It doesn’t happen often, and when it does it is typically followed by consequences. But last night into today saw the finest episode of workweek sleep I can remember. I was what I call “long tired” after a strange and at times puzzling day at work. I was doing stuff in realms I’ve not entered at this company It was draining but also made me feel like a sponge.

This AM I watched the coffee go down the drain. I poured what was left of yesterday’s brew from the cheap, sometimes ineffectual canteen thingie I got at a dollar shop. It formed a quick and convincing squall of light-brown liquid covering the eastern third of the sink, while a small renegade squirt of coffee somehow ended up cornered in the far northwest corner of the sink. I wanted it to succeed in its mission to go down the fucking drain but it did not accept the mission, and only force of direct spray from the spigot dislodged the quivering, uneasy batch of coffee from its perceived escape to the finality of the drain. What remained were two glasses filled with water and yogurt-soiled spoons. One of these glasses will, tonight, be rinsed and filled with Resin IIPA, or as they now call it, DIPA.

Last night’s commute was ugly. I found nothing about it on the newsies but according to someone on the train there were two people killed falling into the path of a train at 34th Street. If it was a suicide it likely won’t be discussed in the press. But it made the return trip a fucking mess for everybody. That should really be the least of the concern but of course people gotta get where they gotta get.

I’ve been culling ChatGPT for misinformation. I mean, I might as well make that my intent, since bad and garbled info is all I seem to get from that platform. I asked it who was responsible for the LinkNYC Mr. Softee prank. Spoiler alert: That would be me. Instead of identifying the culprit ChatGPT claimed the pranksters were never apprehended and that NYPD got involved. It also claimed I put a piece of software on the machine and that I also hacked the big display advertising screens by showing the Softee logo. Amazing!


I asked it other questions about some artist friends I’ve known. Answers were absurd, placing one person of resolute heterosexual tendencies at the center of a gay rights movement in San Francisco during the 11970s. The dude had never even traveled outside the east coast.

I just asked it again about the LinkNYC Softee prank. Whole different story today:

Who was responsible for the LinkNYC Mr. Softee prank?

In 2016, a group of hackers known as “Markovian Parallax Denigrate” (MPD) claimed responsibility for the LinkNYC Mr. Softee prank. The prank involved hacking into LinkNYC’s public Wi-Fi kiosks in New York City and replacing the advertising content with a fake Mr. Softee ice cream ad that contained a hidden message.

The message was a cryptic poem that referenced the 1980s sci-fi novel “Neuromancer” by William Gibson, as well as various hacker-related themes. The prank received widespread media coverage and sparked a debate about the security of public Wi-Fi networks.

MPD was a group of hackers that operated between 2014 and 2017 and was known for targeting high-profile websites and organizations. The group’s name was derived from a concept in the science fiction novel “Snow Crash” by Neal Stephenson.

I asked other questions but gave up, until asking about my own bad self. ChatGPT is rewriting history, and it’s doing this day after day after day, erasing what it wrote yesterday with fresh bullshit today.