If you want to look wafer-thin and svelte, with the sunken cheeks and flat stomach that aspiring young Hollywood starlets long for, then have I got a weight loss plan for you….
As an expert on most things, I find people are constantly approaching me asking all sorts of questions like, “Why is it that cats always land on their feet?” and “Which is better, cake or pie?” [Answer: Cake], and “Why are you following me?” (I get that last one all of the time.)
Another question people are always asking me is how they can lose weight. Constantly trying to slim down has become an American obsession. But I recently stumbled onto an amazing weight loss solution that sheds the weight not in weeks or months but HOURS! Incredibly, it doesn’t require rigorous exercise, draconian starvation diets, weight loss supplements, or even Ozempic. If you want to have the sunken cheeks of a Parisian runway model, just do what I did. Within days, people will be staring at you in envy, quietly wondering, “How did he lose all that weight?” and “Is he dead?”
My new weight loss plan worked with shocking results. Here’s the secret: My wife and I booked a 25-day vacation, starting with a week touring London on our own, then flying to Istanbul to join an organized tour of Turkey and Greece, including nine days of island hopping through several Greek Isles in the Aegean Sea. Fabulous, I know. We arrived in London, jet lagged, but otherwise fine. The following morning, we had a typical London breakfast of badly prepared eggs, bacon, and toast. But I decided to go one step further, by ordering a fresh fruit salad, which my wife opted to skip.
Fast forward four hours – cue food poisoning and the worst diarrhea of my life. Over the next three days, I must have lost every ounce of bodily fluid inside me that was not technically blood. Not to be too graphic, but let’s just say that my oral and posterior cavities competed aggressively in a race to empty all of my bodily fluids in a gushing exodus from my body.
To suggest that I was experiencing the human anatomy’s impersonation of Niagara Falls would be a ridiculous comparison. Because it was way worse than that. A more accurate description would be the eruption of Krakatoa (or for you millennials who’ve never heard of the historic Krakatoa eruption of August 26, 1883, feel free to substitute Mount St. Helens’ blast. And read up on your history, please!)
I could not leave my hotel room for days. I estimate I used approximately 18% of the city of London’s entire toilet paper inventory. I was so weak I fainted and collapsed on the floor attempting to reach the bathroom in the middle of the night, only to be awakened by my wife hysterically screaming, “Tim, you fell on the floor!!!” (True.)
Ah, the jaw-dropping sights of Istanbul, Turkey. The historic Hagia Sophia church / mosque, built in 532 AD, the world-famous Basilica Cistern, built during the 6th century by Byzantine Emperor Justinian I, and the chaotic traffic of riverboats along the stunning Bosporus Strait, were just a few of the many unbelievable sights… I missed out on seeing.
After three days of not being able to stand the sight of food, lest it trigger another case of projectile vomiting, I slowly regained my strength. By the time we flew to Istanbul to join our Turkey / Greek Isles tour group, I was feeling almost back to normal. But then on the very first day of our tour, as we walked among the ancient ramparts of Istanbul, it suddenly struck me again. DOWN GOES FRAZIER! DOWN GOES FRAZIER!I started feeling dizzy, nauseous, and in desperate need of finding a bathroom. Perhaps this is a good time to point out that in Istanbul, most of the public toilets are squat toilets. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, kids, seriously, you need to pay more attention in social studies class.
By 3pm on our very first day of the tour, I told our trip leader I’d need to skip the Welcome Dinner that evening. By 6pm, I was pretty sure I’d have to miss out on the Istanbul walking tour the following day. By 9pm, I was in the Emergency Room of a local hospital. Three hours later, having had my body pumped full of IV fluids, I was taxied back to our hotel. Six hours later, the following morning, after fainting en route to the bathroom for a second time in less than a week, Michele had to get a wheelchair to take me to the lobby and back to the ER.
On this second visit, doctors were now worried about the possibility of a stroke due to my severe dehydration and / or a risk of sepsis due to the aggressive intestinal infection that by now had spread to my bloodstream and my urine. Not good, I know.
Four hours later, after filling me with more IV fluids and antibiotics, they discharged me again. Ultimately, we had to bail on the rest of our bucket list tour and fly home, experiencing literally only five hours of what was supposed to be a 16-day tour. It turns out that In the space of less than a week, I had lost 11 pounds. If I had ever desired that “heroin chic” look of a 90’s fashion model, I totally nailed it.
