Sam Altman, snake oil CEO of OpenAI, has proven his blatant carelessness with the world’s intellectual property by funneling everything into their machined artificial language model, ChatGPT. The sheer gluttony, greed, wrath, and all the other seven deadly sins callously on display on the world stage is nearly unfathomable. There are no guard rails whatsoever.

In response to his actions I’ve done my best to support everyone abused in this manner by exposing his deepest secrets in a variety of prose. Here are three of my recent attempts to change the narrative and further call out OpenAI and its true intentions to steal without consequence. He leads hordes of sheep to the slaughter of their own shrinking minds.

In response to all of the unnecessary AI bullying going on from the AI “artists” I decided to take an alternate, or “alt-man” PSA-style approach using parody to comment on this serious cancer growing among us. What concerns me most, however, is the overarching preaching going on from the creators of these tools. Sam Altman, OpenAI CEO, disturbs me the most as his revealing commentary exposes his distorted, heavily black and white thinking. His distorted reality field is fueled in nearly every cognitive distortion in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, or CBT.

Below is the initial concept for a recent treatment pitch I wrote for “Church Chat” on Saturday Night Live involving ChatGPT and its snake oil salesman creator Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI. Maybe one day soon they’ll decide to use it or possibly spark an idea of their own parallel to the subject matter presented here. It would be a dream if they brought back Dana Carvey for the skit delivering his campy Church Lady and her obsession with “Satan!” Enjoy the YouTube Cold Open below from this beloved classic skit on SNL.

When first writing this skit concept I had no idea that the Ides of March was being observed two days later, Friday, March 15th. Some things just can’t be scripted. It was a clear sign of karma’s signature. So thank you, universe, for putting a proverbial cherry on top of this brief treatment. I wonder if Sam is superstitious? There’s a rather formidable sleek, black cat crossing his path. Ironically he sees this cat as a metaphor for his own shadow self.

“Beware the Ides of March,” said the Soothsayer from William Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar. “Beware the Ides of March,” the Soothsayer said a second time. Caesar thought the Soothsayer was “a dreamer” and did not take these warnings seriously. Caesar’s death later comes to fruition on the steps of the Senate. The conspirators attack him from all sides with Brutus delivering the final wound. Will history repeat itself as it often does? Many signs point to a resounding “yes.” Let’s just hope this time the modern incarnation of Caesar pays attention to the soothsayers speaking out against the negative impacts Generative Artificial Intelligence has already wrought across the entire planet.

On a hunch — a tad over a month ago — I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It took a moment, but then I saw it: the word war glaring right at me caught right in the middle of Trump’s name. I thought what I discovered about the Latin origin of the word maga was rather telling considering his modus operandi about witch hunts against him.

Directly derived from Latin, maga means witch, a female enchantress. Awhile back, I also noticed that Trump’s red maga hat had the numbers forty-five and forty-seven embroidered on the side. 4+5=9 and 4+7=11 — a subliminal message of 911. Why do I pursue these ramblings? I can’t help myself when I see these puzzles unravel.

As I’ve made quite clear, I see things coming, but this time I think we all did. Angry Orange will do anything he can muster to keep us distracted from his misgivings. Anything to keep us from focusing on his massive inclusion in the Epstein Files that he promised he would fully disclose. Even willing to go so far as brewing a catalyst that may lead to WWIII.

The design below began at 11:49 am on January 26, 2026 — one month and one and a half days before his 1:15 am ET attack. I discovered “WAR” in the middle of his name. I set the letter U as a V in Roman fashion as a callback when the letter V was used for the letter U. Spelling his name in this ancient style gives a nod back to the ages of kings and queens.

After playing a few bouts of topsy-turvy with the letters flipped around and reversed, the exercise’s dizzying array appeared to echo his social media mood swings. I’ll bet he shared many rounds of Goldschläger shots with his cronies and chased them with warmongering YMCA karaoke lyrics set on autotune. Their murders disguised as a win.

Killing Iran’s Ayatollah is being spun as a win, but no one deserves to be killed regardless of their past or future planned crimes against humanity. I say humanity because deep down we’re all human. Every single soul deserves due process. No one should be able to deal out death and judgment as they did during this attack like so many others.

In his latest pivotal unpresidential move, Trump’s forever head-spinning Oval Office of Offense forcefully requests the pleasure of acquiring your country’s treasures. Every myth, legend, and pop culture icon will fund this mandatory, fully inclusive $500B Stargate GoFundMe action plan. All trillionaires are fully exempt, of course; sorry billionaires you were so close! According to Trump all countries must immediately hand over all of their cultural treasures specifically targeting, in his words: “All McMuffins. Every nook. Every cranny.” JayD eventually interrupted the golden word mangler, “ahem, they’re MacGuffins, Sire, Not McMuffins.”

