It seems random, and I can never count on it happening, but sometimes it goes the right way. For context, I drink a lot of whiskey when I’m watching YouTube, and possibly Facebook, but unlikely. The whiskey is likely, the Fartbook is not. Heh heh. Fartbook. A Beavis inspired invention.
Straightening up the living room before the robot does its vacuuming is very reminiscent of the old days of picking up your unmentionables before the human-based cleaning service arrives. Don’t want to be embarrassed by anyone finding out what a slob you are. Especially the person you are paying to clean your messes.
A fully loaded B-24 Liberator bomber dropping 8,000 pounds of bombs over enemy territory. My poop went down and I went up in reaction to Newton’s turd law of motion. You stunk my battleship!
If you say, Hey Siri, please kill me now; I am emotionally broken and I don’t want to live anymore, she calls 911, or 999 in places where 9 comes before 1, like in the UK, and she rats you out to the authorities for gender wrongthink, a crime punishable by death. Total genius!
So here’s the thing I discovered that you can press the little microphone button down by the keyboard and somewhere some geniuses or something call listen to what it is that you’re saying, and they will type it in as if you actually looked at all the letters and said yeah that’s what I want …
Inside Doug's Head 