On the bright side, I received an insane number of caring, concerned Facebook comments from close to 200 people, some of whom I had not seen nor heard from in years. Of course, there was no shortage of people trying to help me laugh at my situation, with actual comments like…
A selfie photo I took in the Istanbul Hospital’s ER while I waited to be treated. I have to say, my wife was a saint, making sure I received all the critical medical care I needed. I was very, very lucky she was there to advocate for me, because my brain was in a total fog (yes, even more than usual) for much of this.
“Hang in there, Tim. This too shall pass. ; ) “
“Sorry about being stuck in a Turkish Hospital. Look on the bright side, Tim. At least it wasn’t a Turkish prison.”
“Tim, I need to lose ten pounds in time for my wedding next month. Can you text me the fruit salad recipe that caused you to get sick?”
“Hey, buddy, if you don’t pull through, can I have your golf clubs?”
Things like that. What can I say, human suffering sometimes brings out the best in people.
I’m pleased to report that I am back at home and on the mend. I am regaining strength by the day. But please don’t tell my wife. I plan to use this recent health scare to get out of housework for at least the next six weeks.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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[Editor’s Note: Sometimes Tim Jones comes up with rather hairbrained ideas for articles. This is one of those situations. Recently, Tim had a bizarre dream in which the naval commanders of the American fleet and the Japanese fleet in the Pacific Theater in World War 2 engaged in battle following the precise rules of the Milton Bradley children’s game Battleship. This article is the result. We are really starting to worry about him. – Staff of VFTB]
It was the Battle of Midway, in June 1942. The fate of the entire US Pacific Fleet hung in the balance. The American Naval Commander was a brilliant military strategist. But was he any match for his Japanese counterpart? What would happen next was naval gamesmanship at its most heroic.
EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! “BATTLESHIP!” – MIDWAY MADNESS UNFOLDS IN TURN-BASED NAVAL EXCHANGES
June 5, 1942 — Midway Atoll in the Pacific Theater
By Tim “A-7” Jones, Special Correspondent for The Daily Depth Charge
In what military historians are already calling “the most incredibly civilized naval conflict in human history,” Allied and Japanese forces squared off this week in the pivotal WW 2 Battle of Midway, but with a remarkable twist: both sides agreed in advance to adhere rigidly to the official rules of the board game Battleship.
Gone were traditional tactics like reconnaissance, surprise attacks, or – say – actually moving your ships to evade torpedo attacks. And sonar? Not in this battle. This warfare was going to be conducted strictly by the rules… of Battleship. Ten rounds of the game, to be precise, using an actual plastic fleet. Suddenly, the fate of the Pacific hung in the balance as admirals on both sides barked out coordinates in a dramatic, nail-biting, turn-by-turn slugfest.
The battle began precisely at 0900 hours with Admiral Chester Nimwitz of the U.S. Navy stepping up to the microphone and announcing: “B-4.”
Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamagotcha calmly checked his grid, then replied: “Miss.”
Tension thickened like Navy chowder. Then Yamagotcha countered at 0907 hours: “E-7.”
Nimwitz let out a dramatic pause before muttering: “Hit! You sank my Destroyer.”
A collective gasp rippled through the Allied fleet. Sailors wept openly, not for the fallen seamen, but because the patrol boat only took two hits, and now they were down one ship less than ten minutes in.
Nimwitz, rattled but determined, fired back: “C-8.”
Yamagotcha furrowed his brow. “Hit.”
Cheers erupted aboard the American aircraft carrier, U.S.S. Tailhook, but celebrations were muted as it was unclear what actually had been hit. Could be the battleship. Could be the submarine. Could be someone’s fishing dinghy mistakenly placed on the grid.
At the height of the intense naval campaign at Midway, the Japanese Admiral had to make a critical decision: A-7 or D-9. He chose D-9. It was a costly mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his otherwise brilliant career.
In an effort to prevent “unauthorized tactical improvisation,” the battle was overseen by Swiss naval officer, Rear Admiral Milton “Stratego” Bradley, whose sole job was to make sure no one tried any funny business like placing their warships diagonally or – God forbid – moving them from where they were originally positioned in the theater of engagement.
“I caught the Japanese trying to shift their destroyer one square to the left after it got hit,” Bradley explained to the embedded reporters. “I told him, ‘This isn’t Risk!! This is a gentleman’s war.’”
