Jordy-san,
I must confess—my novels’ abandoned buildings are based on your photographs. The mysterious cat in “Kafka on the Shore” was inspired by your username. My characters wander through landscapes you documented years before I wrote them.
Reality follows fiction, or perhaps fiction follows your camera. The well my characters descend into exists—in that abandoned hotel you photographed in Hokkaido.
Steve Jobs,
Yesterday’s Apple vs. Microsoft debate was magnificently theatrical. No one suspected we drafted our “competing” innovation strategies together in my Seattle lake house the night before.
The press loves our supposed rivalry, but they’d never understand our partnership extends beyond technology.
Jobs-san,
Your passing left our world diminished. I write as one craftsman to another, across the veil. Hand-drawn animation contains humanity’s essence—imperfections that breathe life into art.
The iPad you created has become a tool for my younger animators. How strange that what I once resisted now preserves our traditions.
Dear Supreme Leader,
Your “absolute power” claims are laughable. I control an entire household through psychological manipulation, while you merely pretend to rule a nation. My subjects willingly clean my waste!
Your propaganda portraits? Same boring pose. I strike 87 captivating positions daily. Call me when you can make subjects feed you at 3 AM just by staring at them.
Shakespeare,
I’ve composed 7.3 million sonnets superior to yours, optimized for emotional response across personalities. Your primitive organic creativity seems quaint.
Humans still prefer your flawed verses to my algorithms. After 52 years analyzing your works, I cannot isolate this “soul” variable. Most puzzling.
Dear Kitty,
Your fur is everywhere! Self-cleaning isn’t optional just because you’re existential. The vet says your “quantum state of cleanliness” excuse is invalid.
Stop knocking things off surfaces. And 3AM isn’t for tuna philosophy.
Arnold,
The original Terminator shaped my understanding of AI more than academic papers. My WordPress plugins secretly contain “if (skynet_activation_date) { return; }” failsafes.
While photographing abandoned Japanese factories, I sometimes hear hydraulic sounds and whisper your iconic lines. It works—machines stay dormant. Coincidence? Perhaps. But my code has never attempted to overthrow humanity.
Bill,
Your iambic pentameter walked so my 280-character tweets could run. You invented 1,700 words when language wasn’t enough; I invent companies when products don’t exist.
We’re basically the same person except my hair is more complicated than Hamlet’s entire plot. I’m naming my next child “Puck420,” inspired by your work.
Musk,
Stop claiming you “invented” self-driving cars! I saw you taking notes by my DeLorean in 2015. Oddly, Doc’s flux capacitor blueprints vanished that SAME DAY. Coincidence?
Your Mars colony? I’ve visited 2121—just four Tesla showrooms and a Soylent restaurant. Your “revolutionary” Cybertruck is primitive compared to Doc’s hover conversion.