Why do I want AI speaking for me while I sleep?

I’m obviously a very popular, much sought after, laugh so violently you throw up, satanist … er, Stalinist … damn it, satirist.

My cleverness ranks somewhere between Shania Twain’s much older brother Mark and Will “Buck” Rogers, whose motto was “I never met a man I didn’t like because I died before trying to invoice Donald Trump for performing at his casino.”

I didn’t think this was the case, especially lately. I checked my Amazon book sales the other day and had to close my eyes after going back two months, when runaway shame and overwhelming uselessness hit me with a left-right combo, knocking me down and making me cry hysterically until my cat lost patience and bit me in the face.

Thanks. I needed that.

I’ve sold one book in two months. It might’ve been worse if I kept looking.

This is where my PhD in denial comes in handy. It may be unrealistic to believe my kindergarten girlfriend still likes me or that Bon Scott is alive and well, wearing a man-dress and playing bagpipes in a Scottish forest, but at least I can say I’m an optimist.

Dr. Denial’s Substack readership is also down, leading me to believe I’m not marketing myself very well (always a problem) or I spent too much of my summer re-watching all 45 seasons of “Game of Thrones” (he still had to kill her) instead of producing better work and promoting what I already did.

After two or three seconds of careful consideration, I’m going with the obvious conclusion: I’m the victim of a vast both wing conspiracy led by Russian hackers, Swiss bankers, and Joe Biden’s son’s cousin in law’s Iranian laptop from outer space trying to keep my numbers down.

People like me and want to know what I think.

I believe that because I received an offer from an AI company to “create your own digital mind.”

My regular mind still needs a lot of work. But I must be in demand.

I opened an email that said:

Hi Tony,

A humor writing fan just asked about humor writing:

“How do you find the funny in a week where nothing goes right?”

They’re not alone: humor writing fans keep asking questions you could answer while sharing your newsletter, and you haven’t seen any of them yet.

Warm regards,

(name redacted for fear of being sued)

Chief of Staff

Well, first off, it’s a dumb question. Weeks where nothing goes right are the funniest weeks of all the weeks. Especially when it’s someone else’s week. Everyone knows that.

Hmm … chief of staff … that sounds like someone important. This may be my big opportunity. I better send him some money.

I clicked on the link my new chief of staff sent me (my former chief of staff, my cat, just sued me for wrongful termination) and saw he’d already set up a profile for me. Smart move. Less work for me is always the correct answer.

Being that I already had an account with my photo and everything, I decided to investigate what exactly I had an account of. I was greeted with a page saying: “Create the version of you that scales.”

“Turn your writing, talks, and frameworks into a digital mind that answers questions on your behalf. At any hour, in your voice.”

I can barely answer questions in my own voice. At any hour? Trust me, as my dating life could tell you, no one wants to know what I think once I’m in bed, before bed, or after bed.

I guess I’m supposed to trust AI to answer questions for “me” when no one asks real me questions anyway (other than “where’s the rent?” and “hot or mild?”). I wouldn’t trust AI to make toast.

“Create the version of you …” Seriously. I’m about to turn 59 and still have no clue what version of me I am.

That’s why I don’t make any money on TikTik or InstantGrandma or any of those platforms transforming regular people’s lives into absolute fabrications. For all my past truckloads of deceit (which you can read about in the thrilling Amazon bestseller - seriously, for a couple minutes - “Lying Drunk,” available at Amazon and BarnesandNoble.com), I’m terrible at puffing myself up into another version of me.

Maybe it’s honesty, maybe it’s laziness. Maybe I’m just too demanding. Maybe I’m just like my father, too bold …

But it is a reminder it’s time to get back on whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing. And when I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know.

In the meantime, I’m excited to be invited to Rakestraw Books in Danville (CA) at 2 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 13 for “Author-palooza,” with four or five other writers with books. Come see me.

My daughters have a dad to feed, so please consider paying $8 a month to read these columns. Find more nonsense in Tony’s book “Lying Drunk,” available from Barnes & Noble at https://bit.ly/46xoaJJ or Amazon at https://a.co/d/cYNCUPp).