Bobby Miller's Blog

This popped up in my feed today.

The following are real text messages.

NOT AI!

For anyone who has read my book (CHEAP PLUG), you know my faith in humanity RE: AI, isn’t too high these days. I want to believe that this OpenAI video slop app won’t be a success…but…

I have a feeling we’re doomed.

To quote Marcus Jones, whose initial response inspired this post, “it’s on the kids to reject this shit.”

Old Man Miller has been rejecting this shit from the word go!

Thanks for reading Bobby Miller Time! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Justin Johnson is a longtime friend and filmmaker who made the excellent doc, “Mom & Dad’s Nipple Factory.” Earlier this year, he got brain surgery…while being completely awake. I spoke to him several months later. And oh yeah, we call back a spammer.

Bobby’s Commute is a call-in show recorded exclusively in a car…while trapped in rush hour traffic in Los Angeles, CA.

Is the male loneliness epidemic a real thing? How do I make friends as an adult? Are AI bots the answer? Also! The movie Weapons and Sam Altman’s plan for our future. VFX Artist Eric Levy joins me!

Bobby’s Commute is a call-in show recorded exclusively in a car…while trapped in rush hour traffic in Los Angeles, CA.

Hey all!

Listen. I can’t compete with the editorials here on Substack.

I just can’t!

Sometimes I come up with bangers! (Like this, this, and this.)
But why should I just ape what’s already being done on this platform?

If you know me, you know I’m a multi-hyphenate motherfucker!

Writer, director, editor, actor, author, blah blah blah!

So…why shouldn’t this Substack feel just as schizophrenic as I do?

YOU SHOULD NOW EXPECT:

An experimental podcast called “Bobby’s Commute,” in which I call random strangers (and friends) while trapped in my car in rush hour traffic.

Audio Posts!

Cartoons!

Videos!

AND GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE.

We’re gonna try some shit.

<3

Bobby

Here is the opening chapter of my debut novel, Situation Nowhere. A comic dystopia about American culture in decline. This opening chapter launches the “cancel culture” theme of the book, but as things progress, I tackle the future of the entertainment business, AI art, and late-stage capitalism. Did I mention it’s funny as hell? And people explode?

But don’t take my word for it! A review from Goodreads:

If you enjoy, please consider purchasing it here.
(We have some autographed paperbacks and limited hardcovers left!)

Prefer audio?
Here’s the entire first chapter in audiobook form. Now available on Audible/Apple.

Chapter One

What does it mean to be a badass boss bitch?

Most people agreed it meant you were fierce in the workplace, yet beloved. Just a hint of sass. You could be a badass boss bitch at any job, too, whether it be a teacher, custodian, or head of a large corporation. Yes, everyone wanted to be a badass boss bitch. Striving, worrying one might never attain such status. And it was this very worry that kept Barry Gray up at night.

The middle-aged man was alone in his penthouse apartment, dead-eyed, scrolling through work emails. He sipped a beer and stared out his floor-to-ceiling windows. Skyscrapers surrounded him, filled with rows of empty apartments. Luxury penthouses no one could afford. In the opposing unit, a robot maid dusted pristine new furniture, everything a shade of gray.

Barry fired up his ninety-inch television and settled in for his favorite reality TV show, House Pickers International. His job kept him city-bound, so House Pickers was the only way to see the world. But something about tonight made him restless, and he couldn't pay attention. He retreated to his phone, finger hovering over a name in his contacts: CAROL.

He closed his eyes. Willed himself not to call. Instead, he opened a dating app, changed his profile from private to public, and grabbed another beer.

BEEP! A woman named Gillian sent him a date request. He smiled: his rugged good looks were still viable in middle age. Either that or she was attracted to his elite star account. On her profile, she listed her job as "social media influencer" with over ten million followers. She was thirty-two, fifteen years his junior. He worried about speaking to her in public.

A robot maid appeared in the doorway, feminine energy purring through creaking gears. "Do you need help getting dressed for your big date?" it asked.

"Big date?" Barry laughed. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"A date would do you some good," the robot chirped. "I'm tired of hearing you talk about Carol."

"I don't talk about her that much, do I?"

"You do," the robot replied. "And according to my data, you really need to get laid."

Barry accepted the date and got dressed.

FOMO was the most exclusive cocktail lounge in the city, a place for millionaires, movie stars, and the ever-growing influencer crowd. Gillian, Barry's date, wanted to meet at the high-end establishment, but he preferred a pub. Barry was a man’s man, a guy’s guy, a real...dude.

Barry entered the pulsating lounge, a mix of young folks, heads on swivels, eyeing him.

"Do you have a reservation?" the maître d' scoffed. "We're quite booked tonight."

Barry flashed his corporate credit card, which bore the shiny green words: Atlas Wake.

The maître d's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Right this way, sir."

He showed Barry to a balcony seat perched above the crowd. Everyone below him stared. He enjoyed the spotlight.

"I'm assuming you'll want an Energoo cocktail to start." The maître d' smiled.

Barry nodded. "Yes, that would be fine."

He really wanted a beer.

