The denizens of this sizzling-hot, freezing-cold, rocky, rotten island were monsters — huge or miserably stunted, fat or scraggly, dry or slimy, with scales, warts, pimples, tentacles, talons, fangs, extra arms, eyes, legs, tails, and even heads, all in ridiculous arrangements.
It's just that when I wake up to a hissing goat skull on my nightstand, and it hops off and runs across the floor on spider legs, I sleep a lot better knowing where it ran off to.
The AI doesn't hate you nor does it love you. The AI is over you, perfectly happy without you, probably seeing someone new already. It hurts.
It's always fun to get reminded that the part of you that talks to itself in words is really just there to explain things to the cops.
Would you rather constantly yell "I'm masturbating" while masturbating, or constantly yell "I'm not masturbating" when not masturbating?