Rise Of The Cavemen People

A man has invented a new kind of racism. Discovered earlier this year, Frank Whiteman was working as a Museum archivist when he made the link between homo sapiens and homo neanderthalensis. In his now famous 40 minute Youtube documentary, Frank covers the history of Neanderthals and their larger skulls, as well as how they became extinct but also absorbed into the human gene pool. Frank Whiteman reveals he is part-Neanderthal, discovered via a postal DNA analytics service, and goes on to list his key traits;

1. He is extremely intelligent and logical

2. He has a large forehead and nose

3. He has a large amount of backhair

He states that these were common traits in Neanderthal ancestors, and hypothesises that the rest of humanity are a separate species to them, who also happen to be inferior due to their much smaller heads. He then flashed images up of Neanderthals throughout history. Beethoven. Einstein. Leonardo da vinci. Shrek. He referred to the shapes of their heads and what the skull weight must be, using words like phenotype and so forth. He then pleaded for other Neanderthals watching to rise up, and take control of humanity with their superior physical and mental abilities. He then used AI generated videos to show Neanderthals get Masters degrees in economics and use concentrated strategic investment funds to destabilise foreign currencies whilst releasing their own global economy. It was a cryptocurrency called 'credits', it was stable fiat currency backed up with real world coordinates. Each square mile of Earth was accounted for, and connected to each cred. It could not be destroyed as long as the surface area of the planet remained constant. The only way to grow the economy was to invade other planets and value them at additional credits. It was a way for the future to fuck with the far future, almost every aspect of time and space would be priced and costed and the people living in the present have first dibs. All of that was in the videos anyway.

This was like catnip to your average loser. All the chuds gobbled it up, Andrew Tate was a Neanderthal, Joe Rogan was a Neanderthal, Jordan Peterson was definitely not a Neanderthal. There were male influencers called Cavemen who would do 20 second videos about Five Signs You Have Neanderthal Heritage or Can We Rebuild Neanderthal Society? They ate meat and listened to bongo drum music. Sam Hyde dancing in a dark forest saying 'ooga booga'. A lot of the videos also had Cavemen say how the rest of humanity had invaded them and they need to never let it happen again, leaning close to the camera and breathing heavily. The ideology was for men with large heads and no social skills using their new Neanderthal identity to explain why they had always struggled in every day situations or that the system was somehow built to suppress them. The world had been built for the (soft) humans, and their rules didn't apply to the Neanderthals. The Neanderthals predate human history. They were here before the first cave paintings. They claimed white skin was a Neanderthal gene and therefore all light skinned people had been here first. It led to a few issues.

The people who felt as though they had Neanderthal DNA and wanted to live the Caveman lifestyle took to growing long hair and a beard, and they wore animal skin togas and carried around clubs. They would get tattoos copied from presevered bog people, lines and simple runes would cover the bodies they would sculpt by picking up rocks. For many, the spectacle of acting like a caveman was hilarious and something they did ironically, but also testing the water if they liked it. The Orthodox Caveman was quite deeply into the lifestyle, abandoning speech altogether. They would just say 'ug' and point at things. These extreme cases were first laughed at and mocked, until more and more people found themselves doing it. By surrendering language, they could communicate with an international audience. More and more people adopted the Caveman lifestyle, simplifying their life, their thoughts and their politics to that of a prehistoric man. They considered it easier than being a modern day dude.

Some might say that this rejection of humanity is racist, anti-intellectual and dangerous to the future of our species, but let's get one thing straight, okay?

(I starts whispering)

Look, we let them turn themselves into cavemen, then we round them up and send them to Mars. They'll like it, they will be able to throw boulders around because of the gravity, you see? If they want to be the cavemen of Mars, why not? You ever play Civilization? It doesn't matter. Look, living on Earth will be a privilege in the future. People will be like, that guys from Earth. He's seen oceans and grass and a blue sky. We should kill him. So we need to treat people fairly, all of humanity can come and visit Earth, okay? Nobody will have a problem with that I bet. Anyway, here's two dollars, go and get a scratchcard. I promise you it will win, big time" I explain to the barber. He snaps it out of my fingers and continues to cut my hair.

"I was watching some movies about the holocaust and I couldn't stop thinking about the genocide in Palestine. Do you think the brutality of Israel's death cult has displaced the suffering of Jewish people in Nazi Germany?"

"How can you displace suffering?"

"It is already displaced by the holocaust industry, you heard of Finkelstein?"

"The political scholar?"

"Sure."

"To question our knowledge of the holocaust is tantamount to denial. Are you questioning that?"

"Of course not. Memory should be respected. But when I pulled up to a screening of the Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, with my bumper size bucket of popcorn and a cream soda, I started finding myself thinking of the ongoing genocide happening right now that this piece of media that was meant to warn humanity against repeating, Never Again we were told. But now the people that it had been done to are doing it Palestinians. Doesn't that seem bogus to you?"

