A Completely Genuine, Heartfelt Love Letter to Those Who Use Generative AI
Article and Photo by Tara Mullaney
Dear Whatever Your Name Is,
If you’ve taken a class with me in the last two years you’re probably wondering, Tara’s praising Generative AI? What is this? Opposite day? You’re probably thinking, It was only a matter of time before she changed her mind. Or, Finally, she was getting really annoying.
Or you’re smart and have already seen through my facade. If so, congratulations. You already know what’s coming.
You’re actually pathetic if you need ChatGPT to write an email for you, to summarize a text for you, to draw for you… I honestly can’t think of a worse time in American history for the population to willingly stop thinking for themselves. “I’ll just ask ChatGPT!” You say, as you walk backwards into a fascist hellscape with no hope of returning. And don’t come back!
Don’t even get me started on “Tara, this is offensive!” I’d like you to point to the oppressed minority right now. Go on! Point. I’ll wait.
See? You can’t. You are the majority. The Bunion is all about punching up and here comes my right hook.
Unlike my last article you all so desperately hated, I refuse to take constructive criticism this time. “Don’t take criticism from someone you wouldn’t take advice from,” Has been my mantra this past semester and it got me my degree! I refuse to take creative advice from anyone who can’t put in baseline effort, from someone who needs validation from a computer program every second of every day. There’s a word for that….Oh! Parasocial! See? Thinking is easy. You just have to try.
“HOES MAD!!” Hoe is mad. Seething, actually. I dread opening Instagram every day. I don’t care what you look like as a dog. I don’t care what your doll starter pack looks like. I don’t care what you’d look like in a Studio Ghibli movie. As a matter of fact, I want Hayao Miyazaki to taze the ever living shit out of you. I hope you get stranded in the middle of the ocean with 1% battery where the only thing you can do is ask: Hey, ChatGPT. Can I drink salt water?
Personally, and this outcome seems most likely, I cannot wait until the day your children consider ChatGPT the parent they never had in the first place.
But, since I’m not a fucking idiot, I understand that this technology isn’t going anywhere. I know in 70 years I’ll be an old woman yelling at The Cloud while I sit on my subscription based lawn furniture that’ll disappear if I don’t pay $60 a month. The subscription I can’t pay because my employer fired me thanks to this very article. I especially can’t wait to go for my yearly physical just to have Grok take five years off my life so Elon Musk can live forever.
The future you’re asking for is almost here, people! Just keep inputting your silly little prompts, keep wasting gallons upon gallons of water because you refuse to learn how to draw. I can’t stop you!
But while you electricity guzzling fools silence me, mute me, take away my right to speak on how little I respect you. I stand atop a mountain of truth, of skill, of art. You take my mouth, yet I must scream.
But hey.
At the end of the day, I can look at my Bachelors Degree and smile. No guilt, no shame, just pure, unadulterated joy.
I can look in the mirror and be proud of myself.
Can you?
With Immeasurable Hate & Loathing,
Tara Mullaney