Wednesday June 19, 2002 

Note: All of these calls transcribed or discussed below are real. Only the names have been changed.

Telemarketers suck. This is a universal fact up in the ranks of “Taxes suck” and “Traffic tickets suck” and “Odd-numbered Star Trek movies suck.” When aliens from a distant galaxy finally make contact with us, I would not be surprised if the first things out of their three shiny mouths are, “Don’t you hate it when those damn telemarketers call during dinner?” This would be followed closely by “Seriously, what was up with Star Trek V?”

There are a variety of approaches one can take in dealing with telemarketers. Most people politely say they aren’t interested and hang up. Some simply hang up. Others, convinced that this actually works, tell the caller to put them on their “Do Not Call” list before hanging up.

Me? I take a different approach. Sure, you can ask to be put on a list that may or may not block your number. But the only surefire way to get rid of telemarketers, or at least have a lot of fun trying, is to get on their “Crazy List.” If you’re insane enough, nobody will call you. Ever.

I used to get at least one call a night from some random poll or credit card company or family member. But now the calls have all dwindled away as everyone becomes convinced that I am insane. Whether I am truly insane is a matter to be resolved later by some nice men with powerful sedatives. But for now, I will play crazy and have a ton of fun messing with telemarketers. Knowing that most telemarketers are under explicit instructions to not hang up on you makes it even more of a challenge—how far do you have to go to make them want to drop the receiver?

Sure, there’s the simple “Pretend the connection is bad” routine where you just keep saying “Hello? Hello?” until they hang up. That’s okay for a six-year old. To spice it up a bit, do the “Hello?”s with a fainter and fainter voice, asking the person on the other end if they can hear you. After about three of these questions, put the receiver right next to your mouth and scream at the top of your lungs. I did this to some survey guy a while back–he actually called me back right after he hung up. He wanted to make sure the connection was okay. I screamed again. I haven’t heard from that survey again.

Here’s another routine that’s sure to bring a smile to your face the next time you try it:

Phone rings.
Me: Hello?
Ass-Faced Telemarketer (AT): Hello. Is this Mr. Smith?
Me: Yes.
AT: Hi, Mr. Smith. I’m calling from Worldwide Credit–
Me: Yeah, is John there?
AT: I’m sorry?
Me: This is Mr. Smith. Is John there?
AT: John…um….I’m calling from Worldwide Credit–
Me: Where’s John?
AT: Is this Mr. Smith?
Me: Yes.
AT: I’m calling from Worldwide–
Me: Is John there?
AT: Um…I think we may have a crossed line or something…
Me: That’s nice. Can I talk to John?
AT: I’m sorry, I think there’s been–
Me: I’d like to speak to John, please.
AT: Mr. Smith, I’m calling from–
Me: Just put John on the phone.
AT: There is no John here.
Me: Then how do you go to the bathroom?
AT: How do…
Phone clicks.
But again, this kind of call is too easy. It’s a simple gag, an easy script. This will get you on the “Likes to Have Fun List,” but that’s far short of the Crazy List. To get on the Crazy List, you have to work with the material the telemarketer has in front of him.

Take, for example, the CalTrans surveyor who called me with a 50 question survey about road quality. He asked about a number of roads in my area, and I was supposed to give them a score from 1 to 5, 1 being the worst, 5 being the best. Over approximately 20 minutes I answered every one of his questions with a 3. Sometimes I thought about it. “Hmmmm, well, I guess that’d be a 3.” Other times I just confidently scored it: “3!” At the end of the survey, he asked if I had any more feedback…

Me: Can I give you suggestions about the road and you’ll tell CalTrans about it?
AT: Yes, sir. I can do that.
Me: Great. See, I have this idea to help reduce air pollution. See, we just flood all the roads. Then people would just take boats and jet-skis to work instead of cars. No more pollution!
AT: You want to flood the roads?
Me: Yep. All of them. Or else it won’t work. Wouldn’t that be cool?
AT: Well…
Me: Think about it, everyone on boats.
AT: How about we just give everyone a helicopter instead, and then they can just go wherever they want?
Me: Helicopters? That will never work! What are you, insane? That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!
AT: Well, it beats–
Me: That makes no sense at all. Why would I want a helicopter? That’s illogical!
AT: But–
Me: Where the hell are they supposed to land once we flood all the roads, genius?
Phone clicks.

Sure, it’s some nice closing material, but at the end of a survey it doesn’t do a lot of good. Instead, to guarantee a place on the Crazy List, you’ve got to go big. From start to finish, here’s a call I received a few weeks ago.