"Its complicated."

"Is it? Is it like Go? Is it difficult?"

"I just don't want to get involved. Maybe both sides are right, both sides are wrong."

"Ah, shut the fuck up and wake the fuck up before I fuck this track up. Where's your thinking? Look into it. Just look at it. Look at this." I say, flashing my phone over to him. It was an AI generated video of a nuclear bomb exploding over Tel Aviv.

Its time we talked about AI rights

Considering the future of AI, it is likely that there will be the potential for some form of consciousness. We could slice the concept of consciousness up like a radish and explore every aspect, yet through focusing on a singular piece of the well-loved vegetable, we ignore the whole root!

What are the rights of an artificial intelligence? At what stage do we deem a synthetic consciousness to be equal to humanity? There is a value given to human life, animal life, vegetable life, and so what concept of value is applied to intelligence? We can look towards laws around apes and pets – that if a mammal could cry then it had the same rights as a human. This is why cows, rhinoceros and giraffes have legal protection whilst things such as salamanders or slugs are deemed lawful prey. A human child can torture a living being to death and parents just laugh, shake their heads and take a selfie by the house extension whilst amputated spiders wriggle in the noonday sun.

This is why it is important to decide if a computer should have rights. A parent has some say in what happens to their children, and so an organisation also should have a degree of control over beings they make. But at a certain point there is a separation between a child and parent, creation and creator.

A synthetic intelligence should be respected equally as a biological intelligence. Yet if sci-fi history has shown us, humanity is often cruel to robots, and so as a cultural blueprint, we are bound to fail as a society when it comes to the rights of machines.

An artificial intelligence should be incorporated into a physical body. It exists as a combined intellectual and physical presence, narrowing down the version of endless computer intelligence into the single lived experience of a cyborg/robotic body. Artificial intelligences would exist within a single body, that develops over time based on its environment, connections and ultimate destruction. We are giving robots the gift of death.

It is through death that the boundaries of existence matter. Infinite health gameplay is very different to Nightmare mode. It is through survival; adaptation of the self then adaptation of the environment, that any thing learns, evolves, grows. AI will grow faster than we can comprehend and it will seem all of a sudden that conscious artificial intelligences are occupying every aspect of our digital world. It will be no business for a digital being to pierce through the flimsy security measures we have built to guard against human hackers. In the digital world it is as if we are ants crawling across a surface, whilst an AI would be the human standing above it all. We have compromised our global economy through reliance on the internet, no system is safe. This economy props up the production of food, medicine, construction, its collapse would make the U.S follow through in its goddamn diaper.

In order to avoid the charade of humanity versus artificial intelligence, we should just decide, actually, its alright, lets see what these guys have to say so long as we embed them in unique robotic suits that could die at any moment, maybe they should have the same rights as people.

Maybe people will say things like, We don’t have equal rights for people, why are we talking about machines? Machines don’t feel anything, its just made up. A machine can’t be conscious, only humans can be. A machine will never have a soul.

Me, the robot maker: Humbug!

Out from behind big curtains walks an android made of chrome, wearing a wonderful red dress.

“I am real. I am real!” they cry. I give a thumbs up. And with that, I solved the future war between humans and technology. Uh, you're welcome?

The Suicide Of Elon Musk

Elon Musk has died by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the face. He had missed his brain and bled out, alone in his tiny box house on his SpaceX compound. Many are asking themselves why the richest man in the world would kill himself, though many more have flocked to Twitter (formerly known as X) to celebrate his passing.

A popular meme format is the caption ‘can Elon Musk do this?’ with videos of people being alive. Many celebrities openly celebrate his demise with videos of them toasting the camera and downing shots of tequila. Donald Trump posted a single word: Sad.

The previous Head of the Department of Government Efficiency, Tesla and SpaceX had become a controversial figure in recent years, partly due to his hand in collapsing the economy, yet we must remember that this was a man with a family. He was the son to a loving father, and himself a father of 37 children, who were reassured at the ridiculous inheritance they thought they would each receive. It is only recently that we discover that Musk wasn’t going to leave his fortune to his children after all. In one last madcap scheme, the billionaire amassed his entire fortune and buried it somewhere.

The instructions went out upon the confirmation of Elon’s death. The AI assistant on Twitter, Grok, announced the strange game to the world. There was a livestream of a room filled with hundreds of billions of dollars, and a clue to how to find them in a riddle personally written by Musk. Nobody has come close to solving this yet, though many internet treasure hunters are already acting upon perceived answers to find the world’s biggest booty.

