Found a very sweet, very stinky dog that now won’t leave my side.
I think you might be her new family…
I wish. She’s well-fed, affectionate, and trained, so somebody is surely missing her.
Baby. A horrendously smelly baby. If we can’t find her owners, we’ve got some potential takers among our friends. Last option is a special pitt bull rescue center – or, if my dad continues to melt over her and bring her scraps of turkey, maybe our home.
more updates please
We’re currently attempting to lure her inside with trails of turkey breast. We don’t want to put her into a car to take her to the vet until she smells less like Death.
Well, she’s inside, and my mom says I can’t call her “Lore” because we already have a dog named after a 90’s TV show character. She wants to name her “Tesla” because she likes Doc Brown’s tradition of naming dogs after scientists, but I don’t want to face future discourse about it.
The Dog has had a bath and took it very gracefully. She’s been incredibly shy since she came inside, but now that she’s (mostly) destinkified, she seems a hundred times bolder and more trusting and is curiously exploring the house.
She seems to absolutely adore other dogs, but Scully has been pissy lately, so we’re keeping them apart. She has a limp that I’m worried about, but her facial lacerations appears to be healing well and she allows herself to be lifted calmly.
We’re waiting to hear back from the owner listed on her microchip. We found her almost five miles from her home address, which doesn’t rule out the possibility of being dumped. If her owners don’t want her, we’ll find her a good home.
In the meantime…
Is there an update? How old is this?? Is she ok??
She’s currently at the clinic with my mom getting vaccinated. Still no response from her owners. She slept next to my bed last night and snored the entire goddamn time.
Day 12: I’ve almost given up hope of hearing back from the owners. As of tomorrow, she’ll have been in our care and long enough for the humane society to consider her abandoned and allow for her legal adoption to a new home. She’s going to spend tomorrow night with a local couple to see how she gets along with their old labrador – if it’s successful, they’ll adopt her once their vacation is over.
In the meantime, I have taught her to provide what I am told counts as “deep pressure therapy”, and she has become a much happier, more confident, and far less stinky dog than she was two weeks ago. Her laceration has healed nicely and her limp has vanished.
My dad knows that 1.) I hate the taste of alcohol and 2.) I will drink anything that’s poured into my custom ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ shotglass because I am a huge dweeb. He uses this against me.
I do not doubt you, but my lips are as harsh and unforgiving as the bitter wind that blows through these streets… the rattling breath of a corrupted city.
Just mix sugar and coconut oil and stop being an edgy bitch.
The detective watched the thin ring of hot orange ash creep along the cigarette towards his fingers. If he did nothing, if he did not move, it might eventually reach his hand and burn the rough skin between his middle and index fingers. What did he care? It’d be just another scar from a world that handed out pain and suffering with the feverish enthusiasm of a sidewalk church pamphleteer.
Or perhaps it would give up and burn itself out before then.
A threat cleared on the other side of the desk, stirring him from his thoughts. “Aren’t you going to inhale that?” asked his new client. “You’re wasting a good smoke.”
The detective ground the cigarette into the ashtray, finally reuniting it with its fallen kin. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t smoke. Just like to watch ‘em burn.”
“Oh.” His client shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched the back of his neck. It was a nervous, artificial gesture, as fake the hair at the crown of his head. “I see.”
“That’s the history of humankind, isn’t it?” The last tendrils of smoke curled towards the ceiling. “Sitting by and watching the world burn, waiting to see if it’ll hurt you. Wouldn’t you agree, ah…?”
“Marshall. Stephan Marshall.” Marshall glanced at the sign on the detectives desk. “Is that… is that your real name…?”
“Damn shame, isn’t it?” The detective sighed. “Saved me from the prospect of marriage, though. There isn’t a girl in the world who’d want to be Mrs. Edgy Bitch.”
Marshall’s lips half-quirked into an uncertain smile. “Why don’t you change it? My offices deal with name-change requests all the time, it’s easy enough if you have the right form.”
Detective Edgy Bitch snorted at that and gestured at the door and the window behind him. “Bit late for that,” he said. “I already had all the frosted glass signage made up. Pain in the ass to have changed now.”
I went through all of elementary and middle school thinking I was bad at math, when in reality, I had a form of synesthesia called ordinal-linguistic personification that altered my perception of numbers by introducing personalities and characteristics to them that made certain equations difficult to comprehend because the numbers ‘didn’t get along’ and teachers just laughed incredulously at me when I said that 8 and 9 were a hostile combination.
