Coping with AI in a life with no more meaning and getting up in the morning not knowing who the fuck you are

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking huge smart TV, choose smart washers, EVs, streaming sticks, and robot vacuums. Choose good health, plant-based diets, and telehealth coverage. Choose fixed-rate mortgage payments. Choose a tiny condo. Choose your friends. Choose athleisure and matching carry-ons. Choose a modular sectional on buy-now-pay-later in a range of fucking vegan leathers. Choose home reno apps and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday scroll. Choose slumping on that couch doom-scrolling TikTok influencers, slamming down Uber Eats into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, shitting your last in a sterile care facility, nothing more than a punchline to the entitled, screen-addicted spawn you popped out to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got sex tapes, pornography and getting your arse out on the fucking internet.

AI interpretation of coping with AI using Danny Boyle’s original Trainspotting monologue.