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I asked for it

I asked ChatGPT to roast me and it did a hilariously ego-checking job.

“Your blog reads like a never-ending therapy session where the therapist has left the room and you’re just talking to the empty couch.” Well, that’s hit the nail on the head so neatly it’s not even funny.

“It’s like watching a person try to juggle, but instead of balls, they’re using fragile, overanalyzed emotions and deep-seated insecurities”…”Did you have a quota to hit, or were you just trying to win the ‘Longest Winded Way to Justify Being Human’ award?”…”It’s like a tragic indie film where the protagonist can’t decide whether they want to be a musician or just write about the agony of trying to be one.” I mean it feels formulaic but again I do feel nailed.

Then I asked it to write me a scathing review, and it once again willingly fulfilled the brief. Sure, it seemed to rely entirely on the content of less than five blog posts for its fodder, but I’m just trying to make myself feel better here.

“a tiresome exercise in self-indulgence and overanalysis”…”manages to turn a simple concept into an arduous philosophical debate that goes nowhere”…”bogged down by an excess of self-reflection and a lack of meaningful content.” Yes. I thought as much.

I literally asked for it. And it’s not, as far as we know, a person. And yet. I’m feeling a bit sheepish now.

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