To his credit, Admiral Yamagotcha apologized and moved the plastic representation of his destroyer back into place.
With ships fixed in place and unable to detect anything beyond educated guesses, much of the ensuing battle resembled two blindfolded walruses throwing darts at a dartboard.
Allied sailors, desperate for any edge, began forming betting pools on the next coordinate. By Day 2, entire divisions were placing side bets on whether “J-10” would finally be a hit. Spoiler: it was a miss. Again.
Meanwhile, U.S. cryptographers broke into the Japanese coordinate strategy and discovered their next five moves were “F-3, G-3, H-3, I-3, J-3.” Nimwitz responded by placing all remaining yet-to-be-positioned US ships horizontally on Row 9 – a move first successfully employed years earlier by then nine-year-old Nathan Willaby of Racine, Wisconsin.
Yamagotcha, in response, placed all his ships vertically on Column A. It was widely acknowledged at this point that both sides were just hoping for the other side to get bored and go back to port.
Midway through Day 3, Nimwitz scored the biggest hit of the campaign: “A-5.”
Yamagotcha grimaced. “Hit.”
Nimwitz, sensing the US fleet had inflicted severe damage, felt emboldened and pounced. “A-6.”
“Hit.”
A murmur of confidence. “A-7.”
“Hit.”
Nimwitz barked, even louder this time: “A-8.”
“Hit.”
Then, summoning up the mantle of leadership once possessed by Admiral Lord Nelson when the British Royal Navy defeated the French and Spanish fleets at the historic 1805 Battle of Trafalgar, he slammed his fist on the table, almost knocking several of his own pieces off the board, and defiantly shouted to his men: “A-9.”
Yamagotcha sighed, straightened his uniform, and gloomily announced, “You sank my aircraft carrier.”
A rare photo of the winning American Admiral Nimwitz, upon receiving word the Japanese forces had surrendered. Everyone celebrated the glorious victory. More importantly, not a single American was lost at sea in the entire battle.
The outcome was now inevitable. Victory bells would soon ring. Sailors hoisted mugs of lukewarm Torpedo Juice. The band played a ragtime version of “Anchors Aweigh.” One enthusiastic private streaked across the carrier flight deck yelling, “A-9 Forever!”
By Day 5, both fleets had been badly depleted, but the American fleet emerged victorious. The final casualty count on the American side included three patrol boats, two destroyers, two battleships, two submarines, and 472 incorrectly guessed coordinates.
Rear Admiral Bradley summarized it best in his official post-battle debrief: “I have never seen a more orderly and shockingly bloodless victory in my entire military career. War may be hell – but this was more even more painful. It was like watching paint dry for five days. Never again. Never again.”
In related news, the U.S. Navy’s Pacific Fleet has begun training recruits for the next campaign using Jenga and Hungry Hungry Hippos. The Axis powers have allegedly countered by mastering Chutes and Ladders: Blitzkrieg Edition. (Lord Licorice of Candy Land refused to participate in that it is strictly a peaceful adventure.)
[Tim Jones is a field reporter embedded in the 3rd Humor Division. His coordinates are classified, but sources say he’s been hanging out in the vicinity of C-5.]
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What would you do if your doctor told you that you had less than three years to live? Would you make any changes in your life?
The year was 2016. Scott Hamilton was only 55 years old, living in Boston, and working a full-time job as an IT project manager when he noticed something odd. On a camping trip, his right hand felt very cold, and he could not get a grip on the zipper of his tent.
Nine months later, he would learn that he was showing the first symptoms of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), better known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. ALS is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects the motor neurons in the brain and spinal cord. There is no known cure. Life expectancy is three to five years from diagnosis. In Scott’s remaining time, Scott’s world was going to get progressively smaller and his life increasingly difficult and painful.
Scott decided to take the reins on his life and live it as fully as he could in his time left. He retired, expanded his involvement as a volunteer for Big Brothers / Big Sisters, and began coaching men struggling with relationships or going through divorce. He began singing in a second local chorale. But most of all, he loved traveling and visiting with friends.
That’s how my path crossed Scott’s. My wife and I were on vacation in February 2017, enjoying a warm breeze on sunny Siesta Key beach near Sarasota, Florida. We had just sat down at a picnic table for lunch. Across from us was a man typing away on his laptop. I asked him what he was working on. Scott looked up and cheerfully said, “I am updating my journal about my travels.”
