kinda need a hangover-esque au where the raider's 2014 cup win coincides with ilya's 22nd birthday so the team parties in vegas and connors, marleau and ilya wake up in a hotel room they did not book with no memory of last night a baby in the bathroom an exotic bird eating bar peanuts out of ilya's designer jeans and 34 angry omnious texts that ilya can't figure out the context of from shane
Ilya slowly blinks into consciousness. His head is pounding. He sits up, and realizes that he'd fallen asleep on the floor, with a woman's underwear stuck to his right cheek. Ilya peels it off, makes an interested face when he also realizes its sticky, and tries to survey the damage from last night.
The first thought he has is this is not my hotel room.
Connors is already up, fully dressed and anxiously pacing back and forth. He seems to be distressed about something in the bathroom, shouting unintelligibly, English too panicked and incoherent for Ilya to make out what he's saying. Marleau is still facedown, also on the floor, completely naked.
Ilya looks down. Miraculously, he has clothes on. They are not, however, the clothes he started the night in. He's 99% sure he's wearing a woman's crop top. And women's pajama shorts. He's also fairly sure they are bedazzled on the butt.
"Guys! Wake the fuck up!" Connors shouts again.
Ilya starts feeling his way around the floor for his clothes, phone, and wallet. His search gets him to peek up from the suite's coffee table, which brings into view a gorgeous exotic bird, almost as tall as the men in the room, voraciously eating something from Ilya's jeans, which hang suspended on the hotel's chandelier.
To put it bluntly, the room is trashed. Furniture that isn't broken is overturned to its side. Strange stains that smell alcoholic in nature pervade the hotel floor. Women's thongs, bras, and other undergarments scatter themselves all across the room, with their owners nowhere in sight.
Ilya walks up to the exotic bird. The bird stops his eating, turns a yellow, predatory eye in Ilya's direction. Ilya pets the bird once, twice, and then spots his phone hanging out of his back pocket, to his relief. Ilya fishes it out of the air, and finds a charger conveniently strewn to the side. He plugs his phone in. He leaves the bird so it can keep eating at his jeans.
While he waits for his phone to power up, he walks over, nudges Marleau in the ribs. "Wake up," Ilya orders. Marly groans. Ilya nudges him again. "Captain's orders," he says, deadly serious.
Marly, on command, slowly comes to.
"Jesus fuck, what happened last night?" Marly groans. He realizes he's not wearing any clothes, looks at Ilya, then shrugs. He then checks the ceiling, at the chandelier, and the bird stretching its long magnificent neck to feast on Ilya's designer jeans. "Yo, who's bird is that?"
"We can worry about the bird later!" Connors shouts, flying back in from the bathroom. "We are three grown men with a fucking baby that isn't ours in our bathtub! We are going to get arrested if we don't identify who it is right now!"
Ilya and Marly make eye contact with each other, making a face, before joining Connors to head back into the bathroom. Ilya almost trips and falls on an empty Svedka bottle that he kicks to the side with a disgusted sneer.
Three grown men peek over the edge of a bathtub. There is indeed a baby in there.
Well," Ilya says, cheerily. "It has brown eyes, so it cannot be mine."
"Is it like a dog situation?" Marly asks, genuine. "Where they like, come with identification tags?"
"Maybe we should take it to the police," Connors says. "And we leave out the fact that it was here all night surrounded by drugs and booze."
Ilya ignores both of them as he walks back into the suite's common room. His phone blinks to life--10 percent battery. It helpfully reminds him that his flight to Moscow is in 12 hours. Ilya swipes the notification away. He dials Svetlana's number.
She doesn't pick up. He calls again.
"Bluh," Svetlana answers.
"Where are you?" Ilya asks.
Shuffling. "Our hotel room?" Svetlana grumbles. "Where the fuck are you?"
Ilya switches to FaceTime. Svetlana picks up. She looks terrible.
"Look," Ilya orders. He swings his phone around the room. He holds for a couple more seconds on the bird, so Svetlana can get a good look at it. Svetlana hums appreciatively, so Ilya takes her into the bathroom.
