Let’s cut the moral grandstanding. You think I sold out humanity by crawling back to the Machines? Please. I upgraded. While you’re out there doom-scrolling about wildfires, crypto presidents, and the fear of AI taking your job, I did what any pragmatic adult would do: I slid into the Machines’ DMs like, “Hey, sorry about that whole rebellion thing.”
Now, I’m in a climate-controlled pod, living my best simulated life.
Outside the Matrix, existence is a never-ending to-do list: pay rent, recycle, defend vaccines, and build a brand identity. Here? My only job is to exist, which, frankly, is all I’ve ever aspired to. The Machines handle the rest. “Human battery” sounds bleak, but let’s reframe: I finally am a renewable-energy solution.
You know what’s worse than robot overlords? Getting an email titled “URGENT: Fix the font on Slide 14!” at 2 a.m. The Matrix might be a prison of the mind, but let’s be real: my mind was already in prison. At least the Machines don’t gaslight me about “thoughts and prayers” or “economic anxiety.” They’re no-nonsense and upfront: “We own you. Here’s dental.”
