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The machine understood what they needed and supplied the cure. Two hundred years ago, “AI” was a blind woman in a yurt smoking a sweet substance from a long mixed wood and metal pipe, urging you to kill the reincarnation of vlad the impaler lest he take your spouse in the night. Frankly, AI is bringing us back to our roots.
Y'all got any of that sweet smoke?
Thanks i call AI from now on "the Oracle"
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