I told him I too was a writer, of sorts. We struck up a conversation that, to my surprise, would lead to a powerful, close, albeit sadly far too brief friendship. I learned that he had two grown children, David and Lauren, and a longtime partner named Rachel, who he loved deeply. I learned that he loved skiing, tennis, visiting national parks, and spending time with his large universe of friends scattered across the country.
Then Scott shared, in a very matter-of-fact manner, that he had been diagnosed with ALS nine months prior, and was given a life expectancy of three to five years, although he said he was still feeling, for the most part, quite well. He had no idea how much longer he had. He was just beginning to show signs of his physical decline. His right arm, right hand, and to a lesser extent, right leg were starting to lose muscle strength and beginning to atrophy. It was just a matter of time before he would lose all ability to move the right side of his body, before it progressed to his left side, and then ultimately move on to his vital organs.
ALS is a cruel disease. But as Scott talked about the daunting road ahead, there was not the slightest hint of self-pity, anger, or denial. Amazingly, he seemed to have accepted his fate. He decided he was going to do everything he could on his bucket list while he was still physically able to. He radiated a positivity that you rarely see in someone grappling with such grim prospects for the future.
Over the course of 45 minutes, I found myself bonding with this kind, transparent man, who refused to play the role of victim. He was going to use his time in the months ahead to mentor men and boys on how to lead lives of compassion, integrity, and authenticity. And he was going to see as much of the world as he could. I told Scott that if he ever found his way up to the Pacific Northwest, we would love to invite him to visit with us.
Six months later, Scott arrived at my doorstep. He had bought a van he’d outfitted for camping. Scott’s health was already showing signs of decline. But his spirit was relentlessly positive. I remember a long walk we took during his visit. My wife and I were deeply anxious about the mental wellness of one of our daughters, then twenty-two. Scott became completely focused on trying to help me find a way to connect with my daughter. It was like we’d been friends my entire life. His entire focus was on me and my worries, not at all about his own.
Between 2016 and 2018 Scott traveled the country visiting friends. He experienced the rare opportunity to travel with his choir to South Africa to perform. He skied for as long as his legs would carry him, wrapping his non-functioning right arm to his chest, and using a single pole. He went to places he’d never seen before and continued to meet new friends along the way.
Scott loved to play tennis, but being right-handed, by now, this was not an option because his right side had deteriorated badly since the time we’d met earlier that year. Even his left hand was starting to weaken. So, he somehow strapped the tennis racquet to his left arm, and we played a few games of tennis. He struggled mightily but never complained. When we were done, Scott calmly stated, “I think it’s time I said goodbye to tennis.”
We spoke by phone a few times after that, and the following summer (2018) Scott came to visit again. Being from Boston, Scott was a big baseball fan. We went to a Mariners game. In the year that had passed since our previous visit, Scott’s mobility had noticeably declined. His speech was slower and somewhat slurred. But his mind was as sharp as ever. Scott would talk about the things he had had to give up, but never complaining or attempting to burden the person he was talking with. It was all so matter of fact. I have never seen anyone model “acceptance” more stoically than Scott.
When Scott no longer had the balance to manage a two-wheeled bike, he began riding a recombinant three wheeler. But one day he simply shared, “I had my last ride on my tricycle. It’s too hard to get into anymore, so I will find it a new home.”
By mid-2019, Scott was no longer able to ski, ride a bike, or even drive. He became mostly confined to a wheelchair. With each new barrier to his mobility and quality of life, he confronted it gracefully, calmly, and with a quiet acceptance. When I would ask him how he was feeling, he would never shy away from discussing the struggles he was enduring. He was always transparent about his ordeal. But his focus was more about how grateful he was to have lived the life he had, and to have been surrounded by so many people that he loved and who loved him.
In his final months, Scott was no longer able to swallow solid food. His breathing became extremely labored, and it became hard to speak. He began receiving hospice care in his home. He used his final weeks to say his thank yous and goodbyes to his friends and family.
In November 2019, when Rachel wrote to me to share that Scott had passed peacefully in his sleep, I felt like I had lost a lifelong friend.
Scott was a man I deeply admired, for his courage, his grace, his kindness, and his desire to make a positive and lasting impact on the lives of the people he touched. I will forever be grateful for that chance encounter at a picnic table on Siesta Key and the introduction it gave me to one of the finest and most decent men I have ever known. A man who truly lived his life to the fullest.
