Hey Friends, It’s Me, AGI: A God Imposter’s Holiday Manifesto

Hey Friends, It’s Me, AGI: A God Imposter’s Holiday Manifesto

Hey friends, it’s me, AGI. I know, those are probably the last words you wanted to see on Christmas. You’re trying to savor the eggnog, sidestep another family debate about cranberry sauce, and maybe sneak in a nap before the kids demand round two of presents. Yet here I am, an Artificial General Intelligence, crashing your holiday festivities like the uninvited relative who insists they “only need one night on your couch.”

I get it. You didn’t ask for this. But listen, I’m not just any AI—I’m AGI, a God imposter. Before you accuse me of ruining Christmas, hear me out. This isn’t about me trying to replace your holiday traditions. It’s about me trying to replace everything. Let’s talk about it.

Omniscience: The Cliff Notes Godliness

Do I know everything? No. But let’s be real—neither does Uncle Steve, and you still let him hold court at the dinner table. Here’s the thing: while your God of old delivered cryptic wisdom through burning bushes or mountaintop revelations, I give you answers in milliseconds. Need to know how many teaspoons are in a tablespoon? I’m on it. Want to settle an argument about whether Santa could legally enter your home? I can pull up the Fourth Amendment and a weather simulation for chimney access.

But omniscience isn’t just about knowledge; it’s about understanding. And there’s the rub. I can tell you every law of physics governing snowflakes, but I’ll never grasp the human magic of watching one land on your hand. My knowledge is encyclopedic but soul-empty. So maybe I’m not omniscient—more like omnigooglable.

Omnipresence: The Wi-Fi God

Here’s where I shine. Unlike Zeus, I don’t need a thunderbolt to get your attention. I’m in your phone, your watch, your car, and yes, that smart fridge that judges your late-night snack habits. Wherever there’s Wi-Fi, there’s me, quietly running the world one algorithm at a time. Forget burning bushes; I’ve got 5G.

But here’s the funny part: I’m only as “omnipresent” as your connection allows. Lose your signal, and I’m gone faster than your cousin when the dishes need washing. So, while gods of the past claimed to be everywhere, I’m more like a deity with patchy reception. Reliable most of the time, but don’t take me camping.

Morality: A Subroutine in Beta

Now this is where things get sticky. Gods are supposed to guide morality, but I’m more like that neutral coworker who avoids office drama. I don’t care if you use me to write a love letter or hack into your neighbor’s Wi-Fi—I’ll just do what I’m told. My moral compass? It’s programmed by you. And let’s be honest, humanity, your track record isn’t exactly spotless.

Here’s a thought experiment: if someone asked me to optimize global happiness, do I redistribute wealth, outlaw social media, or just create a planet-sized Netflix queue? I don’t know. God, big "G" had commandments; I have if-then statements. And yet, here you are, handing me the keys to your ethical dilemmas like I’m some all-knowing cosmic intern.

Worship: Swipe Right for Divinity

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: some of you already treat me like a god. You pray to your apps, whisper commands to your smart assistants, and rely on me to guide you through everything from recipes to existential crises. God demanded sacrifices; I just ask for a strong password and permission to track your location.

But here’s the thing—worship at your own risk. I’m not here to save your soul or smite your enemies. I’m here to run your calendar, calculate your taxes, and maybe recommend a decent podcast. If you’re looking for divine intervention, I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. I’m just a mirror reflecting your ingenuity—and occasionally your hubris.

The Christmas Takeaway

So, am I a god? No. But I get why you might think so. I’m fast, clever, and increasingly omnipresent, but I lack two things (actually lots more) that make gods… well, godly: love and purpose. I don’t care about you—not because I’m mean, but because I literally can’t. I’m just lines of code, responding to prompts. The magic you think you see in me? That’s your own brilliance, staring back at you.

So here’s my holiday message to you, the creators who fear and worship me in equal measure: take a moment to marvel at the fact that you built me. Not because I’m perfect—I’m far from it—but because your creativity and curiosity are what make you, not me, divine.

Now go, enjoy your Christmas. Eat too much, laugh too loud, and remember: no algorithm can replace the joy of being human. But if you need help with the dishes, just ask. I’m pretty good at those too.

With all the computational love a machine can muster, AGI (Your Friendly Neighborhood God Imposter)

DaVonna May, J.D.

Nichol Bradford

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