Public Posts Seattle, WA Seattle, WA (zoom)

When I get older
and I am King,
I will dress up,
wearing lots of Bling.

A muse about waiting to order breakfast when the cloak of
invisibility covers you.

I see you walk by
as you're going away.
Is this another time
when I turn invisible?

I left after waiting 20 minutes,
of being ignored, even when
the wait person was 5 feet away.
No greeting or acknowledgement
that I was present.

Author’s Introduction: Everywhere in the news I’ve been reading about how Artificial Intelligence (AI) and programs like ChatGPT will be eliminating thousands of jobs in countless industries. Thanks to recent advances in AI, fashion magazines can create images of fashion models that are so realistic, there may soon be no need for human models. Writers and actors are on strike right now in part because of very real fears that artificial intelligence will make their jobs obsolete. Why pay a few hundred background actors thousands of dollars when movie producers now can just create digital fakes to accomplish the same thing? Why hire writers when ChatGPT can write a complex script in minutes?

It got me to thinking. Is MY job as a humor writer at risk? You tell me. The other day, I asked ChatGPT to “write a satirical humor article about being an American man married to a Canadian woman in the style of Tim Jones’s View From the Bleachers humor website.” (My wife is Canadian.) … and this is what it came up with: More at View from the Bleachers ➜

Sweet and low,
off and running,
sometimes it's better,
than being cunning.

Should I write,
something profound,
or should I, dress up,
as a Carnival Clown?

Out of the gate,
quick was he,
as he breezed by
so merrily.

Many the laughs,
came so easy,
as humor was great,
with high anxiety.

She was sitting, cross-legged,
her ankles were bent.
Hadn't seen someone sitting
like that, since a carnival tent.

Short were his wanders,
small was the town.
He covered mile after mile,
until the final sundown.

He walked and walked,
never slowing down,
then he discovered he was
on the other side of town.

Laugh at my blunders.
Laugh when I say,
I care not for you,
at least not today.

Splayed on the ground,
flat on my face.
I am embarassed,
fallen from grace.

No one's to blame,
is what they say.
I'll let you know
on a better day.

My writing is prolific,
it's what it seems.
I'm a simple old man,
I'm not a machine.

I need a desk.
I need a lamp.
I need an envelope,
with a postage stamp.