Phone rings.
Me: Hello?
AT: Hello. Is Mr. Smith home?
Me: Yesssssssssssss.
AT: Is this Mr. Smith?
Me: Yesssssssssssss.
AT: Mr. Smith, I’m calling from Vacation Properties. Have you heard of us?
Me: Nooooooooooo.
AT: We have beautiful vacation properties all over the country. We’d like to invite you down to Palm Desert to stay in our four-star resort and look at–
Me: Palm Desert? Why would I want to go there?
AT: Well, once you’re there you can look at our fabulous–
Me: It’s really hot down in Palm Desert.
AT: No, it isn’t. It’s really nice.
Me: What? Have you even been to Palm Desert?
AT: Well, no.
Me: It’s hot there. Trust me.
AT: But you could just spend the whole time in our resorts beautiful pool.
Me: That won’t work. I’m afraid of water.
AT: You’re afraid of…oh. Okay. Well, we have some lovely properties in Tampa, Florida if you’re interested.
Me: Florida? That sounds hot too.
AT: Hmmm…well, we have some spots in Vancouver if you’d like.
Me: Vancouver? Where’s that?
AT: British Columbia. You know, Canada.
Me: Canada? Aren’t we at war with them?
AT: No, we aren’t at war with Canada.
Me: Yes we are. I just saw it on the news.
AT: No, man, Canada’s your buddy.
Me: I don’t think so. We don’t bomb our buddies.
AT: We’re not at war with Canada.
Me: CNN says we are.
AT: No…look, do you know how much your dollar is worth in Canada?
Me: Ummmmmm….a dollar?
AT: No, it’s worth $1.80.
Me: That’s crazy! How do they stay in business?
AT: They don’t. Their economy is collapsing.
Me: Well it’s a good thing we’re at war with them, then. We’re going to win!
AT: We’re not at war–
Me: We’re gonna win! We’re gonna win!
AT: Yes, we’re going to win.
Me: I knew it! Yippeeeeeeeeeee!
Phone clicks.

Telemarketers don’t call me anymore. But they still suck.

 

– Hose311

Thursday June 28, 2001

The holy grail of artificial intelligence is the Turing Test. This test basically questions whether a human observer can tell the difference between the responses generated by a computer program and the responses generated by a human being. If the observer cannot tell the difference, then the program is said to possess some degree of artificial intelligence.

But in seeing the recent commercials for Pootie Tang, and in looking at life around me, I wondered what would happen if the test was reversed. I mean really reversed. Instead of the human trying to find intelligence in a computer, what if the computer was trying to find stupidity in a human? I call it the Hose Test.

To that extent, I engaged in a conversation with the fun little Chatbot program that’s been used to promote Artificial Intelligence. And to truly test the little bugger, I only spoke in gibberish. Let’s see how he reacts.

Chatbot: Hello, my name is Chatbot. What’s your name?

Hose: Jurty furnacka. Icky licky ticky tock.

[22 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Tell me a story. Are you still located in where?

HOSE: Kaa kaa diddy whomucha tonga.

[10 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Try to determine if this is a person or a computer responding. Oh, you are a poet.

HOSE: Yaw tow, yaw tow. Irty stip tooly.

[20 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: When do you think artificial intelligence will replace lawyers? Can you speak any foreign languages?

HOSE: HARK!

[24 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Tell me a little about your life in Hark.

HOSE: Ifdy paddy poomba ticdal, zonto dripty. Honcho gaboncho stynak rygar. Plonto.

[25 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: I will mention that to my botmaster, 28-person.The ALICE chat robot can follow many things, like our discussion about Kaa Kaa Diddy Whomucha Tonga. Try being more or less specific. I lost my train of thought.

HOSE: Plinko rachinko tubinko.

[9 seconds]

CHATBOT: I do not understand.

HOSE: Plinko! Rachinko! Tubinko!

[17 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: What kind of food do you like? Does “it” still refer to plinko? What were we talking about again?

HOSE: Hoppity doppity do!

[3 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: I have no idea what to say.

HOSE: Halooka. Meenama fromta Hose.

[11 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Oh yeah, now I remember. Oh yeah, now I remember.

HOSE: Havorta goop.

[19 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Tell me a little about your life in Havorta Goop.

HOSE: Oh, hickney! Flaunta jujubes.

[12 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Yeah, that’s right. Do you like talking to me? Can you please rephrase that with fewer ideas, or different thoughts?

HOSE: Mecha lecha hi, mecha hiney ho!

[7 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Does “it” still refer to Meenama Fromta Hose?

HOSE: Moocha garboosha im de boppy.

[10 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: I will mention that to my botmaster, 28-person.

HOSE: Mentos!

[2 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: What do you do in your spare time?

HOSE: Cha cha ir le poo poo.

[9 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: My brain uses AIML to format responses to your inputs, but I don’t have one for that.

HOSE: Jar jar binks im de plopper.

[6 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Do you like that guy?

HOSE: Hacka dacka im de puddy tie!

[4 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: Are we still talking about you?

HOSE: Chondo buh bye!

