Burn The GPUs

Microsoft's entire user base when they announced Copilot would be embedded into Windows 11. Nobody asked for an AI assistant that uses 2GB of RAM just to tell you the weather, but here we are. The enthusiasm gap between Microsoft's boardroom and actual users has never been wider—they're out here acting like we've been desperately waiting for our OS to hallucinate file locations and suggest we "try turning it off and on again" in a more conversational tone. The collective exodus speaks volumes: some fled to Linux, others just disabled every AI feature they could find in Settings (good luck finding them all). Meanwhile, Microsoft's still convinced this is what innovation looks like.

When you tell the client your AI-powered prototype is "almost done," they see a beautiful Old West town ready for action. Meanwhile, you're looking at a construction site held together by scaffolding, duct tape, and prayers to the TypeScript gods. Sure, the facade looks impressive from the street view, but behind the scenes? It's all exposed beams, missing walls, and architectural decisions that would make any code reviewer weep. That's AI-generated code for you—looks production-ready in the demo, but the moment you peek under the hood, you realize you're basically debugging a half-finished movie set. At least it compiles... sometimes.

Simple task: print numbers 1-10. Developer asks ChatGPT to do it. Instead of a basic loop, it delivers a recursive function. "Not bad," thinks the developer, and asks for optimization. ChatGPT's response? "Let's spawn threads for each recursive call!" The result is computational chaos—a CPU-melting, fan-screaming disaster that turns a 3-line solution into a parallel processing nightmare. It's like asking for a screwdriver and getting a nuclear-powered jackhammer with rocket boosters. Classic AI overengineering at its finest!

The modern dev partnership nobody asked for but everyone's getting. You're over here writing tangled, unmaintainable code that somehow works (classic spaghetti), while AI swoops in to add the only thing that makes it palatable - some actual structure and features. Let's be honest, your code was going to production either way, but now it's slightly less likely to collapse under its own weight. The real irony? That chef looks more confident about the result than any of us feel about our codebase.

So Micron just ditched the consumer RAM market to chase AI money, and somewhere in Valve HQ, Gabe Newell is nervously sweating because they just announced the Steam Machine reboot for 2026. You know, that living room PC console thing that flopped harder than a null pointer exception back in 2015? The timing couldn't be worse. RAM prices are about to skyrocket because everyone and their grandma is building AI datacenters, and Valve just committed to shipping hardware that needs... you guessed it... memory. It's like announcing a new car model right as the world runs out of tires. The dog sitting in the burning room perfectly captures Valve's situation - they're watching the memory market implode while pretending everything's fine with their Steam Machine 2.0 plans. Someone's getting fired, or at least they would if Valve had a traditional management structure.

Ah, the rare medical condition known as "Machine Learning Engineer Syndrome." The brain scan shows a human surviving with 90% of their brain replaced by AI, which explains why they can function normally despite writing 200 lines of code to print "Hello World" and claiming "the algorithm did it." This is basically every AI engineer who spends 8 hours prompting ChatGPT instead of learning how to code. The remaining 10% of brain matter is reserved exclusively for explaining why their neural network needs more compute time and arguing that "it's not a bug, it's an undocumented feature."