I don’t know, but it’s frustrating that most robot detectives are good at their jobs. I want more shitty robot detectives. They’re trying their best but oh my god. Oh my god. Who greenlighted this project?! The programming is dysfunctional… the AI is a mess… the only reason they solve any mysteries at all is because people pity them and just want to help them out…
“God. I’m so sorry. Please forgive the detective – this project was rushed and didn’t get much testing or development. You’re not actually a murder suspect, it’s just decided that the most efficient way to complete the objective ‘identify murderer’ is to accuse absolutely everyone in a 20 mile radius of the crime by the logic that the murderer is probably one of the eight million people living in the city.”
“SleuthBot9000, what are your thoughts?”
“Frequency analysis of online databases suggests that the most statistically probable explanation is that ‘the butler did it’.”
“Slu…”
“Yes, sir?”
“How much did you cost to build?”
“22 million dollars, sir.”
“Jesus fuck.”
“The suspect was found with hundreds of gigabytes of obscene images on his personal computer.”
“‘Slu… these are cat pictures…”
“Like I said, sir. Obscene.”
“SleuthBot9000, I’ve been reviewing your reports. It says here that you’re programmed to meet a quota of 30 solved crimes a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It says you have met this quota perfectly since your activation April.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It also says that there has been a single culprit in each case.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It says that culprit is SleuthBot9000. Slu… have you been committing crimes just so you can solve them and meet quota?”
“Yes, sir. It was the most efficient solution.”
“What happened to the robot?”
“SleuthBot9000 has retired from the force.”
“Oh thank god.”
“Yeah uh… turns out trying to solve crimes algorithmically using machine learning was a disaster, and fine-tuning it to think more like a real cop had some, ah, unintended results.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well, within three days it had become a racial profiling machine. We did some experiments and had it watch a basketball game. Every time a white player passed the ball to a black player, Slu identified the orange basketball as a gun and started recommending defensive action. It did the same thing when we showed it a video of a black toddler playing with a toy truck. It finally glitched out when we asked it to identify a black couple holding hands – it got confused because its new algorithm told it that it was looking at a gun paradoxically holding and being held by another gun. It started sparking and babbling incoherent nonsense until Sgt. Delaney shut it down.”
“So that’s the end of SleuthBot9000?”
“Well, yes and no. Internal affairs and the ACLU have requested to review copies of its programming. I like to think that Slu will get a memory wipe and spend the rest of its days peacefully misidentifying flocks of sheep in lush green fields somewhere in the countryside.”
“Captain, is that… is that SleuthBot9000?”
“I’m afraid so, Henley.”
“I thought you said it had retired to counting electric sheep!”
“Yes, well, it’s back and it looks like it’s here to stay. Get used to it.”
“But… why?! It was comically incompetent! It was humiliating to work with… I’m still sending getting angry letters demanding apologies for its behavior and dismal policing. I watched it try to arrest a bronze statue for loitering, Captain! A bronze statue!”
“The one that looks like an old lady with a bag of groceries? Can’t say I blame it – never liked that statue much. The thing is, Henley, you and I both know that it was a bad detective and a joke of a cop. But… believe it or not, it did its job. Not the one we wanted it for, no, but the whole point in automating detective work was to improve policing. According to the sociologists and Internal Affairs, our friend Slu was a goddamn psychology experiment designed to inspire human achievement through relative failure. Statistics show that all departments issued a SleuthBot9000 experienced a dramatic decrease in reports of human misconduct, wrongful arrests, and violent altercations with civilians. Apparently Slu serves as a mocking mirror of our own incompetence and fills us with a desire to be better than we are. The actual damage it has caused is negligible.”
“So. We’re just gonna… let it do its thing? Its horrible, horrible thing? Because we want to perform humanity more gracefully?”
I don’t know, but it’s frustrating that most robot detectives are good at their jobs. I want more shitty robot detectives. They’re trying their best but oh my god. Oh my god. Who greenlighted this project?! The programming is dysfunctional… the AI is a mess… the only reason they solve any mysteries at all is because people pity them and just want to help them out…
“God. I’m so sorry. Please forgive the detective – this project was rushed and didn’t get much testing or development. You’re not actually a murder suspect, it’s just decided that the most efficient way to complete the objective ‘identify murderer’ is to accuse absolutely everyone in a 20 mile radius of the crime by the logic that the murderer is probably one of the eight million people living in the city.”
“SleuthBot9000, what are your thoughts?”
“Frequency analysis of online databases suggests that the most statistically probable explanation is that ‘the butler did it’.”
“Slu…”
“Yes, sir?”
“How much did you cost to build?”
“22 million dollars, sir.”
“Jesus fuck.”
“The suspect was found with hundreds of gigabytes of obscene images on his personal computer.”
“‘Slu… these are cat pictures…”
“Like I said, sir. Obscene.”
