Needs some more vernacular….
Mick: (staring at the rusted bloody barbecue)
Everything ever created is unique, they say. Look at this thing. Unique my arse. It’s just bent metal, melted knobs and regret.
Rhea:
Nah mate, that particular pattern of bent metal and regret has never happened before and never will again.
Tom:
That’s beautiful, that is. Shakespeare, but with LPG.
Anna:
It’s still carrying its past though. Every flare-up, every grease fire, every time Mick tried to cook frozen sausages on full blast because he was “in a hurry”.
Mick:
Oi, I was hungover and the kids were starving. Priorities.
Liam:
That’s exactly it though. The barbie doesn’t decide to flare. The old fat soaked into the plate biases the fire. Physics remembers your sins.
Mick:
So the barbie’s got a criminal record now.
Rhea:
Yep. Recidivist grease offender.
Tom: (takes a swig)
So run it again. The fancy version. Universe remembers but doesn’t decide. I want it in words I can use on my brother without him glassing me.
Anna:
Alright. The universe is basically a long list of “this happened before, so now this is more likely”. That’s it. No thinking. Just weight.
Mick:
So it’s like the TAB, but for reality.
Liam:
Exactly. Long odds baked in from yesterday’s mess.
Rhea:
Rocks do it. Rivers do it. Old fracture there, water follows it forever like a stubborn bastard.
Mick:
So none of that is intelligence.
Adam:
Nah. That’s just history doing push-ups.
Tom:
So where does intelligence kick in then? When do you go from “dumb bias” to “thinking bastard”?
Anna:
When the system can look at the tilt and go, “I don’t like that direction.”
Mick:
On purpose.
Rhea:
On purpose. And then spend energy fighting it. That’s the price of intelligence. You don’t just roll where it’s easy.
Mick:
So being smart is basically choosing the harder option and then complaining about it.
Liam:
Pretty much the human condition in one sentence.
Tom:
So the universe remembers everything, but it’s too lazy to do anything smart with it.
Adam:
Not lazy. Just not wired for strategy. Only consequence.
Mick:
Whereas we remember just enough to ruin our own lives creatively.
Rhea:
And occasionally improve them. Accidentally.
Mick: (points at everyone with his glass)
So let me translate this into proper language:
The universe stacks the deck.
We’re the idiots who try to cheat anyway.
Anna:
That might be the most accurate summary of intelligence I’ve heard.
Tom:
Also the best explanation of why it so often goes to shit.
Liam:
Because the deck was stacked centuries ago by stuff we didn’t choose, and here we are pretending it’s a fair game.
Mick:
So the final takeaway, for the cheap seats and the slow drinkers:
The universe doesn’t remember to decide — it remembers to tilt the table.
We’re the morons who decide to push back.
Rhea:
And sometimes flip the whole bloody thing.
Tom:
Which spills the beers.
Anna:
Which is the real crime.
Mick: (raises his glass)
Everything ever created is unique, you said.
Adam:
Yeah.
Mick:
Then we might as well do a decent job with the one crack we get, hey — instead of just producing the usual piss and shit.
Rhea:
Mate, even the piss and shit are technically unique.
Tom:
That’s the worst comfort I’ve ever heard.
Liam:
Entropy doesn’t discriminate.
Mick:
So what are we then? Intelligent systems? Bias managers? Hairless apes with invoices?
Anna:
We’re things that can see the slope and still choose to climb.
Mick:
That’s noble as hell.
Rhea:
Also incredibly stupid a lot of the time.
Tom:
Which is probably the most honest definition of intelligence you’re going to get in a beer garden.
Mick:
To biased universes.
Anna:
To deliberate poor decisions.
Tom:
To pushing uphill and wondering why our knees hurt.
Rhea:
To doing a good job even when the inputs are complete shit.
Liam:
To shit in, shit out — and occasionally something decent slipping through by accident.
All:
Cheers.
(glasses clink, the barbie flares violently for no reason at all except its long, greasy past, and nobody mistakes it for intelligence)
Ceteris Paribus 