Simulated Stupidity

I gotta say, I’m becoming increasingly suspicious of the Simulation Hypothesis.

For those of you unfamiliar, it basically boils down to this.  The idea is, you calculate the numbers – what is the probability of you ACTUALLY being born in this era?  In this particularly exciting life (compared to those poor fuckers in Africa, that is – results may vary)?  Have you ever won the lottery?  Sorry, numbers say that never happens, not in the length of this Universe; winning the lottery pretty much guarantees that you’re a simulation operated by a super-computer who’s trying to figure out “Why 42?”

But see, that’s not what’s got me wondering.  I’ve read the articles by Hanson, Yudkowsky, and others – what with them being Math Guys and all, I’ve trusted their numbers (though I don’t remember what they are) and have generally continued to approach life with my fatalistic sort-of happy outrage that served me so well in prison.

But recently I’ve started to notice the NPCs.

Now hold off a minute there – this isn’t The Last Psychiatrist‘s blog – I’m not talking about that Narcissistic ‘Insight’ “Yo, dude… I’ve always thought of my life as if I’m the main character in a movie… a movie about Suck.” No, not that sort of NPCdome.  I’m talking about the sort of throwaway, ‘don’t waste your time talking to me’ scenery characters who all repeat the same dialogue.  ‘Cause I’ve been noticing a lot of them.

I swear to god, today I had a deep discussion that petered out after 8 sentences.

‘Cause that’s what the paperclip maximizer would do, right?  Create the occasional fully-sentient creature in this torture-cube I find myself in, just to throw me off, while writing the rest of the characters as simple holodeck characters (ripping their dialogue out of cheap Dean Koontz novels), who have an (un)interesting story attached, but no true catharsis.  It’s like those cars that fade into view in Grand Theft Auto.  Only the horizon’s a bit further back.

I’m basically down to the point where I’m forced to estimate P(living in a cheap holodeck, where only 5% of us are real) versus P(95% of the population are fucking idiots, whose augmentation would serve no purpose).  Either way, it means you don’t have to feel so bad when you see a car wreck.

Of course there’s a third possibility.  God hates all of us, and we’re all living in our own personal hell.  If we ever meet in person, and I’m an obvious Set Piece, then it’s a decent chance you pissed off the Overgrown Child with the Mechano Set.

Faith in Whiskey, Motorcycles, and a Swift Punch to the Jaw.  That’s all you really need to get by in this world.