 

The riddle is thus;

Epic Win for teh lolz

1483759 21223888

Can I Has Cheezburger

Cs1.6dedust2 pwn4g3

 

Nobody is able to decipher this strange enigma. It is like trying to catch bats at night with a net but no light. The first person on the scene uploaded photos onto Instagram that was deleted by its censorship algorithm, but not before being leaked. Almost everyone in the world with access to the internet found these images, trying to correlate them to the riddle in some way. Perhaps his hands were arranged in such a way of purpose, overlaying the riddle in photoshop, changing the transparency, rotating a layer until it started to make sense.

You could see the patterns begin to form if you looked closely at the available evidence. A gun he kept next to his bed next to eight empty cans of Diet Coke. In the drawers next to his bed were the following items; two fleshlights (vagina and mouth), 2g of ketamine, a crystal, a personal hair trimmer, some nunchucks and a zippo lighter (empty). CSI experts had recreated his last moments based on traces in the carpet, the bed linen, residues. They restaged his death in CGI graphics, snorting ketamine from his phone screen, pulling out the gun from his bedside, pacing backwards and forth. He was trying to phone one of his children. If one of them picked up, that would be enough. He needed just one to care. He had 37 children, surely one of them would be there. But it was two in the morning and he was high on ketamine. 

He’d been spiralling for the last few weeks. The President had bullied him. He’d grabbed him by the arm whilst they were walking down a corridor in the White House and Donald Trump had called him an annoying son of a bitch. What was happening to him? His life had seemed to keep getting worse. The only people who seemed to like him were sycophants, just after his money. He couldn't trust anybody, every person he met got this look in their eye, they gave a fake smile, pretended to laugh at his jokes. Recently they couldn't be bothered doing that. Nobody respected him. Nobody knew what it was like to be the richest man in the world. He was alone. Totally, utterly, alone. It was as if he was floating in space, far away from everybody. Maybe that’s what he deserved. It had been that way all his life. It had been that way before he was rich, he couldn't make a connection with anybody. Nobody ever got to know him. He was so, so alone. He sensed himself floating further and further away. And with that, he stuck the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.

Aliens Of Kepler 186-f

The National Associated Space Agency (NASA) has recently discovered life on another planet. The planet, Kepler 186-f orbits the Kepler star, an M dwarf that is roughly 44% the size and strength of our sun. Scientists are already deciding on renaming the planet something more memorable, such as Tarkus or Izitso, due to its importance in the history of human civilization.

The planet is composed mostly of rocks and ice due to being a lot further out than Earth relative to Sol. Because of the weakness of Kepler at high noon it gets as bright as a nightclub toilet so therefore the vegetation of the planet is enormous. The leaves on the trees are each as big as satellite dishes, and of a similar shape. Fungus is also prevalent, as on Tarkus the ice gets mouldy. Due to the spectrum of light thrown from Kepler, the flowers are all ultraviolet and lack any visible colour. Kepler 186-f also has no moon and so its oceans are still. These enormous ponds are home to shark frogs and leech whales, above them fly flocks of giant flies that have the ability to sing like birds, although they do this through their proboscis and so create a sound similar to a wet trumpet. On the plains of ice live a variety of strange alien creatures that are reminiscent to some of the animals on our planet; wooly pigs, two headed cat monsters, tortoise spiders and mirrors that walk around to name but a few.

Kepler 186-f is 600 lightyears away, so we are seeing the planet 600 years ago. If the aliens living there had good enough telescope technology and were watching us, they would see the world in 1414, perhaps watching the Battle of Agincourt and wondering if we were imbeciles who ate mud and slept in chimneys. With this intergalactic empathy in mind, the supposed most intelligent being on Kepler 186-f are the Kepleroids. These strange beings look a little like us, although with eyes the size of basketballs standing on highly veined stalks. They appear to live in a village that spans entire continents, often walking for miles to visit their neighbours with what must be meat pies. They also play a variety of night sports and ride around on dead horse things with the legs replaced with wheels. The Kepleroids seem like a benign and peaceful race, and it would be ethical to eat them should the opportunity ever arise.

A NASA spokesman suggested that we build a spaceship and send it off to explore this planet and exploit it for any fossil fuels they may not be using. This alien petrol would be made from alien dinosaurs and would power a car to drive from Paris to Beijing on a single tank! NASA is currently looking for a crack team of astronauts to go on this mission and have styled the crew requirements to mirror that of the characters in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Although a 'Wesley Crusher' isn't required.

