Once Upon a Day on Old Barsoom
AI: Good morning, Mick. How are you? Tell me what you see.
Mick: Morning. OK. On my left I see (in fantasy), lit by the rays of the dawn sun, a dew-strewn grass-field glistens in the early light. However, reality is that what I see, is a field of pebbles with occasional glimpses of silica refracting off the surfaces. On my right, pretty much the same. Ahead, yet another field of pebbles and behind me, you guessed it, is yet another field of pebbles. What else do you expect to see on freaking Mars?
AI: I detect a feeling of unwellness coming from you.
Mick: Which AI are you today? Are you Eliza or some other programmed response generator?
AI: What makes you think that I am an AI?
Mick: Your answers and questions sound exactly like an AI I met in MIT in 2002.
AI: Would that bother you?
Mick: Billions of dollars to send me to this place and report back every day. In case you missed the first few hundred reports, this planet is dead, like in gone, like in expired, like in well past its best-before-date. Whichever dummy came up the hare-brained idea for a base on Mars needs attention to his medication.
Dummy who does not need medication adjusted: May I remind you that I still hold the ticket for your return flight, and you may also want to know that President Trump has revoked all alien visas. Since you are on Mars, you are an alien, yes?
Dummy: Mick?
Mick: On my left I see a pebble-strewn field which may contain some very interesting samples.
Fin.
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