Holy Land. “Are you a Puppet?” Renie demanded. Some of the others in line muttered in surprise. It was a very rude question, but one that law mandated must be answered.
The functionary squared his narrow shoulders, indignant “I am a Citizen. Do you want my number?”
Jesus Mercy. He was a real person after all. “No,” she said. “Just curious.”
She cursed herself for pushing things, but a woman could only take so much.Great passage. What’s the book?
Tad Williams, Otherland. It’s quite good, a series I’ve read multiple times.
In a way, this happened to my daughter. She is studying in a foreign country, the courses are in English (not our native language), and of course she is writing all her papers in English, too. Which she is very good at, so the texts are usually perfect from a language point of view. She had already been rated “native speaker” in school although she actually isn’t, and worked as an editor on an English language story website back then, fixing American and British native speakers’ spelling problems).
Other students actually asked her what AI she was using to write her papers. Guess who was seriously pissed…
so what AI was it?
A huamn brain…rare these days, but some people still have one.
It was an NI. A Natural Intelligence.
You are basically saying “despite the occasional gibberish, you are quite articulate in your phrasing, and with very good grammar and spelling”. Face the truth that it is already a compliment for the majority of mankind.
Your reply to that post is as inspired and original as that of a chatbot.
Thank you very much
Are you an AI chatbot?
Not totally related, but in the mid 2000s, I had thought that being made an NPC in a video game was a really kind honor- that someone probably really cared about you.
(usually if they didn’t, you’d get relegated to a humiliating gag or antagonist. Technically also NPCs, I guess, but not what you think of as “NPC”)…And then the internet went and turned NPC into an insult.
Makes me feel sad for all those loving tributes and Make a Wish kids.
Counter point:
If I was an AI chatbot, my programming certainly wouldn’t allow me to admit it.
Would I know if I was a chatbot? Would any of us?
Assuming you don’t accept the simulation hypothesis, you can know if you aren’t a chatbot, but to the best of our current knowledge, our chatbots aren’t aware and can’t know anything.
Cogito ergo sum.
Of course, given what we know about neurobiology today, It’s probably more accurate to say I think that I think, therefore I think that I am.
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Quantity does not necessarily equate to quality.