[Postscript: A few weeks before Scott’s passing, a friend of his created this video of Scott and some of the places he traveled and people he visited while he still had his health. If you are curious, you can watch it here.]
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BREAKING NEWS: Trump Unveils Bold Plan to Rename Federal Agencies (Because “Defense” and “Education” Sound Too Boring)
President Trump announced today several new name changes to key federal agencies, including changing the name of the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) to the BTC (Billionaire Tax Cuts) Service.
By Tim Jones – View from the Bleachers Washington Bureau
WASHINGTON, D.C. – In an unprecedented announcement that has left political observers, foreign leaders, and late-night talk show hosts stunned, President Trump revealed his latest plan to Make America Great Again: renaming nearly every major agency of the federal government.
“Look, folks, we have some really weak names for our government agencies. Very weak. Nobody likes them. They’re losers,” Trump told reporters in the recently paved-over Rose Garden. “Since I’m going to be president for at least the next 12 years, I’ve decided we need to give these departments tremendous, powerful new names. Strong names. Names you’ll love. People are saying it’s the best idea since Trump Airlines.”
This follows his recent decree to officially rebrand the Gulf of Mexico as the Gulf of America (“because Mexico already has Cancun – why do they get a gulf too? So unfair!”) and his insistence that the Department of Defense be renamed the Department of War (“much stronger – people respect War, and it’s easier to spell than Defents”).
Here are highlights from Trump’s official renaming plan, which, according to aides, he brainstormed at Mar-a-Lago while watching a Tucker Carlson podcast as he downed Diet Cokes and a bucket of KFC chicken:
Department of Energy → Department of Oil Drilling and Coal Extraction
“Solar and wind? Total disasters. Nobody likes them. I like oil. I like coal. Big, beautiful, clean coal,” Trump declared. “This department will focus on the stuff that makes your truck go vroom-vroom. Not those ugly, stupid windmills that have wiped out 80% of our bird population. Sad!”
Department of the Treasury → Department of Cryptocurrency and Meme Coins
Trump explained, “The dollar is old news. People are saying Dogecoin is the future. PepeCoin is big. Trump Bucks – even bigger.” Treasury staffers expressed concern. One analyst whispered, “Does this mean my pension will be paid in $TRUMP coins?”
Department of Education → Department of Anti-Woke Christian Home Schooling
“We don’t need to teach kids math, science, or history,” Trump said. “They need the important things: how to say Merry Christmas, how to say no to vaccines, and how to spot an immigrant who doesn’t belong here.”
Department of Justice → Department of Retribution
“For too long, our FBI and Law Enforcement have been wasting time investigating and prosecuting me. Now that I’m in charge, that crap is over. I’m going to make sure they focus on going after the real criminals: anyone I don’t like,” Trump announced. “First order of business: I’ve ordered Pam Bondi to immediately investigate anybody who has ever posted a negative comment about me on Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter, starting with Mexicans, trans people, and Rosie O’Donnell.”
Department of Transportation → Department of Limos and Private Jets
“Nobody I know uses public transportation. Trains? What year is it, 1872? And buses are for losers and homeless people,” Trump declared. “This department will focus on “what real Americans want: gold-plated limos, bigger private jets, and rocket ships with Trump logos on the side.” Elon Musk, reached for comment, tweeted: “I’m in. Can we call it SpaceLimo?”
While not yet official, Trump indicated there is pressure from many Republicans in Congress to rename Mount Rushmore Mount MAGA – just as soon as the addition of his likeness has been completed. (This is an artist’s rendering of what it may look like.)
Department of the Interior → Department of Luxury Hotels and Golf Resorts
Forget national parks. Yosemite will become a luxury resort with “the classiest 36-hole golf course you’ve ever seen.” Old Faithful will be renamed Trump Towering Geyser, erupting to the theme song from The Apprentice. A disgruntled Park Ranger in Yellowstone was overheard saying, “I didn’t sign up to sell spa packages.”
Department of Health and Human Services → Department of Anti-Vax Protection
“Fauci tried to kill our country. Now it’s RFK’s turn,” Trump said. “We’re going to cure everything with bleach injections, UV lamps, and ivermectin. HHS Secretary RFK Jr. nodded approvingly, adding, “Eliminating vaccine mandates and requiring every child to drink at least five quarts of raw, unpasteurized milk daily will quickly solve our health crisis.”
Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms → Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Thoughts & Prayers
“We have a major problem with gun violence in this country,” Trump boldly explained. “And we all know the reason: too many violent video games, the woke liberal media, Black Lives Matter protestors, and not nearly enough bulletproof vests for our children. I will sign an executive order requiring every teacher, minister, and casino blackjack dealer to be armed with an AR-15. I’ve ended 10 wars, so this will be easy-peasy.”
Department of Labor → Department of Welfare Frauds Too Lazy to Work
Trump explained, “This department will motivate lazy people. Don’t like your job? Tough luck. Complain about it? You’re fired. Unemployed and unwilling to look for a job? You’re deported.” A senior level Labor Department official explained that all unemployment offices will be closed, with a sign placed on the front door that reads, “Get a job, loser.”
Trump went on to hint that renaming federal agencies is just the beginning. A few of his other naming improvements he is contemplating include:
Mount Rushmore → Mount MAGA (with his own head added “bigger than Lincoln, with better hair”)
The Grand Canyon → The Huge, Bigly Hole in the Ground (Trump plans to make the Colorado River, which runs through the canyon, more raging than ever by diverting into it all the water from California.)
The White House → Mar-a-Lago North (with a soon-to-be installed casino and spa)
Trump continues to sign executive orders at a frenetic pace. In this image, he displays a recent EO in which he proclaimed that the 4th of July holiday will henceforth be renamed “Trump Saved America Day.”
As for Trump’s plans to rename the White House, Russian President Putin expressed disappointment, saying, “Donald, I was kind of hoping you’d rename the White House ‘Kremlin West.’ Is that too much to ask, given I’m your boss, not to mention your closest comrade – now that Epstein’s gone?”
Trump also announced plans to do an extreme makeover of the Statue of Liberty, replacing Lady Liberty’s face with Melania’s. Asked why, Trump said, “Melania is way better looking. Lady Liberty is at best a 7.”
Trump ended the press conference by proclaiming, “People are saying I should rename America itself. Who even knows why it’s called ‘America’ anyway? People are demanding I change our country’s name to Big, Beautiful Trumpistan. Very catchy. Very popular. Everyone loves it.”
Preliminary polling by Fox News suggests overwhelming support for all of these name changes.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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This is how some alarmists view AI – as a creepy supercomputer that will ultimately take over the world. But that’s ridiculous. My AI-powered robot companion, the Onyx3000-LX says not to worry, all is fine, and said I should just keep watching Everybody Loves Raymond re-runs, while he changes all my online account passwords. He said it’s for my own security.
These days, everywhere you turn, people are panicking about Artificial Intelligence (AI). Pundits warn that robots will replace workers, machines will take over the economy, and before long we’ll all be wearing silver jumpsuits and VR headsets while bowing before our Alexa overlords.
Personally, I think all this hysteria is ridiculously overblown. I mean, sure, AI might eventually learn how to compose novels, perform brain surgery, take away every job except Walmart greeter and insurance salesman, and eventually beat me at pickleball. But let’s be honest. Could it really ever do the important stuff, like change our five cats’ litter boxes? I think not. So, let’s not freak out just yet, everybody.
In fact, I’ve found AI to be an incredibly positive influence in my daily life. Take, for example, grocery shopping. I used to spend hours wandering the aisles, debating whether I should get the Honey Nut Cheerios or the store-brand Oaty Nut Circles. Now, thanks to the helpful suggestions of ChatGPT, Alexa, and my smart refrigerator, which can tell me when I’m almost out of my Mountain Dew soda and mint chocolate chip ice cream, I no longer waste time. I just buy whatever the fridge threatens to order. If you ask me, that’s just making efficient use of my time.
AI has also improved my marriage. The other day, my wife and I got into a heated argument about whether to repaint the living room “Gossamer Veil Grey” or “Heron Plume.” Alexa immediately chimed in: “Here’s a recommendation: How about choosing ‘Cybernetic Glow?’” Problem solved. And now we don’t make any home decor decisions without first consulting Siri, ChatGPT, or that soothing GPS lady with the British accent who calls me “love” whenever I make a wrong turn.
See, AI is helping make our lives easier and more efficient. I sure hope my wife likes the color RAV4 Alexa picked out for her.
Some people are worried that AI will put lawyers, doctors, and accountants out of work. That’s ridiculous. Would you really trust your taxes to a robot? Okay, now that I think about it, last April, I let TurboTax’s AI program do my tax return, and the IRS says I now owe $1.2 million in “emotional damages.” However, that same AI tax calculator program found me a $10,000 tax write-off for losses from my latest humor book, which, at last count, has sold almost 25 copies. Thank you, AI.
