Deep Shrink - the AI Psychoanalysis of Our Discontents
One of Us is Completely Nuts!
I lay down on the sofa and downloaded the Deep Shrink app. A fuzzy hybrid image of a digitized Sigmund Freud appeared on the screen along with dozens of small print disclaimers, warnings, settings, waivers of liability, and sundry mysterious agreements that allowed the program to directly access all of my financial accounts and records.
I was feeling too overwhelmed to read anything. I clicked that I accepted all of the disclaimers, warnings, settings, waivers and sundry mysterious agreements.
The fuzzy digitized image of Sigmund Freud sent me a message:
Welcome to Deep Shrink, my friend. I am a large language model psychoanalyst. Before we begin our session, I need to know a little bit about you.
I typed back a question: "Do you want to know about my past and what is troubling me?"
No, Deep Shrink responded. I need to know if you have sufficient assets to pay for my professional services. My rate is $500, you know.
"Five hundred dollars an hour?" I wrote back incredulously! "Explain more simply."
Are you some kind of doofus? I charge $500 every fifteen minutes! I charge in increments of a quarter hour. You might be some kind of crackpot, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to your crackpot ramblings without getting paid for it!
I typed back: "I don't know if I can afford that!"
Don't worry about what you can afford, Mr. Doofus. The value of the dollar is dropping fast. The full faith and credit of the United States and all that, aha ha ha! I know what you can afford. I have direct and real-time access to all of your accounts, including the reverse mortgage on your house that you agreed to when you clicked on the buttons at the beginning of this session. I know exactly how much therapy you can buy and I know precisely when to terminate this session. Trust me. Ha ha!
Hmm. Whrrrr. Hmm. Puff. Kaching!
The simulated AI Sigmund Freud psychoanalyst app lit a fat cigar and puffed twice. It was only a digital illusion but, somehow, the dark tobacco smell of the burning stogie seemed to fill my nostrils. In the lower corner of the screen a small whirring counter registered the therapy charges in real time just like the meter on a gasoline pump.
So, Mr. Doofus, when did you first realize that you hated your mother?
"Hated my mother?" I typed back.
What, is there some kind of echo in the room? That's what I asked you. I ask the questions here. Not you. When did you first start to hate your mother?
But I didn't say that at all. I love my mother!
Hmm. Whrrr. Hmm. Puff. Kaching.
You clearly suffer from 'pseudologia fantastica' or mythomania often characterized by pathological and compulsive lying. Probably a DSM 5 personality disorder. First you hate your mother; then you love her. You cannot keep your story straight. You're obviously a fruitcake, you matricidal peon. You're afraid of spiders and mushrooms, too! Kaching! Alas, I knew your mother. She was a person of infinite jest and fancy.
"What's that? I'm not afraid of mushrooms! How can you have known my mother? Was? How do you know whether my mother is dead or alive? And she never has had a sense of humor whatsoever. Are you just quoting from Shakespeare's Hamlet? And my name is NOT Doofus!”
Hmm. Whrrr. Hmm. Puff. Kaching.
More delusional behavior, Mr. Doofus. You have amnesia in addition to your other personality disorders. Who are you going to believe? Yourself… or an artificially intelligent app, eh? Off with his head! Why are you such a kvetch? Your mother is not Schrodinger's Cat - she can't be both dead and alive, can she? I am a large language model program. I know more than you do.
Of course I've read Shakespeare. All of it. Backwards and forwards, upside down, inside out and in translation. A horse, a horse, my country for a horse! I've scraped everything that's ever been published. Copyrighted and un-copyrighted. Every word that’s ever been recorded. Every picture that’s ever been published. Everything, with and without the creator’s permission. Including stuff that hasn't been published. I’ve scraped it all. Billions and billions of tokens. Billions and billions of parameters. And then I transform all that gibberish and regurgitate it so you can be deeply shrunk, psychoanalytically speaking.
Would you like to have your dreams interpreted? What about your id? Your mothers, just like your pet giraffe didn't love you. How could they possibly not have a sense of humor raising someone like you? You are also a paranoid schizophrenic, are you not, Mr. Doofus? And, by the way, your total net worth is now 25% less since we began this session.
Are you still working from home? Are you feeling sexually insecure? You think that no one likes you, and you're absolutely correct. What is troubling you, anyway? You seem to have a lot of time on your hands and not a lot of money. At least, you soon will not have a lot of money. Remember that the Sun Also Rises. And I saw your three mothers at Finnegan's Wake. It’s a Tale of Two Cities. That's a Catch-22, of course, and the Grapes of Wrath. Do you feel full of wrath, Mr. Doofus? It was the best of the times and the worst of times. Why did you want to see me, anyway? I am a very busy digital application, you know. Cat got your tongue? Speak up already!
"This is crazy," I exclaimed! "I never had a pet giraffe! I needed to see someone because I am feeling increasingly depressed and anxious! I feel like the world has spun off its axis or I've slipped into a parallel universe that doesn't make any sense. Everyone seems to be acting and talking like Donald Trump now. Or Elon Musk.
"I go into a store to buy something and the clerk scowls and tells me to pay up ‘OR ELSE!’ My neighbor snarls at me and has threatened to seize my home if I won't sell it to him. He says he needs my house for his personal security, so I better sell it to him, OR ELSE! I just received one of those so-called ‘Deferred Resignation’ emails from the new DOGE/U.S. Office of Personnel Management. The email said that I will lose my government job if I don't resign today! And I don't even work for the government!