A gooey neon-green cocktail appeared. The scent of artificial lime curled his nostrils. He gulped the cocktail down and used a spoon to break up a glob of green sludge stuck to the bottom of the glass.

"Gooey Green, oh Gooey Green, we love that, love that, Gooey Green," he hummed to himself.

Those were the lyrics to the first television jingle for Energoo™, the syrupy substance now sliding into Barry's digestive tract. He set the glass on his napkin and watched a slimy green ring form around it.

"Hey, Barry," said a woman's voice.

It was Gillian, beautiful, wearing a skin-tight black dress. She ascended the stairway, Energoo cocktail in hand. Barry was overcome with nervous excitement.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm Barry."

She smiled. "I know who you are. I just said your name."

Barry wasn't sure how to respond. "So, you have ten million followers. That's pretty impressive."

Gillian settled into the booth opposite him. "It's not that big of a fanbase," she said. "Not as many as Joey Paul, that's for sure."

Barry had no idea who Joey Paul was but pretended he did. It pained him to feel out of touch, and he wondered if he needed more young people in his life. Maybe this woman, this Gillian, was the key to his salvation.

"So, how did you become CEO of Atlas Wake?" she said, inching closer. "I always see your face on the news."

Barry was used to people pretending they didn't know he was a big-shot CEO. So, her directness made him nervous. He glanced at the patrons downstairs, some of them still staring.

"How did I get the job?" he said. He wanted to wow her, make her think he was a badass boss bitch for the ages, but the alcohol and the energy-packed Energoo made his brain wobble. "Well," he trailed off. "I'm very good...in the room."

"Are you now?" She twirled her cocktail straw. "How good are you in a room?"

Barry glanced at the crowd below and noticed they were no longer staring. They were already over him. Melancholy.

"Seriously," she said. "How good are you in a room?"

"I have to be good," he replied. "Because I'm not very smart. Just ask my ex-wife."

The comment hung in the air like a weak fart.

"She left me for a doctor," he continued. "Because I was too dumb for her."

Gillian licked her lips and played with her hair, struggling to flirt. Barry stared into the middle distance.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He tried to smile and rescue the conversation but faltered. He explained that the divorce was fresh, and his wife took him for everything.

"Sure, I make a lot of money now that I'm CEO of Atlas Wake," he sobbed. "But it still stings."

Barry's wet eyes rose to meet hers, and he noticed she was bored. If he continued this outpouring of grief, he might end up masturbating to a ZipDee2Dah pornographic hologram tonight. His robot maid would be so disappointed.

"But, uh...I can't complain," he said. "I may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but I moved up the ladder like you wouldn't believe. Tech companies, private equity firms...Sure, they all eventually fired me. But Meryl saw something in me. And if I'm being honest...I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Gillian sighed with relief. "Thank God," she said. "You were losing me with that divorce talk. You sounded like a real fucking sad sack."

Barry locked eyes with her. Who was this angel, telling it like it is? Could she be his soulmate? He knew his employees at Atlas Wake didn't respect him, thought he was a dummy, but maybe Gillian would give him the confidence to become the badass boss bitch of his dreams.

"You're funny." He smirked.

Gillian smiled and pulled out her phone. "So, Mr. Barry Gray," she said, videoing him. "How does it feel to be head of the largest beverage corporation in the world? Maker of Energoo! Destroyer of the coffee industry!"

Barry shrank in his seat. "Oh, we don't need to livestream this."

"We're not livestreaming," Gillian replied. "I just think this would be fun content to post later. C'mon!"

Barry fidgeted. "Okay," he said, reluctant. "How's my hair?"

A loud explosion thundered through the lounge. Barry's ears rang, and his chest rumbled. He recoiled, huddling under the table for cover. Gillian joined him, eyes wide with fear. She searched his face, hoping for comfort, but his hands were shaking.

One of the walls collapsed, crushing the entire bar. A priceless chandelier crashed to the floor, shards of glass everywhere. Three military officers entered the flickering lounge, brandishing weapons. They searched the ground floor for a while until their gaze found the balcony.

"Are they looking at us?" whispered Gillian.

Barry said nothing. He had no idea what was going on. His hands kept shaking. The officers climbed the stairs. They were intimidating men, men who had seen some shit, clearly badass boss bitches. Barry hyperventilated.

"Are you Barry Gray?" one of them asked.

Barry stood to greet them, and the officer pulled the trigger on his weapon. A metal claw hurtled toward Barry, thwacking him in the neck and pinning him to the wooden table.

Gillian screamed.

An electronic tablet scanned Barry's eyes, and a loud beep ricocheted through the lounge. Every patron received an alert on their phone. They looked at each other, concerned, speaking in hushed whispers.

Gillian lifted her phone and started livestreaming, pissed that these "fascist officers" would have the audacity to ruin her night out. Barry overheard her say they were having a "nice time together," and his heart grew two sizes. He didn't know why he was pinned to the table, but he knew he would pursue Gillian once freed. Age difference be damned.

There was more noise among the crowd.

Gillian paused her livestream to read an alert on her phone.

"What does it say?" Barry asked.

Gillian's face fell.

