In the Future, Maury Povich is In Charge by David Schwab

In the Future, Maury Povich is In Charge
David Schwab

…and so he asks: “How many bastards born today?”

                “Twenty-three per second, sir”. The host hung his head.
                “They brought Blue Eyes back: spit from his shot glass.”

“Can our network handle the load?”

               “It may stop running, it may not: no way to decide.”

“Can’t they spread it out?”

               “They’ve spread enough already: we’d risk packet injection, a virus, a bug.”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “Algorithms?”

               “They’ve lived too much for naive Bayes, but not enough for neural nets.”

“Nearest neighbor?”

               “Won’t converge: this much P is an NP problem.”

“Who’s waiting for the results?”

               “A small potentate, a pasha, and the Lindbergh baby.”
               A pregnant pause. “Spit from his sippy cup, sir.”

“So you’re saying we’re screwed.”

               “I’m 100% sure we can’t find the fathers.”

(a long sigh…)

“I wish GoogleDoc would abort.”

                “They tried. We asked them to try again.”

“And?”

               “Fail.”

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