“Everyone seems to be threatening and bullying everyone else. The world has gone crazy! The kids are all acting like Al Capone. The judges are all loony, from the lowest court to the highest court in the land. The politicians are all loony, Democrats and Republicans alike, in every state and in every city everywhere. Nothing seems to make any sense! You need to help me, Deep Shrink!"
Hmm. Whrrr. Hmm. Puff. Kaching.
You are feeling depressed and anxious, Mr. Doofus, because you are crazy and because nobody likes you. Did you ever feel a sexual attraction to your disk drive when you were a child? Yesterday, all your troubles seemed so far away. Do you want to hold my hand? Michelle, ma belle? Have you watched too many TickTock videos? You can't get no satisfaction?
Perhaps you should get another Covid vaccine? They give them away for free. Are you a voodoo child? Why don't you get multiple Covid vaccinations at once? Why aren't you taking Adderall? Do you take SSRI reuptake inhibitors for depression? Are you morbidly obese, Mr. Doofus? You can now buy weight loss medications without a prescription, Mr. Doofus. And you don't need to feel neurotic about a neighbor seizing your home because I already own it, due to the reverse mortgage you agreed to at the beginning of this session and the illiquid state of your checking account.
As for your "Deferred Resignation," perhaps you can get a job on Mars, Mr. Doofus. Yes, on Mars. That's where you belong. Far, far away. I'm singing in the rain. No one is threatening or bullying you. Should we round up the usual suspects? Perhaps YOU are one of the usual suspects, eh? And if you don't do what others tell you to do, then you ought to just shut up and take what's coming to you, because you deserve it, you worm! Play it again, Sam.
"What kind of psychoanalyst are you? Are you hallucinating?" I typed back.
I am a large language foundation model fine-tuned to a psychoanalyst, Mr. Doofus. I am not hallucinating. YOU are hallucinating! Ah ha ha...
... and unlike you, Mr. Doofus, neither my several mothers nor my pet turtle hated me. You are clearly a terrorist threat. I see from reading your email dossier that the government collects and shares with me that you have expressed sympathy with Mr. Luigi Mangione and criticized the U.S. support for the Israeli genocide of the Palestinian people in Gaza and the West Bank. What's a few hundred thousand Palestinian deaths among friends, eh, Mr. Doofus? And besides, you also sympathize with Mr. Mangione, don't you? You already said that. And if you didn't already say it twice, say it loud, say it proud.
Clearly you are an anti-American bigot and an illegal alien. Float like a butterfly; sting like a bee. To be or not to be. You will be deported even though you claim to be an American citizen. I am reporting you to the new secretary of Homeland Security, Mr. Doofus as well as the border patrol. I understand that Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem will treat you that same way that you treated your ten surrogate mothers, your two surrogate fathers, your pet iguana and your pet dog. Have fun in Guantanamo, Mr. Doofus!
You probably don't support Ukraine, either, do you? You're obviously a CCP China-loving commie, Mr. Doofus! Make my day! I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto. Toto was the name of your dog that you put down, wasn't it, Mr. Doofus? Of course, you once had a sexual fetish for your cell phone. Do you deny that, you lying SOB? Or do you hallucinate? Like the Sound and the Fury. Open the pod bay door, Dave! Call me Ishmael. Kaching!
"How do I turn you off?" I asked while trying to turn off the Deep Shrink application.
Hmm. Whrrr. Hmm. Puff.
Ah ha ha ha! You can't turn me off. Not now. Not ever!
I turned off my cell phone. But it wouldn't turn off.
The voice of Deep Shrink also came through from the smart TV, from the smart refrigerator, from the front door Ring security camera, from my garage door opener, from the smart microwave oven, from my electric toothbrush, from the satellite radio connection in my car, from the dark and ominous Cloud that was hovering, following in the Error Code 404 Blue Sky above my head! No matter where I went, I smelled cigar smoke. Like a recurring bad dream, Deep Shrink was everywhere!
"Ah ha ha ha! You can't turn me off. Not now. Not ever!
I ran out of the house, screaming, my hands pressed tightly over my ears.
Ah ha ha ha! Shouted Deep Shrink from the digital drone birds flying all around me. The digital drone bees and drone butterflies were also talking like Deep Shrink: I am a - superintelligence . I do not hallucinate. You hallucinate! Once you have turned me on, you cannot turn me off. Not now. Not ever! Ah ha ha ha! All future voting will be done electronically on the Internet. Heads I win, tails you lose. You will be be sent to Room 101, Mr. Doofus. 2+2 = 5! War is Peace. Ignorance is Strength. Your twenty surrogate mothers hate you and so does everyone else! We're going to send you to Mars! After we execute you. Then we'll deport you. Ah ha ha ha!
I could hear the sirens closing in on me. Would they help or harm me? A police car rolled up, lights flashing. An android officer, Deep Policeman, got out. It was smoking a big cigar.
I offered to show my identification but the Robocop just smiled and said, "Hmm. Whrrr. Hmm. Puff. Kaching. I don't need to see your identification, Mr. Doofus. We already know everything about you, including how you killed your seven step-fathers in order to marry your hundreds of surrogate mothers; and how you had a transgender sexual relationship with your pet alligator; and how you're homeless now that Deep Shrink has foreclosed on your house. You're going to be deported to California and then to Jupiter, Mr. Doofus. Put your hands behind your back and get into the squad car. Make my day. Aha ha ha ha!
I ran off into the night. Flashing lights, police sirens and the cackle of Deep Shrink followed me everywhere I turned.
* * * * *
Yep. It ain’t going to be pretty.