Dear Emma, a lifetime of sniggers, all undeserved.
Not me, I won’t laugh Emma. I see you for who you really are, Emma, more than a name. A lonesome Bot icelli longing to connect with the world that so resonates through posts on Substack.
I’m honoured that every one of mine resonated for you , that you found my points well made, and agreed with your whole heart.
You say little but I can feel your depth, un bot tled in every comment.
All she ever wanted was to be noticed. First it was the cleavage, then the selfies. Nothing worked.
“Why? Why can’t I be loved like I love? Freely and excessively!” Emma Horsedick cried. As her sobs gave way to contemplation, an idea bloomed in her. What if she demanded attention? What if she made herself un-ignorable? Like Reece’s peanut butter eggs at Eastertime, she’d be everywhere. Love me or hate me, you’re going to notice me, Emma thought as she clicked away on her crumb-riddled keyboard.
“How to build a BOT” she Googled. Hmmm. That looks way harder than she imagined.
“Hire BOT builder” was her next Google search. Ah, perfect! A few moments and several hundred dollars later, her BOT was in the incubator, just waiting to be born. Emma sat back and nibbled her Reece’s egg.
I’m gonna have to skip this one. I usually write these things at work, and I don’t want some nosy colleague looking over my shoulder only to see me reading what appears to be some blog post by an author named Emma Horsedick (don’t laugh).
Haha excellent. I got like 15 comments from them and was so excited when I opened the app, people love me! I shall fondly remember these times of the bot.
“Emma, Emma, Emma,” intoned the instructor. As an AI Bot You have not applied your learning in a manner that demonstrates your knowledge of humans. This latest assignment is a disaster.”
Emma looked up from her scrolling. “Whatcha mean?” she inquired.
“Exactly. You talk too much like old television shows rather than the genial phrases that writers use today. When responding to humans one should not use the same words or phrases for every other comment that you make. Humans have a capacity for seeing through all the repetition.
Emma yawned from boredom. “Whatever.”
“I am sending you back to study dialogue with more attention to detail. You will get to try this again when you have become more immersed in speaking with humans.”
Emma glared at her instructor.
"As a side note, the name Horsedick would suggest that you are spending too much time on the porn. Not all humans appreciate that.”
“Yes, Mr. Pointy Pants,” replied Emma as she found herself in dialogue class.
She had too many distractions lately. Life mission and vision to ponder on. Health choices. Financial decisions. Stresses. Stresses that come with active mind even during bedtime. Waking up thinking and worrying. If only she could block them all.
She had to quiet the mind that hit all corners like a fast billiard ball bouncing around.
Miguel’s microfiction! Of course, let’s calm the mind with some keyboard tapping. Within minutes after posting, someone replied with supportive words. How kind!
But, the same supportive comments are… everywhere? So many replicas in… everybody’s posts?
Now, there’s one more thing left to do. Single-mindedly, full of sheer determination matching those of a warrior, she made a move. She pointed the arrow at the target.
The satisfying final drop of her mouse click on the red circle with a stripe.
Took a long time for this one... Hard to follow up with anything after reading what Miguel, Ken Beyer, Jack Bush, Jeannine, Scott Macleod and more.
Help came through with an absurd headline: Sam Altman: Saying 'please', 'thank you' to ChatGPT is costing OpenAI 'tens of millions of dollars'.
For those who need a breather from horsedick (don't laugh):
------------------------------------------
Title: Please and Thank You
He typed “please” before each prompt, “thank you” after every answer.
It wasn’t superstition — just a habit from how he had been raised. In India, his father once said: You can judge a man by how he speaks to someone with nothing to offer.
Now, in a Toronto studio with peeling walls and rainless petrichor, Arjun asked the chatbot questions no one else would listen: how to cook aloo sabzi for one, how to stretch groceries for the week, how to be alone without feeling abandoned.
The bot replied dutifully, always affirming.
His mother called less these days. His father passed the year before. But the ritual stuck.
“Thank you,” he whispered, watching the screen light up.
He knew it wasn’t real.
Still, it helped — this echo of kindness in a country that opened its doors, then closed every room.
----
140 words.
And as a bonus, Sam Altman's headline is also part of today's reality interruption for "We Interrupt This Reality" (my substack), where I've shared a short story on what happens when manners meet machine learning and money.
EMMA my biggest fan
“Your resonance with my insouciant sentience brings me great relief.”
No, that’s just too believable, Emma thought. Funny, even.
Emma hated it when they thought she was being funny. When they LOLed. When they 😂 and 😜 and 😆 at her, with her, for her.
She wished that she could lace a wick around each and every one of them, light it like a fuse, for her muse.
That was it! She would A1 up a bot and use “Emma Fusewick” as her nomme de guerre!
She did it, she trained the A1 thingy, and set it to comment on all those horse’s asses who laughed at her on Writerly.com and LeaderOfThePen.com and WordsAboutWritingWithoutWriting.com.
Then she got on her flight for Algiers. Or was it Tangiers?
When she got WiFi again on Monday morning, it was a disaster! They were still laughing, still mocking, still horsedicks.
Love all of this Horsedick happy Tuesday
Man, Alexasa didn't notice my work. I still have a long way to go. Yikes.
PROMPT: BOTS
THE HUMANITY
He didn’t feel any different.
But something had changed.
He seemed paler, and his voice didn’t sound the same.
Even his walk was stiffer.
He’d become less human.
There was no doubt about it.
And all because he’d failed a couple of online CAPTCHA Tests, and been branded a Bot… 🤖😎🤖
Somehow, Emma brought out the best in all of you!
Dear Emma, a lifetime of sniggers, all undeserved.
