I don’t trust artificial intelligence.

I base this on my own intelligence, which isn’t artificial. It’s fully functioning ficial. No arti involved.

Here’s what real intelligence tells me:

Artificial begins with the same root as artichoke, which is a substance that makes me choke for real, not artificially.

Once I accidentally drank cola infused with artificial sweetener. Why anyone would want to flavor Coke with artichokes, I don’t know, but I’d never choked on a cola before.

However, my doctor tells me that real sugar poses real danger to me, especially if consumed in the quantity of Cokes and candy bars that I prefer. In fact, my doctor claims that choking on artichokes would be a vast improvement on my body, and that I should eat artichokes more often.

That’s the kind of nonsense I hear from a person who claims to possess the real kind of intelligence. Sounds a bit artificial to me. And not to be trusted.

These days, it seems like everything is using AI technology now. Listen, if real intelligence is so suspect, why would anyone sign up for the artificial kind? That’s like having a car that won’t run, which inspires you to buy a go-cart that won’t run either. Artificial or real, you’re still pushing the vehicle.

Artificial intelligence is being used to write research papers, TV scripts, tax returns, love notes, Fortune 500 earnings reports, political speeches, foreign policy and other forms of fiction that would cause anyone who had to do so with their own intelligence to choke.

In some cases, papers produced by an AI-powered program called ChatGPT — Chat Generative Pre-trained Transformer — have earned A’s from college professors and praises from bosses. The results sound professional, make sense and smell a bit like artichokes.

So on the surface, AI sounds like a great idea. But I sense a problem that could be a giant disaster for all of us. By “us,” I mean me. And by “disaster,” I mean the next time I’m late, the editor of this publication might be tempted to order AI ChatGPT to write a column for me.

AI could alter the whole course of this space. By “alter,” I mean improve it, leaving me with no choice to kick up my efforts a notch or two.

That brings us back to the disaster: Effort, like work, is something I prefer to avoid.

Work is wonderful to watch. If I need a break, I’ll pull up an Adirondack rocker to watch someone fix a roof, till a garden, patch a road or paint a house. Pretty soon, I’m so bored that I drift off and enjoy the blissful sleep of someone who has watched someone else work hard all day.

Now AI threatens all that. I don’t know if AI can paint houses or till gardens, but I fear it can create columns that make more sense than this one.

Unless…

Unless I already took the week off and THIS whole thing has been written by ChatGPT.

That would explain a lot, now wouldn’t it? Because artificial sweeteners turn into diet products, which don’t make nearly as much sense as the real thing.

So if real intelligence had written this piece, it would make sense.

Yeah, that’s it. I didn’t write this. AI did. Fifty years ago, I told the teacher that the dog ate my homework. Now I’m claiming that AI took over my laptop and wrote my column, totally messing up the well-reasoned, sense-making prose I typically write. Sure, that’s it.

Dear Editor: It’s not my fault. The artichokes did it.

We’ll take any kind of intelligence. Please. Just send it to Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.