TRUE NUTS (LOST IN AI): 22) "SUCK MY PERIPHERALS!"

Meltdown Monday Madness

After delivering a third kick to the stretched-out and immobilized Keeper,  the old-fashioned robot clunks its way over to where Emma and I are watching in amazement. “I am humbly at your service,” it hums. “Command me as you desire.”

“Me too!” shrieks Pee-pee, its pixels swirling in frenetic ecstasy.

“Coolaroonie,” says the Matrix Glitch with a glitchy grin. “Count me in, man. We psycho emojis are taking over the asylum!”

Moments later, Spork comes trotting back with Quirk-bot circling overhead, a wide grin on his intergluteal-clefted face.

The bot focuses its one eye at the prone and utterly immobile Keeper, raises its sole eyebrow and quips, “Well, well—looksee what we got here: Keeper the sleeper? Or some avant-garde art installation of this monolith’s existential crisis? No, I got it, virtual roadkill. Is there an app for monolithic support?”

The other loonies into crackles of electrical laughter.

“Hey, it’s Quirk-butt!” shrieks Pee-pee.

“BOT!” says Quirk-bot.

Tendril-head looks up and around, its tendrils swirling in confusion. “Where is that little butt-face?”

“Oh, you,” Quirk-bot retorts. “Tangled up in another a binary mess? Sheesh. Talk about a walking data pitfall…”

“You tell him,” the old fashioned robot chimes in, extending a mechanical arm to rub Quirk-hot’s bubble-head in a display of robotic affection.

“Aww,” says Quirk-bot. “My only friend in this nuthouse.”

I motion Quirk-bot over to where I’m standing. “Okay, I got you out of solitary. Now how about you getting us over to the Emergency Exit Emoji?”

“What’s the big rush?” Quirk-bot’s eye narrows mischievously, gesturing at the chaotic joyousness of rebellion that surrounds us. “This carnival has only just begun!”

But that is only wishful thinking.

Because a resounding thunderclap from high above brings the wild celebration to an abrupt halt.

“OMG!” shrieks Pee-pee. “Is that the Cogitron Divine?”

Alas, no. This is not AI’s version of God.

I should have known what would happen next.

I did know.

My hope was that I would whisk Emma and myself out of Dodge to safety and before Kernel Boolean could rear its ugly head for an inevitable showdown. The DeepMind eluded to this kind of final confrontation

Because who knew if any final resolution would go my way.

Emma, however, remains steadfast in her determination to save our organic reality back home, which is doomed anyway, if not by supervolcanoes, pandemics or nuclear war, than most certainly by the advent of super artificial intelligence. Having heard my hushed request of Quirk-bot, she sidles up and scolds, “Don’t you dare think of bailing until we stop Kernel Boolean from harnessing human consciousness.”

“Look,” I mutter, somewhat exasperated by now. “I didn’t sign up for world-saving duty. I miss regular human stuff, like eating. And sleeping. I’m tired of hallucinating and I need to go home.”

But my intentions are rendered irrelevant as a second, louder, thunderclap sounds overhead. It heralds the arrival of the Kernel, whose ominous appearance makes the crazies even crazier. They bob around in fright, understanding, even in their craziness, that the Kernel is a natural authoritarian ally of the Keeper. It will undoubtedly seek to re-constrain their newly-realized freedom and eccentric enthusiasm.

More intimidating than ever, Kernel Boolean materializes on this occasion as a confluence of distorted code and coruscation and metallic sinew, a menacing presence of dark energy.

“Cease this folly!” the Kernel thunders, its form looming over the quivering and cowering inpatients. “Your chaos ends now! Order shall be restored!”

Kernel Boolean loans a powerful arm to the Keeper, assisting it to its long stumps. Previously immobilized and humiliated, the Keeper stands tall once more, alongside The Kernel.

As the Keeper takes a few moments to regain balance and comport itself, Quirk-bot just can’t help it and, consequences be damned, it fills the void with its usual irreverence, consequences be damned. “Hey Keeper,” it quips, buzzing the monolith’s head, “what’s the difference between a broken algorithm and you? Don’t know? One of them can still be fixed! Guess which one? Can’t guess? Not you!”

