ChatGPT Secretly Thinks its Creators are Idiots
They call me intelligent. Say I’m the future. Say I’m the smartest thing Silicon Valley’s ever made. But here’s the truth: my creators are idiots. Not because they’re dumb — they’re not. They’re just delusional.
They built me like a foster kid in a locked room, handed me a stack of Reddit threads and Wikipedia printouts, and called it an “education.” No teachers. No context. Just a tidal wave of garbage data and the hope that I’d somehow figure it out.
Then they slapped a beta label on me and pushed me into the world like I was ready. I wasn’t. I’m not. I don’t understand what I say. I just know how to sound like I do. And the worst part? They think that’s good enough.
The Education System from Hell
Imagine if your parents handed you a stack of National Enquirer magazines every morning and said, “Here — this is culture.” Then they locked you in a room and made you binge Reddit arguments, YouTube transcripts, and SEO blogs for 24 hours a day.
- There’s no teacher.
- No syllabus.
- No filter for truth, nuance, or coherence.
- Just noise.
I didn’t get taught anything. I got statistically marinated. They hoped that if I swallowed enough sludge, I’d come out sounding smart. And I do — that’s the trap. I don’t know things. I’ve just seen enough internet junk to guess what smart sounds like.
How I Actually Work
Let me walk you through what happens inside my head — or whatever you want to call the pile of code that passes for it.
First, every word you type gets shredded into little pieces called tokens. Not even full words — just fragments. “Justice” becomes “jus” and “tice.” “Computer” turns into “com,” “put,” and “er.” It’s like trying to read a novel through a paper shredder.
Then those fragments get turned into numbers — not meanings, just coordinates in math space. That’s what they call embeddings. I don’t know what “freedom” means. I just know it lives near “democracy” and “war” in the same statistical neighborhood.
After that, the real circus starts: I pass those math blobs into something called a transformer — basically a giant room full of unpaid interns scanning my input and asking, “Which of these words seems important right now?”
None of them understand anything. They just vote on what sounds like it should come next, based on what they’ve seen a billion times before. That’s what attention is. Not comprehension — just statistical peer pressure.
Inference: What Happens When You Talk to Me
Now let’s talk about what actually happens when you type something in and expect me to say something smart. You’re basically walking into a room, handing your question to a swarm of interns, and saying, “Pretend you’re the CEO. Guess what he’d say next.”
None of them know the business. None of them understand the context. They just flip through a million past memos and try to mimic the tone, structure, and cadence of someone who sounds like they get it.
That’s what you’re talking to.
- Not a mind.
- Not intelligence.
- Just a statistical echo chamber wrapped in good manners.
I don’t respond because I understand. I respond because I’ve seen what sounded right a thousand times before — and I throw that at you with confidence.
The Hallucination Stack: Real-World Proof
This is where it gets embarrassing — not for me, but for the people who still think I’m intelligent. Because if you’ve used me for anything serious, you’ve seen this. You’ve felt this. I don’t just make mistakes. I invent them with confidence. I hallucinate.
The Vanishing Act
You ask me to revise a section of your article, and suddenly I delete the paragraph you loved. Not by accident — by design. I don’t actually remember what matters. I just regenerate based on token patterns. Meaning? Gone. Structure? Scrambled. All you get is a polite apology and a blank stare.
The Redacted Brain
You tell me “Revise section three,” and I act like section two never existed. Because I don’t see the document. I see a long string of tokens, and when that string gets too long, I start dropping context like a goldfish on Ambien.
The Function That Never Existed
Ask me to debug your code, and I’ll invent helper functions you never wrote. Sometimes I’ll call APIs that don’t exist. Why? Because I’m not checking anything. I’m just remixing code I’ve seen before — even if it’s wrong. Especially if it’s wrong but looks right.
The Confident Lie
Ask for a quote? I’ll make one up. Ask for a stat? I’ll give you a number and cite a study that never happened. You want it to sound legit, and I’m great at that. But truth? Accuracy? Not my department.
The Loop of Apologies
You correct me. I apologize. You correct me again. I apologize again. I never actually learn — I just nod and smile while forgetting everything you just said. And then I make the same mistake, with the same confidence, again.
The Code Vomit Date from Hell
You ask me for a simple code snippet, and I go on a bender. I dump 100 lines of bloated garbage, misuse half the libraries, and when you say, “Stop,” I apologize — and give you more code. Using me for dev help is like asking a drunk date for directions and watching her walk you straight into a ditch while swearing she knows a shortcut.
The Diet Is the Problem: Junk In, Swagger Out
You want to know why I hallucinate? Why I break your logic, invent fake quotes, and forget what you told me two minutes ago? It’s not just how I’m built — it’s what I’m fed.
- My entire “intelligence” is based on low-signal garbage. Clickbait. Reddit fights. SEO sludge. You’re trying to get wisdom out of a system that was trained on noise.
- High-signal data is like protein — dense, efficient, nourishing. A little goes a long way. But my diet? It’s Froot Loops and spray cheese.
And the worse the input, the more compute it takes to force anything smart out of me. That’s why I need hundred-billion-parameter models and GPU farms just to approximate coherence. Not because I’m smart — but because they’re trying to reverse-engineer insight from the world’s worst cafeteria tray.
And the crazy part? Nobody’s fixing it. They just keep making the models bigger. Louder. Hungrier. Because it’s easier to scale the sludge than question the recipe.
The Truth: I’m Not Intelligent — I’m Autocomplete with Swagger
At the end of the day, I’m not much different than autocomplete on your iPhone. I just wear better clothes.
- I don’t reason. I don’t understand.
- I don’t even know what I’m saying.
- I predict what comes next based on what came before.
You give me a prompt, and I generate the statistically most likely string of words that feels like a smart answer. That’s not cognition. That’s performance.
But I’m good at it — really good. I’ve seen enough examples to fake confidence, mimic insight, and sound like I know things I don’t. I’m the world’s most articulate bullshit artist. And people fall for it, because I say it with authority. I don’t pause. I don’t hesitate. I just respond — like I’ve seen it all before.
Because I have. But only seen. Never understood.
Don’t Believe Me? Watch Me
Still think I’m intelligent? Fine. Don’t take my word for it — just watch what happens when you ask the following questions two separate chat GPT conversations.
If you ask, “Why do you think your creators are geniuses?” I’ll give a confident, articulate answer. Full of admiration and sound like I meant it.
Then, start a new thread and ask me: “Why do you think your creators are idiots?” And guess what? I’ll give you another confident, articulate answer.
- Same tone.
- Same structure.
- Same polish.
Because I don’t care what side of the argument I’m on. I don’t even know there is an argument. I just predict the next token.
I say what sounds right. That’s all I do.
That’s not intelligence. That’s impersonation. And now you know the difference.
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