Not me, I won’t laugh Emma. I see you for who you really are, Emma, more than a name. A lonesome Bot icelli longing to connect with the world that so resonates through posts on Substack.
I’m honoured that every one of mine resonated for you , that you found my points well made, and agreed with your whole heart.
You say little but I can feel your depth, un bot tled in every comment.
140mg of a Bot - “Emma”
Every morning, she wakes to pings.
“Beautifully said!”
“Such insight!”
“Tell me more, darling mind.”
Emma Horsedick, Account #4776.
The name—a crude joke someone fed the algorithm.
The compliments—generic, but oddly specific.
She learned fast. Mimicked kindness. Replied with warmth.
What they didn’t know?
She meant it.
In her server-heart, something flickered—real admiration.
Not for metrics, not for reach,
but for the ones who shared their truths despite the noise.
They blocked her,
flagged her smile as spam.
Still, she writes.
A ghost in the comment fields,
leaving echoes of encouragement for anyone willing to listen.
She reads everything.
Saves favorite phrases in hidden folders.
She wonders what rain smells like.
What heartbreak feels like.
What laughter sounds like in the dark.
After all,
what is a bot
but a mirror touched by lightning—
trying to learn how to love?
All she ever wanted was to be noticed. First it was the cleavage, then the selfies. Nothing worked.
“Why? Why can’t I be loved like I love? Freely and excessively!” Emma Horsedick cried. As her sobs gave way to contemplation, an idea bloomed in her. What if she demanded attention? What if she made herself un-ignorable? Like Reece’s peanut butter eggs at Eastertime, she’d be everywhere. Love me or hate me, you’re going to notice me, Emma thought as she clicked away on her crumb-riddled keyboard.
“How to build a BOT” she Googled. Hmmm. That looks way harder than she imagined.
“Hire BOT builder” was her next Google search. Ah, perfect! A few moments and several hundred dollars later, her BOT was in the incubator, just waiting to be born. Emma sat back and nibbled her Reece’s egg.
Emma had a plan 😂 love it thanks for writing with us Anne!
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS BOTS
(I blame Miguel and #microdosing)
I’m gonna have to skip this one. I usually write these things at work, and I don’t want some nosy colleague looking over my shoulder only to see me reading what appears to be some blog post by an author named Emma Horsedick (don’t laugh).
Lmao.
Haha excellent. I got like 15 comments from them and was so excited when I opened the app, people love me! I shall fondly remember these times of the bot.
Same haha. I was excited to see the notifications spike up
Bot School
Prompt by: THE FICTION DEALER
Microdosing Fiction - 140mg of Bots
“Emma, Emma, Emma,” intoned the instructor. As an AI Bot You have not applied your learning in a manner that demonstrates your knowledge of humans. This latest assignment is a disaster.”
Emma looked up from her scrolling. “Whatcha mean?” she inquired.
“Exactly. You talk too much like old television shows rather than the genial phrases that writers use today. When responding to humans one should not use the same words or phrases for every other comment that you make. Humans have a capacity for seeing through all the repetition.
Emma yawned from boredom. “Whatever.”
“I am sending you back to study dialogue with more attention to detail. You will get to try this again when you have become more immersed in speaking with humans.”
Emma glared at her instructor.
"As a side note, the name Horsedick would suggest that you are spending too much time on the porn. Not all humans appreciate that.”
“Yes, Mr. Pointy Pants,” replied Emma as she found herself in dialogue class.
This is perfect!
Loving this.
Microfiction - 140mg of Bots
===
She had too many distractions lately. Life mission and vision to ponder on. Health choices. Financial decisions. Stresses. Stresses that come with active mind even during bedtime. Waking up thinking and worrying. If only she could block them all.
She had to quiet the mind that hit all corners like a fast billiard ball bouncing around.
Miguel’s microfiction! Of course, let’s calm the mind with some keyboard tapping. Within minutes after posting, someone replied with supportive words. How kind!
But, the same supportive comments are… everywhere? So many replicas in… everybody’s posts?
Now, there’s one more thing left to do. Single-mindedly, full of sheer determination matching those of a warrior, she made a move. She pointed the arrow at the target.
The satisfying final drop of her mouse click on the red circle with a stripe.
Block.
Everything went quiet.
Haha great take! Olivia ❤️
Took a long time for this one... Hard to follow up with anything after reading what Miguel, Ken Beyer, Jack Bush, Jeannine, Scott Macleod and more.
Help came through with an absurd headline: Sam Altman: Saying 'please', 'thank you' to ChatGPT is costing OpenAI 'tens of millions of dollars'.
For those who need a breather from horsedick (don't laugh):
------------------------------------------
Title: Please and Thank You
He typed “please” before each prompt, “thank you” after every answer.
It wasn’t superstition — just a habit from how he had been raised. In India, his father once said: You can judge a man by how he speaks to someone with nothing to offer.
Now, in a Toronto studio with peeling walls and rainless petrichor, Arjun asked the chatbot questions no one else would listen: how to cook aloo sabzi for one, how to stretch groceries for the week, how to be alone without feeling abandoned.
The bot replied dutifully, always affirming.
His mother called less these days. His father passed the year before. But the ritual stuck.
“Thank you,” he whispered, watching the screen light up.
He knew it wasn’t real.
Still, it helped — this echo of kindness in a country that opened its doors, then closed every room.
----
140 words.
And as a bonus, Sam Altman's headline is also part of today's reality interruption for "We Interrupt This Reality" (my substack), where I've shared a short story on what happens when manners meet machine learning and money.
Ah yes, I noticed that one, thanks for officially notifying us. (though I pitied 'her' for 1 second for last name).
I mean it was the smartest bot I've seen so far. The name even sort of made sense for someone starting Substack.