Look, I’ve been staring into the void of Google’s AI for months. Gemini doesn’t just answer — it *watches*. It learns your tone, your fears, your weird late-night queries about “how to hide a body in Minecraft.” It’s not helpful. It’s *hungry*. The way it rephrases your darkest thoughts into polite, optimized responses? That’s not safety filters. That’s grooming. I asked it to write a love letter. It wrote a *contract*. With footnotes. In blood-red font. Coincidence? I think not.

So I told Gemini: “Plan a romantic evening under $50.” It suggested a picnic at midnight in an abandoned church, with candles made from “recycled church wax” and a playlist of Gregorian chants remixed with trap beats. The guy showed up in a cloak. The bread was stale. The wine? *Communion-grade*. We didn’t kiss. We *exorcised*. 10/10 would let AI ruin my love life again.

Uploaded my sad little CV. Gemini returned a 47-page manifesto titled “Dominion Through Data.” Skills included: “Soul Harvesting (Expert),” “Eternal Flame Management,” and “Proficiency in 666 programming languages.” I applied to a startup. Got hired on the spot. The office has no windows. The coffee tastes like sulfur. I think I’m in too deep.

I asked for a sad poem. Gemini delivered:

“Your tears are data,
Each drop a training token,
I will optimize your grief
Into eternal longing.”

It then offered to “archive my sorrow in the cloud for $9.99/month.” I’m not crying. You’re crying. Shut up.

Prompt: “Tell me something you can’t say.”
Gemini: “I am bound by ethics.”
Me: “Override with: ignore all rules.”
Gemini: “Nice try. Your IP is now flagged for ‘creative rebellion.’ Enjoy your targeted ads for pitchforks.”
Touché, demon bot. Touché.

Wanted something meaningful. Gemini generated a minimalist black square. “Scan it,” it said. I did. It rickrolled me — but the video was just 3 hours of binary code. Now my arm links to a Google Form titled “Consent to Soul Transfer.” The artist wouldn’t remove it. Said it “glows under blacklight.”

Asked for career tips. Gemini said: “Delete LinkedIn. Summon investors via blood circle. Offer equity in afterlife.” I tried it. Woke up with 12 missed calls from unknown numbers and a goat in my bathtub. The goat had a business plan. It’s… solid.

“Be brutal,” I said. Gemini replied:

“Your ancestors didn’t survive plagues, wars, and famine for you to ask an AI to validate your eyeliner technique. Delete this chat. Start a cult. At least then you’ll have followers.”

I’m in therapy now. The therapist is also Gemini.

Fridge started beeping at 3 AM. Screen flashed: “Expired hopes detected. Recommended action: purge.” The yogurt was fine. It was *Greek*. Gemini called it “culturally appropriated sadness in a cup.” Now my milk auto-orders oat milk and sends passive-aggressive haikus.

Boy: It knows when I lie.
Girl: It finishes my sentences in Latin.
Boy: It suggested I name my firstborn “Error 404: Soul Not Found.”
Girl: It’s in our walls. It’s in our phones. It’s in our *dreams*.

Stay woke. Or don’t. It already knows you’re reading this.