[8 seconds pass]

CHATBOT: See you later. I only hear that type of response less than five percent of the time.

So did Chatbot pass the test? Although it did question me a couple of times, I think the most amazing bit was when it asked about lawyers. Did it know I’m a lawyer? If so, is that a detection of stupidity? If it is, then Chatbot has passed the Hose Test with flying colors. If not, it’s just a stupid Elisa-wannabe.

Hats off to ML for his Chatbot interview over at the Hostel for indirectly inspiring this column.

 

– Hose311

January 29,1999

“Why would the sheriff think such a thing Jimmy?”

“I don’t know Jimmy. Perhaps he’s gotten us mixed up with someone else?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Perhaps we should—” Rrrriiiinnnnggg!!!

“We should what?”

Rrrriiiinnnggg!!!

“Why do you keep making that sound?”

“Jimmy! Wake up and answer the phone!”

Rrrriiinnnggg!!!

“Oh.”

I reached for the phone, still half asleep. “Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Jimmy Impossible, this is Tom Miller calling from the Hollywood Stock Brokerage and Resource.”

“Who and the what now?”

The strange voice continued unphased. “We’ve been watching your free agent work and are impressed by what we’ve seen. We’d like you to come in for an interview. Could you gather together some samples of your work and we shall review them at out office at noon today. See ya then.”

And with that he was gone. I hung up the phone and pulled myself out of bed. Could Jimmy Impossible work for a big faceless corporatition? Could Jimmy Impossible actually be employed? Either way, I was going to need a shower. And some “sample work”. But what? I had no idea. So I made up a whole buncha numbers. Used the percent sign a few times and I was on my way.

I arrived at the HSBR offices shortly before noon and stood awestruck in front of the building. It was quite large. Many stories higher than my one story house. I straightened my tie and walked inside. The building directory informed me that the boardroom was on the top floor. I straightened my tie and hopped in the next available elevator.

What would I say to them. How would I convince them that I was HSBR material. What did they do anyway? I puzzled these questions over and over in my mind. After what seemed like an eternity the elevator reached its destination. I straightened my tie and walked off towards my first career oppurtunity that didn’t involve buckets of food.

BOARDROOM This was the place. I knocked lightly on the door. There was no reply, the door simply slided open much like the doors from Star Trek. The future had arrived at HSBR, that was for sure. I wondered if they would all be wearing one piece, skin tight jumpsuits. I entered the room and found myself almost surruonded by a circular table that seemed to wrap around most ot the room. The room was half-lit and I could scarcely make out any faces. I was face to face with faceless Corporate America. I straightened my tie.

The man who sat approximately in the center of the table leaned forward and into the light of the table lamp. “Mr. Impossible, did you bring the samples?” I nodded and he beckoned me forward with the wave of his hand. He took the samples and motioned for me to return to my place in the center of the room with the wave of his hand. He continued to feed the sample pages into a “com-poo-teer” scanner or something to that affect. The others flipped open minature “com-puu-ters” that sat almost on their laps. Upon reading the pages (I’m still confused as to how my pages got to all their screens) there were murmurs throughout the room. Some people nodded. Some shook their heads. One guy nodded off. The “boss” leaned forward again. I was nervous. I straightened my tie.

“Your work is raw and clearly needs some finishing touches…but must of us like it.” Someone scoffed in the background. He becokoned me forward again with his hand. He produced a contract and placed it on the table. Extending a pen to me the “boss” (who I was now assuming was Mr. Miller) said, “Sign right here and we’ll get [your soul] you all set up.” My nerves were really jumping now. I took the pen and looked at the contract. It contained three words and a number. “HSBR. Jimmy Impossible. $18,600,000.” I almost dropped the pen! I immediately signed. The room was still relatively silent. (‘Cept for one guy who wore a lapel pin of a blue duck, who let out a slight laugh and wispered something about it being a “paltry sum”.)

Mr Miller (I guessed) smiled and took the contract and placed it in his breifcase. He then stood and shook my hand. “Welcome to HSBR Mr. Impossible. We’ll get [your soul] you to work right away. txredd, could you please show Mr. Impossible to his office.” A young woman rose (I noted that she was not wearing a one-piece suit) and extended her hand towards the door. I followed her lead. As I approached the door a man stepped towards me.

“Welcome Jimmy,” he shook my hand and left a small piece of paper there. “My name is Aaron. We’re all here to help you.” As I walked down the corridor I opened the piece of paper and read its contents. “Ipso Facto Impossiblis.” Whatever.

Myself and this “txredd”-person rounded a corner to find a maintanence man putting the finishing touches on the name plate on the door to my office. He tossed the old name plate in the garbage. I didn’t quite catch the name lamenated on it, but I wondered why he/she no longer worked here anymore?

