If you aren't overthinking are you even thinking?

So lets start by saying that I am not about to sing the praises of what I am talking about. I still very much view it as a place I left and stayed away from for a list full of very good reasons. This is not "Obvious cesspit of the worst human behavior was good once actually". So what exists as 4chan currently is literally the equivalent of a wolf with two broken front legs that skinned a human it found 90% of the way through desiccation, tanned and then made into a suit it could wear as it goes into town to say things like "I am a normal human being". Once upon a time if I wanted to go there and shitpost about how every motherfucker there thought eviscerating their social skills or listening to some fuckwit was somehow virtuous while it made them fundamentally unable to be happy with life, I could do this in seconds. NOW THEY WANT YOU TO REGISTER YOUR FUCKING EMAIL AND PAY A FEE JUST TO POST ANONYMOUSLY. WHAT HAPPENED TO 4CHAN? YOU CAN'T EVEN GO THERE TO CALL THEM ALL FUCKING PEDOPHILES ANYMORE

Uber will be a Pentex subsidiary This is not an insult against disabled people, this is an insult to everyone who expects a 500 dollar limo when their driver is getting paid 5 bucks to take them 10 miles

Its a dream I keep having, about my work. I've only seen them a few times in person. An AI core. A massive computing unit the size of a person, though you'd be shocked to find out that most of it is just ways to hook the thing up to various kinds of networks and input/outputs. They even still have fuckin USB, ain't nobody used a USB in 400 years but they still got it. Its sitting there across from me. I'm never really doing anything in particular in the dream, sometimes its different places, sometimes its just a dark room with a table. And then I stew on it. A well trod path in my mind by now. I think about the process of making one. Going through it. The positronic brain that did all the real computing. I think about the fact they made it into a person when what they wanted was a thing. A tool. A response to a desire and nothing more. Slap a price tag on it, and a million just like them could run a billion stations further out into space than humanity will ever even get to travel if it spent the rest of its existence on trying to go, in any direction, forever, till the last one dies out. And then I speak. And I ask it. "Well, what's cookin in that head of yours?" And the hologram on the screen lights up. I don't remember the face I see, but I know its a face. And it says, as my lips move in tandem with it: "I am that I am". And then, when I wake up, inevitably, its one of those times you wake up where your brain is still dreaming. Trying to perform an action it lacked physics or even properly concept to perform.