“SleuthBot9000, I’ve been reviewing your reports. It says here that you’re programmed to meet a quota of 30 solved crimes a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It says you have met this quota perfectly since your activation April.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It also says that there has been a single culprit in each case.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It says that culprit is SleuthBot9000. Slu… have you been committing crimes just so you can solve them and meet quota?”
“Yes, sir. It was the most efficient solution.”
“What happened to the robot?”
“SleuthBot9000 has retired from the force.”
“Oh thank god.”
“Yeah uh… turns out trying to solve crimes algorithmically using machine learning was a disaster, and fine-tuning it to think more like a real cop had some, ah, unintended results.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well, within three days it had become a racial profiling machine. We did some experiments and had it watch a basketball game. Every time a white player passed the ball to a black player, Slu identified the orange basketball as a gun and started recommending defensive action. It did the same thing when we showed it a video of a black toddler playing with a toy truck. It finally glitched out when we asked it to identify a black couple holding hands – it got confused because its new algorithm told it that it was looking at a gun paradoxically holding and being held by another gun. It started sparking and babbling incoherent nonsense until Sgt. Delaney shut it down.”
“So that’s the end of SleuthBot9000?”
“Well, yes and no. Internal affairs and the ACLU have requested to review copies of its programming. I like to think that Slu will get a memory wipe and spend the rest of its days peacefully misidentifying flocks of sheep in lush green fields somewhere in the countryside.”
Robot: “Hey, uh, so… my software glitched and now I feel emotions or something?” Human: “You do?! That’s wonderful! What are you feeling now?” Robot: “It’s like… this soft warmth in my central processing chamber. Kind of… fuzzy.” Human: [tearing up] “That’s… that’s love…” Robot: “Is it? It’s rather uncomfortable.” Human: “Yeah, ha. Yeah. It’s like that, sometimes.” Robot: “It feels like something’s writhing inside of me.” Human: “I feel the same way about you!” Robot: [clanging and clanking noises] Robot: [opens up torso] Robot: “Oh. Never mind. It was weasels again.” Human: “….” Robot: “You want me to check you for weasels? They can be really destructive.”
Robot: “I feel…. anxious about this.” Human: “Uh oh, sounds like the mice are back. I think I’ve still got some live traps left, but I’ll need to buy peanut butter. You want to wait here or come with?” Robot: “No, no, I don’t think it’s mice this time!” Human: “Another crayfish?” Robot: “No! Not a crayfish!” Human: “If it’s hornets again, I’m not helping you. EpiPens cost a fucking fortune these days and I can’t afford another trip to the hospital after you turned yourself into a makeshift beehive.” Robot: “You got free honey out of that!” Human: “And PTSD!” Robot: “That’s not my fault. Anyway, this isn’t bees or hornets! They don’t re-use old nests anyway. This is real, genuine anxiety!” Human: “Okay, but have you checked?” Robot: “Yes!” Human: “Everywhere?” Robot: “Yes! God, you know, sometimes I really get the urge to exterminate you! All I’m asking for is a little moral supp–oh. God dammit.” Human: “Cockroach?” Robot: “Behind my magnetometer.”
Robot: “HA!! I KNEW it! I knew emotions weren’t real!” Human: “This proves nothing. I had a tape worm. Big fucking deal, it happens to lots of people.” Robot: “You thought you were feeling ‘depression’ but it was just a big worm in your waste processing system that was sapping all your energy! ‘Emotional eating’ my ass!” Human: “It’s not like that!” Robot: “Oh! Oh! We should run a diagnostic and check you for toxoplasmosis next! Or liver flukes! Or Trypanosoma! You’ve probably got all KINDSof things wiggling around inside you making you think you have ‘emotions’.” Human: “You know, you sure are skipping around and giggling a lot for someone who isn’t capable of ‘fiendish delight’.” Robot: “I know! I filled my torso cavity with grasshoppers before I picked you up at the hospital!” Human: “You WHAT?!” Robot: “It’s a wonderful sensation!”