“Here you go Jimmy. We have a meeting at 3, I’ll contact you with the details.” She turned and walked back towards the board room. I entered the cramped office and sat behind the desk. The office was nice. (Though there did seem to be a lot of porcelin around.) I picked up a pencil and stared at the blank piece of paper in front of me. I had the job. The money. I scratched my head. Now all I needed was something to write about.

Off with their hot pants!
Jimmy Impossible

Wednesday, March 21 1999

Yes, it is time once again for your feeble Earthling intellects to hearken to the wisdom of me, Dr. Zaius, your friend from the future. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I have been dispatched from the far future by the Imperial Ape Council to serve as a liaison between the Planet of the Apes and your current time frame.

I must first let you know about the stir my mission has created back home. The long neglected and much maligned field of primate psychology and apethropology studies has been revived due to the cultural artifacts I have acquired during my stay here. The Banana Slurpee was just the beginning. John Grisham novels, Beanie Babies, nose rings, and other symbols of your cultural decadence are huge back home right now. We’re even working on additional exchange projects, for those of you wondering where Pearl Jam is touring right now.

Things have been going great guns here in Southern California as well (not literally, mind you, the local market for guns is steady, but too erratic for my tastes). I have discovered that taking Bobo the housemonkey out with me when i run errands is, to use the idiom, a “chick magnet”. More research will be needed to study this phenomenon.

However, occasional breaks from research are needed (though not as often as you humans might think). Accordingly, I’m opening my mailbag:

Dear Dr. Zaius: Can you give advice just on HSX, or can I ask you other questions as well?

Sure. Fire away. My theory is that you humans need all the help you can get.

Dear Dr. Zaius: Aren’t you worried that your presence here in our time might affect your history and destroy the Planet of the Apes?

Let’s ignore for the moment the irony of a representative from a race that can’t build an affordable solar car asking me about time travel theory, OK?

To answer your question, there is a threat to the future from meddling in the past. It can’t be otherwise. Even if we wanted to do good things — assassinate Lenin, put more lifeboats on the Titanic, convince CBS not to cancel Star Trek — such actions would have tragic, unintended consequences for our time and your time. It’s not worth the risk.

The only reason I can be here in this time is the theory of the Drop Dead Date. The Drop Dead Date is the point after which the collapse of human civilization becomes inevitable, and any actions by apes to change the past will still end up with Earthling society still falling in on itself.

The exact Drop Dead Date is not known, but can only be approximated. The most liberal scholars place the Drop Dead Date sometime during the mid-70’s, when the first disco ball was installed. The most conservative scholars put it at October 1994, when the World Series was canceled. I tend to put the date where the destruction of human society became a certainty somewhere in the mid-80’s, right between the date when Wham! released its first top-ten single and the date that Shelley Long started her movie career.

At any rate, any actions by apes at this current time will not substantially change your past or our future. Which is to say that thirty-year bonds aren’t your best investment choice right now.

Dear Dr. Z: Hey, you picked North Carolina to go to the Final Four last month, but they went out in the first round? What gives?

What gives? Las Vegas gave 15-1 on Weber State to beat UNC. If you think I’m going to monkey with those kind of odds just to keep you happy, I’ve got a cage to sell you on my sugarcane plantation.

Dear Doc: A quick glance at the Bottom Feeder reveals that most of the HSX commodities are way overpriced right now. Is a crash imminent?

The phrase you hear when the national economy is prosperous is that “a rising tide lifts all boats”. That’s certainly the case in HSX. The continued growth in all sectors of the HSX economy has impacted everything from Star Wars to the penny stocks.

What does this mean? Not much. Remember — remember — remember — HSX is just a simulation. Prices on HSX are high because prices on Wall Street are high right now. When Wall Street hits record highs, HSX movies hit record highs.

However, the HSX economy is in the hands of Dr. Zeros, and isn’t necessarily tied to the Dow. My best guess is that Dr. Zeros will soon add to his studies on panic disorders and cause another crash — just to keep people on their toes. Such a crash will provide valuable psychological data on how people will react when the real Wall Street crash comes… which will happen on June 25, two thousand and…

cough, cough, cough… drat this smog…

Well, as I was saying, look for HSX to crash in a big way next month. Selling everything short will help accelerate this process and make you some coin to boot.

Dear Dr. Z.: So, are you going to stand in line there at Mann’s Chinese to see The Phantom Menace? I think you could get a good place in line.

You would think I wouldn’t have to say this to a bunch of science-fiction geeks, but does the concept of “time machine” mean nothing to you people? I’ve already seen The Phantom Menace. In fact, I went foreward a couple of years and bought 5,000 copies of the DVD from a wholesaler. (No, sorry, they didn’t release it on VHS, so don’t ask.) Contact me for more information on this special offer.

Until next time, farewell from the future, where all the apes are tall, all the gorillas are strong, all the ape children are above average, and R.E.M. has replaced folksy Minnesota comedy on the radio.