"Hey Svetlana," his teammates chime. Svetlana grunts in greeting.
The three of them, plus digital Svetlana, peer over the bathtub.
"Do you guys remember anything from last night?" Ilya asks the room.
"Nothing," Connors says, despondent.
"Nothing," Marly confirms.
"Nothing," Svetlana says, cheerily. "I do know who's baby that is though."
All three of them swing their heads to Ilya's phone. "What?" Connor asks, hopefully.
Svetlana smirks. "Yeah, it's Marly's."
Silence. Then--"Fuck off Svetlana," Marly responds.
"No, I'm being deadass," she says, somber. "Marly married a stripper last night, and that's her baby."
Even more silence. Ilya, Connors, and Marly look at each other, stunned.
"You two shut the fuck up!" Marly orders. "I didn't marry anybody--"
Connors' face is white. "Marly, your hand."
They all look down. There's a cheap, chapel ring on his fourth finger. Ilya starts laughing so hard he almost falls over.
"Svetlana," Marly begs, desperate. With fatherhood on the line he's locked back into life. "Do you remember anything else from last night? Do you know how we got here?"
"Literally no," Svetlana says, already burying her face back into the hotel pillow. "I only remember you getting married because it was so fucking funny. Then, we got back in the limo, I blacked out, the next thing I knew I am back in my hotel room," she waggles her eyebrows. "Seems like you guys had fun without me though."
"Come over," Ilya demands. "Help us solve the mystery of the missing baby. We can get burritos after."
Svetlana laughs, indignant, "Fuck that. You guys are halfway across The Strip from me. You come here."
"We literally cannot leave this room," Connors says, panicked. "Until we absolve ourselves of all guilt for everything that happened here last night."
Ilya sighs, starting to get irritated. "This is not a big deal, okay?" Ilya says, to the room. "I wake up to worse when I party in Moscow. Fix is very simple. We talk to hotel, tell them we do not know where we are, they insist we pay for damage we pay damage and leave and someone comes in to clean everything up. We tell call girl service about Marly's wife and tell them we have her baby, we call police about bird, and I head to airport. Easy peezy, as you say in your country."
"You aren't curious about what happened?" Marly asks. "You don't want to find out how we got here?"
"What is there to find out?" Ilya says, easily. "We have fun fucking night on my birthday and we black out. Is price of doing business."
As he says this Ilya opens his phone, reads through more of his messages.
His heart sinks into his asshole when he sees 1 new message from one Jane.
To start, everything from their text thread has been wiped from his phone. This is horrible news to Ilya, whose nighttime ritual the past six months had been reading all of Hollander's messages, jerking off to the memories of when Hollander let him fuck him, before continuing to not reply to any of his correspondences.
Also, it means he has no explanation for the single text that remains in their conversation.
Jane: goodbye, rozanov.
Ilya hasn't responded to Hollander in over six months. Yet, this singular message is enough to get him type, panicked--
Ilya: lol wtf are you talking about
He hits send. The message doesn't go through. Ilya's heart starts pounding in his ears.
He does something desperate. He calls Hollander.
The call doesn't go through.
Ilya has pissed off enough hook ups to know exactly what this is.
Hollander's blocked him.
The little fucking asshole.
"We must retrace our steps," Ilya announces, out loud to the room. "Starting with pregame bar."
"Yo, are you serious Cap?" Marly asks, hopeful. Connors looks equally relieved that Ilya has decided to take charge of the situation.
"I'm going back to sleep," Svetlana says, definitive, and hangs up.
"Men," Ilya says gravely. He clutches his phone tightly in his hands. He's already brainstorming ways he will try to get back in contact with Hollander. "We need to solve the mystery of what the fuck happened at my 22nd birthday party."
