August 19th, 2024Kyle’s Rant
Recently it has come to pass that a lot of large news outlets including the ABC and the New Zealand Herald have turned to AI to write some of their stories. And being the curious bugger I am, I put the tech to the test.
I put in the words Pothole, Hepburn Shire Council, Grumpy Old Man and Winter and in less than half a second it spat out the following. And apologies in advance to the shire.
On a chilly winter morning in Hepburn Shire, a grumpy old man named Harold found himself behind the wheel of his rusted old truck, navigating the winding country roads that were all too familiar to him.
The frost had settled on the ground overnight, and as the sun struggled to peek through the dense clouds, he grumbled to himself about the state of the roads.
“Every year it’s the same story,” he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp.
“Hepburn Shire Council promises to fix the potholes, but here I am, dodging craters like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. It’s a wonder I haven’t lost a tyre yet!”
Harold had lived in Hepburn Shire for over fifty years and had seen the town change dramatically. The once-bustling community was now a quiet shadow of its former self, with many younger families moving away for better opportunities.
He often lamented the loss of the vibrancy that once filled the streets and shops. The winter’s chill only seemed to deepen his melancholy, making him feel more like a relic of the past.
As he drove, Harold’s thoughts drifted to the various council meetings he had attended over the years. He had often voiced his concerns about the roads, but each time he left feeling more frustrated than before.
The council members, in their polished suits and polished speeches, rarely seemed to understand the plight of the everyday resident. They promised improvements, but the potholes remained, a constant reminder of their empty words.
Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he spotted a particularly large pothole right in the middle of the road. “There it is!” he yelled, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
He swerved to avoid it, narrowly missing the edge of the road. The truck jolted violently, and he felt a wave of anger wash over him.
“I swear, if someone gets hurt because of this, I’ll march right into that council office and give them a piece of my mind!”
As he continued driving, a memory resurfaced of a winter festival held in the town square when he was a young man. Families would gather around the fire, children would build snowmen, and laughter would fill the air.
Now, it seemed like the only sound was the crunch of gravel under his tyres and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
Harold’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a young couple walking hand in hand along the road. They waved cheerfully, and Harold managed a small smile in return, despite his sour mood.
“At least some things haven’t changed,” he thought, but the smile faded as he recalled how long it had been since he felt a sense of community.
He continued driving, his mind racing with ideas for how to bring the town together again. Maybe he could organise a winter clean-up day, rallying the community to fix the potholes and spruce up the town.
If the council wouldn’t take action, perhaps the residents could come together to make a difference. As he pulled into his driveway, a sense of resolve washed over him.
Harold might be a grumpy old man, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Hepburn Shire. With a little effort and a lot of determination, he believed they could transform their town back into the vibrant community he once knew.
After all, winter was just a season, and spring was always just around the corner. AI rant over…
