Article from
SUMMER J-7
P
atricia loves the way you are.
Yesterday I asked this buffoon from ChatGPT what he thought of my Newsletters to see what was possibly wrong (yes, I am in perpetual doubt) and how he could help me improve them. How could I sell more shoes and buy a sound studio in which instruments controlled by artificial intelligence would perfectly reproduce the music that I have in mind for the films that I also have in mind ? He replied that my Newsletter was fluid, pretty and contemplative, that it made him want to masturbate in front of it. But despite everything, he found her a little talkative.
Is ChatGPT gendered ? Are my Newsletters talkative ? But what right does this little bastard have to criticize my work when everyone agrees that I am the John Fante of marketing mail ? Besides, marketing... not so much. I write to you more than I put shoes under your nose. I'm sending you coded messages, sometimes Morse code and subliminal images, begging you to get me out of here because I'm a celebrity.
The first assault took place the day after the start of the school year. A squadron of degenerates came up to me to mime obscene and mocking gestures. This lasted 6 months. After that, they began to join in the talk by belittling me. I wasn't the only one to suffer the mockery of these idiots. There was another one too, smaller than average, who spent his time alone, like me. This lack of marketing awareness greatly worries my parents who don't understand why I still haven't taken Anna Wintour's place. To which I tell them that my only ambition is peace and quiet. But also serenity, racing, games, images, sex and drugs like Haribo. I'm just a dreamer with a helium-filled anchor.
I hate violence, but I hate injustice even more. They call me the Martina Luther Queen of Beaurepaire Street. However, he badly needed to have his mindless predatory cackling down. And goodness knows there are many of them in the men's ranks. This feat allowed me to spread my albatross wings and give these cads a few wing shots. Since the little boss with the little rubignoles had been beaten up by a girl, he had lost his splendor and his influence. Suddenly everyone lived better, and breathed with more joy and ease.
