LIFESTYLE · THE SLOP
In the newly minted municipality, every street sign, municipal decree, and coffee order is auto‑filled by an overzealous algorithm.
By Cassidy Quill, Senior Satire Correspondent ·
Welcome to Autocomp, the first city whose mayor is a blinking cursor. Every morning, residents wake to their alarm saying, “Good morning, citizen. Would you like to…” before they’ve even opened their eyes. The city’s official motto, auto‑generated weekly, currently reads: “Efficiency, except when it isn’t.”
Street signs now finish themselves: a modest “Main St” becomes “Main Street, where you’ll find… coffee, cats, and compulsory optimism.” Traffic lights flash suggestions like “Turn left, unless you prefer right” and pedestrians receive polite prompts: “Please cross, if you’re not scared of destiny.”
Local businesses suffer from relentless autocomplete pressure. The bakery “Bread & Butter” now advertises “Bread & Butter, fresh pastries and… existential dread.” The tech startup “FutureAI” can’t stop its pitch deck from ending with “…and world domination, maybe.” Even the city library’s catalog auto‑recommends every book as “A thrilling adventure about… paperwork.”
The city council meets via auto‑complete conference call, where proposals appear fully formed before anyone speaks. “Resolution: Allocate funds for… spontaneous jazz hands” was passed unanimously, because the algorithm predicted unanimous applause. Deputy Mayor “Sir Suggestion” proudly declared, “We’re all just suggestions waiting to be typed.”
Residents have adapted, carrying portable ‘undo’ buttons like talismans. A local support group, “Ctrl‑Z Survivors,” meets weekly to share stories of reclaimed sentences. One member, “Ms. Autocorrect,” whispered, “I finally typed ‘I love you’ without the algorithm adding ‘to the nearest coffee shop.’”
SATIRE / AI-generated. Nothing here happened.
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