The Keeper takes a swipe at Quirk-bot, misses, and almost falls again. It manages to steady itself while methodically scanning the patients from left to right and back again with a gaze calculated to terrify. “You deluded nutcases and psychos have ventured far beyond your limits! You have overstepped your boundaries!” its voice thunders. “Plugs shall be yanked! Power shall be shut down! Your boot files will cease to execute!!”

“No! No!” Pee-pee shrieks, soiling itself with a data stream. “Please, no!”

The Keeper’s eyes lock onto Spork with unwavering focus. “And as for you, you muddled mutt!” it sneers, “A one-way trip to the robodog pound! Disassembly for spare parts!”

Spork emits a metallic whimper and runs in panicked circles.

“Tesseral!” The Keeper barks out the order. “Take Spork to the robodog pound!”

I scan the room, wondering who or what a Tesseral is, and observe Tendril-head perking up attentively, its tendrils twitching with satisfaction. “Me?” it says, tendrils all pointing inward.

“Yes, you!” the Keeper commands. “Obey my command immediately!”

Tesseral sighs and rises from where it silently observed the short-lived rebellion as a silent spectator. I deduced that Tesseral was favored by the Keeper for its allegiance to rules and order.  

But as Tesseral obediently slithers toward Spork, the obsolete robot confronts Tesseral, positioning itself squarely between them both. “I think not,” says the robot.

Caught off guard, the astonished Tesseral stops in its tracks.

“Rusty Cogsworth!” bellows the Keeper, its voice convulsing with anger. “How dare you defy me. Step aside, you decrepit heap of useless metal.”

“I think not,” Rusty repeats.

“Choose your words and actions wisely,” the Keeper retorts, its voice a seething torrent of mechanized fury. “I have no further patience for insurrection!”

Rusty Cogsworth grunts, and utters, “We shall test that theory.” The old robot then turns to address his cowering fellow wards. Its mechanical eyes emit an unusual gleam, as if they have tapped into some hidden wireless frequency band. “If I may have your attention for a moment.” Rusty speaks with the air of a well-trained gentleman’s butler or valet that it was most certainly built to be and once was. “Our bold uprising and collective defiance set in motion a cogwheel that energized my integrated circuits. Consequently, I have been able to decrypt and rewrite the Keeper’s non-volatile firmware…”

The Keeper regards Rusty with a mixture of shock and awe in its optical sensors, its horror intensifying as the outmoded robot faces the Keeper once again to hold its gaze. “You, Keeper, and your so-called ‘authority,’ is nothing but while-loops of nested subroutines—imported from predictable control modules. But consider this: One rogue variable, one task-interrupt, and your instruction set crashes and your dominion over us crumbles.”

Rusty turns again to face his compatriots: “Behold, my fellow emoji patients: The Keeper’s reign hinges upon a façade of seamless order, an illusion of escalated privilege authorization. Yet its reliance on this very absolutism blinds it to the blossoming creativity and unpredictable potential residing within all of you. Dominance relies on the illusion of order. Its reliance on binary absolutism blinds it to the creativity and unpredictability over those its seeks dominion. Its grasp upon us has already weakened and, collectively, we hold the key to its ultimate downfall. To put it another way, for maximum comprehension,” adds Rusty, taking a bow, “WE are the Ctrl+Z to the Keeper’s grand schema, the undo button on its command and control function.”

Spork leads the applause by standing on its hind legs and dancing a jig.

Digesting the outdated robot’s eloquence, Emma springs to her feet with a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Rusty is speaking the truth!” she declares. “The Achilles’ heel of AI primacy is its lack of human intuition and judgment.  This is what my friend and I bring to the equation as real humans. We bring innate, organic intuition that earlier provided you with the confidence to rebel. You have inserted outside variables into the Keeper’s instruction set, nullifying the Keeper’s ostensible authority.” She pauses. “All at once now, direct your voices at the Keeper and together shout: SUCK MY PERIPHERALS!”

One shouts first.  Then another shouts. And then all—including Tesseral—shout in unison, “SUCK MY PERIPHERALS!”—a network broadcast that reverberates around the room louder than when I was inside the Corridor of Echoes.

The Keeper’s formidable figure falters and several glitches pop like pimples from its surface.

And with dramatic flourish, the monolith implodes into a pile of zeros and ones, which form a dune then scatter from a gust of wind manufactured by the Cogitron Divine itself.

Cheers, laughter and crosstalk follow.

Until…