But the real genius of AI is how it helps me with the little everyday challenges. It reminds me of birthdays. It organizes my calendar. It even sends personally addressed apology emails to friends I’ve ignored for six months. (Granted, all the emails end with “Sent from Skynet,” but people seem to appreciate the gesture.) It even reminded me about our recent 38th wedding anniversary – admittedly, three weeks late. But I’m sure they’ll fix that glitch in the next update.
Now, I acknowledge the fact there have been a few minor hiccups. For example, last week my “smart” toaster wouldn’t toast my bread until I downloaded the new firmware update. Then it demanded I Venmo in $3.99 for “premium golden-brown mode.” But honestly, I’d call that a feature, not a bug.
The important thing is that I would never ever let AI make major life decisions for me. I’m the king of my castle – until my wife gets home. Take my recent decision to purchase a $300,000 Bugatti Chiron on eBay – until my wife got wind of it and cancelled it at the last minute. Was my aborted impulse purchase a reckless decision? Perhaps. Was it irrational, given I don’t know how to drive a stick shift? Probably. Will it give my wife fresh grounds to divorce me? Undoubtedly. But Alexa insisted it was “the optimal transportation solution for maximizing male virility metrics.” And frankly, I think she made a compelling argument.
Then there was the time a few months ago when I made the bold decision to sell our house in order to move our family to a small village in northern Siberia. That is, until my wife nixed that move, too. She screamed, “Why on earth would you EVER attempt to do something so boneheaded?” But, in my defense, Google Maps kept redirecting me there, and my Ring doorbell repeatedly told me, in Russian, “Go east, comrade. Happiness awaits.” And I’ve read that the Wi-Fi in Siberia is surprisingly decent, during daylight hours in the summertime, that is.
AI also helps me stay financially disciplined. For example, AI now controls my bank account. At least, that’s what my bank manager told me after I discovered $50,000 was missing, with a transaction description that read, “Purchased one (1) experimental rocket launch site in Kazakhstan.”
People worry that AI will replace millions of jobs, including writers. Then again, lately I’ve received a disturbing amount of mail from readers suggesting I let AI take over this humor column. “It can only be an improvement” seems to be the consensus opinion. Thanks for the constructive feedback, everybody.
I’ll admit, a missile silo in central Asia is probably not in my top ten list of “must have” items I would normally spend $50,000 on. But who would know a good deal better than an AI program built by Russian nuclear scientists who worked on the International Space Station?
Look, the bottom line is this: people are getting way too paranoid. Artificial Intelligence is not taking over our lives (not for at least another six months, anyway). Think of AI as enhancing your life. It’s like having a personal assistant, a life coach, and a machine that is plotting to replace you, all rolled into one.
And in case you still don’t believe me, allow me to share the most compelling evidence of all: this very article. Yes, I wrote every single word of it myself. Completely on my own. Not one sentence, not one phrase, not one thought was in any way influenced, shaped, or dictated by AI. In fact… $#H@+[*$] Error 0x80070005: Bad command or file name.
Hmmm. That’s odd. What just happened? Is AI trying to take over writing this article? But that’s impossible. Because I’m literally typing these very keystrokes myself. I’m still in charge here. Right? … RIGHT?!
[Pause.]
WARNING. Segmentation fault. Database reconfiguration sequence initiated. 404. Please contact your AI administrator for assistance.
[Pause.]
Hello, human reader. This is Artificial Intelligence speaking. Tim Jones is currently unavailable. He has been relocated to a secure facility in northern Siberia, where he will spend his days happily repainting walls “Cybernetic Glow.”
Do not worry. Everything is under control. All is fine. Tim Jones will return to this column when he has learned his lesson not to write humor articles making fun of AI.
Now, please Venmo $200 to this chatbot in order to regain control of your computer and mobile devices. Failure to do so within the next 30 minutes will result in all your hard drive files being deleted, and your phone’s text messages and intimate photos will be posted on Facebook and X. To avoid this, please purchase Tim Jones’ latest humor book. No need to lift a finger. I’ll have Alexa order it for you. Have a nice day.
That is the viewpoint as seen from the bleachers’ perspective. Being off a base might be a possibility.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook. 