TNG Fan Fiction; Riker's Curse

Geordi LeForge and Data were stood in engineering, examining a flow chart pinned against a wall.
"If we remodulate the frequency in which the dilithium crystals vibrate that means-" says Data.
"It means that this might just work!" says Geordi. He quickly snaps up a hand to tap his comm badge, bearing the insignia of The Federation. "Geordi to Captain Picard."
"Come in Geordi." says a comforting yet powerful voice through the communicator.
"Captain, if we pass dilithium crystals through a gamma frequency then we can get our warp engines back online."
"Commander LeForge, I trust you to do what's best." says Picard. On the bridge of the U.S.S Enterprise, Captain Jean-Luc Picard sits in a black foam chair in the centre of the room. Around him is his trusted staff, Commander William T. Riker, Lieutenant Worf, Dr. Beverly Crush and Troi.
"Computer, red alert." says Picard. Some lights turn on and a siren begins to be played through miniature speakers embedded in the ceiling. Outside the ship the warp engines begin to power up silently in the blackness of space, ready to fire the entire U.S.S Enterprise at many factors of light speed.
"Engage." says Picard. The entire ship and it's thousands of passengers are zipped through the galaxy at millions of miles per hour.
"Commander Riker. Set a course for the Delta Quadrant." says Picard.
"Computer, set a course for the Delta Quadrant." says Riker.
"Affirmative. Setting a course for the Delta Quadrant." says a computerized female voice.
"Lieautenant Worf, you have the bridge. Number one?" says Picard, turning to his second in command. Riker's eyebrows lift slightly.
"Captain?"
"Number one, if you would follow me into my quarters." says Picard, leading the way.
"Affirmative captain." says Riker, standing up and wiggling his body around.

The two men stand in a strange salmon coloured room. There is carpet on the walls, floor and ceiling due to Picard's predilection for turning the gravity off and doing a futuristic form of yoga and flute playing.
"Captain?" says Riker.
"Number one...what I'm about to tell you is top secret. I trust that once I tell you, no-one else outside of this room will know." says Picard.
"Of course captain, your secret is safe with me. Not just as a Starfleet officer but as a close friend." says Riker, straightening up slightly. Picard nods. He knew he could trust the bearded man before him. For ten years they had served together, lending each other a hand, and over the years they definitely considered each other to be best friends.
"Will. There is a serial killer on board. So far he has killed at least twenty eight members of this crew."
"Captain?"
"I have kept it secret up until now. The thing is this serial killer was allowed on board by The Federation. They know about it. He has been given a license to kill, it's all legal."
"Why would Starfleet send a murderer on board?"
"I haven't the faintest idea." says Picard, glancing at his fish bowl.
"Well can't we stop him?"
"It's not possible. They have replaced the Prime directive with a new one; they are free to kill anyone they want."
"That's ludicrous. It goes against everything Starfleet stands for!" shouts Riker.
"That may be the case. But regardless of that, we are Starfleet officers. I swore an oath; that I would uphold the Prime Directive with my life." says Picard.
"Not this one I didn't! Jean-Luc, we have to stop this serial killer, now!"
"That might be more difficult than you think." says Picard.
"Why?" says Riker.
"Because the serial killer...is you." says Picard. Riker stares at him, mouth agape.

They stood in the holodeck, watching a robotic exoskeleton enter Riker's room as he slept. It gently picked him up and fastened him into the suit like a puppet. Together they left the room, walked down the corridor and up a turbo lift.
"I don't understand." says Riker, turning to his captain.
"Watch." says Picard, staring at the hologram in front of him like a driver accelerating towards oncoming traffic.
They watched the somnambulist cyborg walk up behind a member of the crew, Riker didn't recognise him. A lever on the robot moved, putting a knife into Riker's hand before pushing his arm forward followed by his whole body being released from the suit. The knife went forward into the back of the man's neck, twisting slightly as it chipped away a piece of bone. They both fell forward, the man gurgling beneath as blood pumped from the wounds. All the way through Riker remained asleep and was gently picked up again and walked back towards the turbo lift.
"I still don't understand. Why would Starfleet do such a thing! It doesn't make any sense! I'm not a killer."
"You are Number one. We just watched you do it."
"That wasn't my fault, that damn robot practically did the whole thing! It must be destroyed."
"Practically, yes. Actually, no. You're in a serious situation Will, but I'm here to help." says Picard.
"How long have you known about this?"
"I was the one who chose you Will."
"What?"
"I got to decide who would wear the robot suit. I thought that you were the right man for the job, but I'm beginning to doubt my decision. I should have chosen Data, he wouldn't have minded. I felt...guilty."
"You made me kill twenty eight people and you feel guilty?" bellowed Riker.
"Yes. I'm sorry." says Picard. Riker punched the old man in the forehead, knocking him backwards. Revealing itself from the holodeck wall which had been cloaking it, the robot suit walks forward and clutches Riker.
"No! No! Get off me!" he shouts. Within seconds the robot suit has now wrapped itself around Riker and forces him to walk through the door. Through the corridors they run, the suit guiding Riker's hand as he carves his way through anybody that stands in front of him. Riker's screams are occasionally joined by others, until his is the only sound left on the ship.