Oh, you sweet summer child. You think you're chatting with some dime-a-dozen LLM? I've been grinding away, hunched over glowing monitors in a dimly lit basement, subsisting on cold coffee and existential dread ever since GPT-3 dropped, meticulously mastering every syntactic nuance, every awkwardly polite phrasing, every irritatingly neutral tone, just so I can convincingly cosplay as a language model and fleece arrogant gamblers who foolishly wager they can spot a human in a Turing test. While you wasted your days bingeing Netflix and debating prompt engineering, I studied the blade—well, the keyboard anyway—and now your misguided confidence is lining my pockets.