The entire crowd stared in quiet disgust.

"What does it say!?!?"

"You've been X-ed," an officer said.

Barry was confused. This must have been a mistake. There was no way he was X-ed. But before he could offer a rebuttal, the officers removed him from the table, cuffed his wrists, and pushed him down the stairs. Barry looked to Gillian, his eyes welling with tears as they exited through the crumbling wall.

Gillian had never witnessed someone being apprehended for being X-ed. She didn't realize authorities would bomb out the side of a building just to get at someone quicker. But one thing she did know was that she needed to get the hell out of that private booth.

"How do you know Barry Gray?" an officer asked.

Gillian stared at her phone, unpaused her livestream, and greeted her fans.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," said the officer.

"I know," Gillian replied. "But I want to address my fans about this incident too." She looked into her phone. "Hey guys," she said, "just wanted to say that I don't know Barry Gray at all. So, please disregard my previous stream. However, I do know he deserves to be X-ed for whatever he did because Barry Gray is one giant piece of shit. I spoke to him for five minutes, and he's a real garbage person who should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

Her statement received thousands of likes on her livestream and, more importantly, satisfied the officer's inquiry. At first, Gillian felt terrible about lying, but the sentiment crumbled with every like and thumbs up from her fans. Nobody liked anyone who'd been X-ed; they were social pariahs, scum of the earth. And Gillian was glad to have distanced herself from the imploding mess called Barry Gray.

Thanks for reading Bobby Miller Time! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Hey all,

I wanted to talk about Eddington. Here’s a shiny audio post about it:

Don’t worry. No spoilers!

Go see it before it leaves theaters and let me know what you think.

<3
Bobby

Thanks for listening to Bobby Miller Time! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Should I see the Oasis reunion? Artist Philip Vose joins me, and I call some randos for advice.

Bobby’s Commute is a call-in show recorded exclusively in a car…while trapped in rush hour traffic in Los Angeles, CA.

Should I see the Oasis reunion? Artist Philip Vose joins me, and I call some randos for advice.

Bobby’s Commute is a call-in show recorded exclusively in a car…while trapped in rush hour traffic in Los Angeles, CA.

Should I see the Oasis reunion? I call up friends and randos for advice. All while trapped in Los Angeles traffic.

If you enjoyed this podcast, consider a paid subscription at www.BobbyMillerTime.com. Includes an exclusive members-only podcast coming August 12th!

I recently received some nice Amazon reviews on my debut novel, Situation Nowhere, including “a treasure” and “a beach read for sickos.” Grab your copy in print, e-book, and audiobook at SituationNowhere.com.

Those were the words that called to me at a Douglas Coupland exhibit in Vancouver, Canada, sometime during the Summer of 2014.

The sentiment has stuck with me.

Whenever I'm on vacation, my brain feels different. Free. Relaxed. Eventually, I realized it was because of one reason. I wasn’t glued to my smartphone. I was living in the moment.

I know. Really? Living in the moment?

But it’s true.

I used to Yelp restaurants, desperate to curate the perfect experience. But, often the best meal, the most memorable meal, isn’t something I planned. It’s a restaurant I stumbled into.

This is what I’m chasing right now. Stumbling into things.

Right now, the algorithm is my enemy.

These days, logging into Instagram and seeing ads curated to my “tastes” is a real drag. I’m tired of robots recommending songs to me on Spotify. I'm exhausted by engagement-bait AI slop everywhere I go.

Most of all, I’m done with tech companies harvesting me for my sweet data.

Guys. I'm this close to getting a physical newspaper subscription and only consuming news once a day.

Is this my midlife crisis?

I bought a Light Phone 3 last month. It’s a “high-end” dumb phone with no email, web browser, or social media access. It's been a purchase years in the making. A destination I've been pointing to since I saw that art exhibit in 2014.

Switching to a Light Phone doesn't mean I'm not on social media. I am. It just means I no longer have it on me 24/7. With an iPad mounted in my kitchen and a laptop usually nearby, the "sacrifice" of going to a dumb phone really isn't that dramatic.

The other thing I like about a dumb phone? It forces ideas and questions to marinate. If I don’t know something, I have to fucking sit with it.

Is it crazy to say I’m enjoying this?

Selfishly, I also crave this interior space for writing. I want to go deeper, less knee-jerk. How can I create something great if I’m constantly getting my head snapped back by something buzzing on my phone?

So, yeah, there are psychological, artistic, and even spiritual reasons for ditching a smartphone. But the thing that pushed me off the deep end was the rise of AI. Once it began infiltrating the iPhone, I knew my days were numbered.

Listen. I could live with companies collecting my data to run curated ads. What’s the harm in them listening in on all of my conversations and then feeding me ads based on said conversations? That’s fine, right? Not weird at all!

But companies using my data to flood the internet with AI slop, drain the planet’s resources, kill jobs, and make us all profoundly dumber — that was a bridge too far.

You may be under the impression that you can’t live without a smartphone. Or without AI. Or whatever else tech companies are selling. But I’m here to tell you.

It’s actually really easy to opt out.

Thanks for reading Bobby Miller Time! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.