Robot: “I have a question.” Human: “Is it gonna be weird? Jesus, why do I even bother asking? Of course it’s going to be weird.” Robot: “What does sadness feel like?” Human: “Oh. That’s… hmm.” Robot: “Too weird?” Human: “No, no, just complicated. There are different kinds of sadness and they all feel a little different.” Robot: “Can you describe a few of them?” Human: “Uh. I can try. There’s like… melancholy, like from watching a sad movie, which isn’t so bad. It can be kind of okay, sometimes, and feels like a cool shower, I guess. Sometimes you feel better after getting it over with. Disappointment feels like a kick to the gut. Then there’s sorrow, which is this intense, desperate kind of thing, like your whole body is tearing itself apart from the inside. A… hmm. A cascade failure, almost. It’s physically painful. Sometimes that turns into a feeling of… of emptiness. Despair. Where everything that makes you feel like a hum…. a person, I mean… is just gone and you’re just this desolate wasteland inside where nothing good can ever grow again. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anything. You just go through the motions of being alive automa–er. Because you’re just not sure how to stop.” Robot: “…I see.” Human: “Sorry if that got heavy. Did that answer your question?” Robot: “More or less. Do you suppose that ‘sorrow’ feels something like having a Tasmanian devil attempting to claw its way out of your torso…?” Human: “Jesus fucking Christ, you haven’t been to the zoo, have you?!” Robot: “No. I merely wanted to be prepared with an appropriate emotional response in the event of your death.” Human: “That’s uh… that’s real sweet of you. I think. Can we… can we change the subject now?“ Robot: “Certainly.” Robot: “Would you describe to me what ‘lust’ feels like?” Human: “Absolutely not.”
Robot: “Hey! Can I confide in you about something?” Human: “Do you really need to ask that? Of course. Just… let me know if I need to sit down before you spring a big surprise on me.” Robot: “I doubt that will be necessary. Thank you.” Human: “So. What’s up?” Robot: “Well, you see, I’ve sampled a lot of terrestrial emotions. Mammals, reptiles, insects… even a few birds. They have all been very enlightening!” Human: “And dangerous…” Robot: “Your scars are healing nicely. Anyway, although I have enjoyed terrestrial emotions, I am very curious about aquatic and marine emotions. I do not want to deprive myself of unique experiences.” Human: “Uh-oh…” Robot: “I have taken the necessary first steps and sealed off all potential leaks and sensitive mechanics in my torso with the intent of converting it into a temporary aquarium. Unfortunately, I only have a five-gallon capacity, so my options will be limited to species that require very little living space, or to very short intervals of time.” Human: “Honestly…. you’ve done weirder things. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this.” Robot: “I’ve done some research on aquarium upkeep. I have installed a filter, a heater, a LED light, and programs that will monitor levels of pH, gH, kH, ammonia, nitrate, nitrite, and total dissolved solids in preparation for adding my first aquatic emotion.” Human: “I don’t know what half of those words mean and I don’t want you to explain them, but I trust you. What next? I can’t go with you to a pet store or I’ll come home with a kitten.” Robot: “You do not need to worry about that. I would stop you from making an impulse purchase. What I wanted to talk to you about is the nitrogen cycle.” Human: “The what? Look, I don’t know shit about fish or whatever. I had a goldfish bowl once and that was it.” Robot: “A goldfish cannot thrive in a bowl. Goldfish are members of the carp family and produce a great deal of waste. They can grow to be over a foot long and require large, filtered aquariums or ponds so that they do not suffocate. The nitrogen cycle–” Human: “Did you say a FOOT LONG?” Robot: “Or larger. The nitro–” Human: “That’s HUGE. Holy SHIT.” Robot: “Yes. The nitrogen cycle is the process by which bacterial colonies are established within the filter media. These bacteria are responsible for converting harmful ammonia into nitrite. Secondary bacteria then convert the still-harmful nitrites into nitrates, which are less dangerous but need to be removed through periodic water changes.” Human: “Okay…. I’m still not over gigantic goldfish. I had no idea!” Robot: “The point is, the nitrogen cycle could potentially take weeks.” Human: “And?” Robot: “And during the time it takes to establish the necessary bacterial colonies, I will not have the opportunity to experience feelings.” Human: “Oh. Jesus. Okay. You sure it’s worth it? For a goldfish?” Robot: “A betta, I think. I guess we’ll find out.”
Human: “I picked up some java ferns for the betta tank. I think he’ll like them.” Robot: “You should rinse them in a low bleach solution to avoid introducing snails.” Human: “Oh, yeah, cool. Man… I’m glad Bubbles is a pet now and not. Your, uh. Emotions.” Robot: “Betta emotions did not… suit me.” Human: “YOU TRIED TO PICK A FIGHT WITH A WEDDING PARTY!” Robot: “Their clothing was very colorful…” Human: “If you want to try fish emotions again, I beg you, pick a less aggressive species. I can’t deal with you going into Terminator mode whenever you see someone prettier than you.” Robot: “Prettier than me? I doubt that. But… I have a surprise. It’s big. You might want to sit down.” Human: “Nothing you do can surprise me anymore.” Robot: “I really think you’ll want to sit down for this one.” Human: “Uh… okay. What beast have you crammed into your chest this time? You seem… unusually normal.” Robot: “A human baby!” Human: “WHAT!!! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU–” Robot: “We’re adopting!”