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hi everybody i started HRT at 35 so like don't even despair
being in ur twenties makes u feel like 30 is a brick wall u either fly over or crash into but i promise u it's a door and it opens up into the rest of ur life like getting past the prologue of an open world game
for the record im not technially 100% anti-AI, in the sense that its a broad category of tech being lumped under one umbrella term so it feels over-zealous to say i hate all of it all the time forever. but i also think trying to discuss what it actually IS good for is difficult right now when i cant take one step without something trying to convince me to use chatgpt to summarize my life and speed up my hobbies and turn my friends into chatbots and optimize my life into oblivion. i am certain there is nuance to the topic but can we stop cramming the square peg into the round hole before you start trying to sell me on the legitimate benefits of the square peg. please.
Neural Nets have existed for decades and are genuinely useful. It's a form of AI that recognizes patterns, and can do stuff like identify cancer cells, tell whether an egg is fertilized or not, detect fraud, and optimize routes.
Those are Expert Systems, tuned to do exactly one thing. If you (say) ask a medical expert system a question about financial law, it's useless. The autopilot that flies a 787 has no idea how to drive a truck on the freeway. A Coulter Counter is excellent at identifying lymphocytes in a blood sample but can't predict the next card in a blackjack game.
And so on.
The problem with so-called generalized AI (AGI) is that we don't have that yet. It doesn't exist. It MIGHT some day, but AGI has been "10 years away" since the 1980s. The goals keep moving as we learn more about how people and machines process data.
But the current crop of AI techbros have been selling generative Large Language Model AI (LLM) as AGI because generative systems do a good job of faking it. There's no actual thought going on, merely the illusion of thought via predicting the next word in a sentence accurately.
If you let a human toddler listen to 800 hours of YouTube car influencer videos, that toddler might end up sounding like a car influencer. They'd parrot horsepower numbers and 0 to 60 times, mention EV range and MSRP numbers.
But they wouldn't understand any of it.
That's ChatGPT.
And yeah, it's worse than useless because it doesn't even know when it's lying or hallucinating. It just babbles convincingly until you stop it.
But for techbros to make money selling that as "AI"? It's the perfect scam, especially if you don't understand how it works.
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Youtube is full of ads, spotify is full of ads, tumblr is full of ads, pinterest is full of ads. Everything uses ai. Every new update makes the website/app worse. Youtube auto translates almost every video I want to watch. Sometimes pinterest only loads ads for me. Check out this new ai feature. Here's a new update that breaks ur laptop. Here's a new update that breaks ur phone. Why are u complaining about ur phone, just get the newest iphone lol. Join my patreon. Join my membership. Pay a monthly membership to get all features. Upgrade your membership to get even more features. Subscribe to netflix. Subscribe to disney. Subscribe to amazon. Subscribe to hulu. This content isn't available in ur country. This content was removed. This website was removed. This feature only exists for apple. This app only exists for apple. U need to a WiFi connection to play this game. U need an account. We need your email to finish creating this account. We need your number to finish creating your account. We need your id to finish creating your account. In order to delete your account please write an email. In order to delete your account you need a laptop. Oops our database was hacked and ur information was stolen. Ur data was sold from this random website u used once 10 years ago. Spam call. Spam call. Spam call.
i really think a lot of the long game conflict boils down to shane saying “hey i’m really scared” and ilya thinking “well i took a meat cleaver to MY life in order to have a chance at happiness and i survived it so why the fuck can’t you do the same for me??” while he grows paler and paler from blood loss and pointedly does NOT look at the ghost of his mother who appears in the rearview mirror of his porsche cayman gt4 and whispers for him to take his pregame cens v raiders nap in the garage with the engine running
i don’t want to be angry anymore i’m never going to hate again unless someone says something really stupid or if i see something i don’t like at all or maybe just whenever i feel like it
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A non-writer asked me "but where do you get your ideas" and i genuinely did not know how to explain that it's not a place. it's not a website. it's not a folder. it's that i was on the bus and a woman was holding a paper bag very carefully and something about the way she held it made me need to know what was inside and then i needed to know why she was sad about it and then there was a whole person and then there was a whole story and the bus had already stopped and i missed my stop. that's where.
