My lecture hall disgorged philosophy students. They were fleeing for the familiar comforts of beer and weed. It was Friday syndrome, after my brilliant discourse on Artificial Intelligence. I had been my usual erudite self, showcasing my advanced understanding with sparkling prose. My students adored me.
Clearly a timewaster, one unshaven student lingered, slumping indolently against the lectern. His bearded physog resembled hairy roadkill, framed by an encrusted hoody. He smelled like fried bread and looked clueless. I recoiled from his obvious ignorance.
“Yes?” I asked imperiously, not expecting a coherent response.
He peered through his hair. “Professor, your search for meaning in an increasingly complex field is fraught with a tendency to idolize technology as your ultimate saviour, or apocalyptic Satan,” he said quietly. “Please choose.”
I had no coherent response.
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