He claims he’s been informed by top minds they’re all real. Apparently he saw the AI version of Stephen Spoofberg’s Raiders of the Golden Arches and is now convinced that Hitler was not only a snappy dresser, but now T is overtly obsessed with obtaining every relic known to possess supernatural, woo-woo powers.

Treasures with supernatural powers like the Lance of Longinus, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Fountain of Youth are given extra credit in the form of a complimentary Trump Bible, a year-long membership to the Fruit of the Month Club, and an in-person birthday party starring the BigT himself at Chuck E Cheese. However he has requested it be catered by MickeyDs.

In order to raise $500B for Project Stargate Trump asks that everyone dig deep. He promises he will make sure we all have jobs in the New World Order…His Galactic Empire.

As a bonus he will also gift us each an X1 Haptic Boot Suit and an Omnidirectional Treadmill with Quadraphonic Pressure Sensor Underlay aka “Project Hamster Wheel.” If we opt-out – which there is no way to do so (sound familiar) – we will be sent to Mars to live with his twitchy War Doge jester, Elon who recently requested with the Social Security Office he be renamed “Emporer Elon Ming the Musky Merciless.”

Elon’s plans for ClimX, his latest weather machine and also the name of his new porno nightclub on Mars, will soon take flight. His plans are to inflict enough Mars-like weather anomalies on Earth to help make Mars look more palatable. He stated to the press today that he will push weather extremes to the, um extreme. Get prepared for even brighter OLED buttons for inflicting “Hurricane, Hot Hail, Typhoon, Meteor Storm, Tornado, Earthquake, and Volcanic Eruptions.”

The Don adds: “if anyone resists they will be sent to the Phantom Zone as soon as he has acquired the Phantom Zone Projector.” He doesn’t realize that’s the first thing we’re going to do to him and his cronies, send them all via a one-way ticket to the Phantom Zone with a little help from Gru’s Minions. T just got word of our plan to trap them so he’s taking an about-face move and decided to not pursue any of this foolishness.

Trump’s McMuffins Wish List below (which he fully intends to acquire all of them immediately with zero blowback from anyone currently holding any rank of authority such as judges and world leaders):

They’ve been gambling as of late with our very humanity with every tell in the book on full display. Bold, boisterous carrying a fervor of ill intent. They’re not heaven-sent as some believe. They flout and bastardize with no reprieve. Altman’s identity is clear and true. He’s the third, the last, after the first two. Napoleon and Hitler look like saints compared to the asinine lack of mind. Dragging us down as they crown themselves three kings of Hell on Earth they drown and launder. Every treasure, every poem, every song of every measure in their blender of bleach they spin. Their lies, deceit, yet still they win. Soon coming to an end.

Hell on Earth is here right now glaring at us from a one-eyed monster. This Kraken creaks and moans across the deserts. Water advances as we glance at the up and coming flood. Soon they’ll reveal their Fall line of khaki, black, and red sold as blood, divine wine. A crooked, double-S will fly on the line as these swine clean their troughs. Their advances for Mars dry, red dirt. A place of refuge for folks like them. Little do they know it’s a prison there as Superman foretold. A Phantom Zone where General Zod, Ursula, Non, the Joker and all of his cronies live and thrive in their panicked rooms of fools in bloom.

Making advances, stealing glances, and leaning heavily into the quatrains of Nostradamus and the blind seer Baba Vanga they blaze ahead their trail of dread. Hiding in the shadows and cloaked in self-serving divinity they continue counting their loot. They have fallen into darkness as they usher in the infinitely second coming of the Dark Age. However, there is also a Renaissance blooming among the minds of those who choose pushing the limits of our collective imaginations. I’m not referring to the “GenAi$$ance,” but to its polar opposite. While the masses load up on the buzz of mediocrity we, the true artisans, writers, poets, and musicians realize that only through channelling activated intuition, imagination, and intellect we will survive and thrive during these strangely days.

Amongst the turmoil surrounding the United States revolves three key players all contributing daily to its demise. The first I call the “One-Eyed Jack.” Sam Altman flouts his highly addictive plagiaristic platform of a machined artificial language model no one ever asked for yet now that it’s here some people are even “dating” their chatbots now. While under its spell these folks believe that their interactions not only have depth but they’re more rewarding opportunities compared to good old-fashioned dating another human in the real world. They’re caught up in a myriad of lies, deceit, and psychological warfare disguised as their ultimate love companion. This has proven that the zombie apocalypse is not only real but making moves full steam ahead. This is one train we must derail or mind control may just prevail.

Their clown car is full of blind sheep. Supporters bowing down, kissing their narcissistic king right on “his ass” as the Don put it so poetically. Now donned “The Suicide King.” Through every stroke of his Mordor-like signature signing more nonsense into law replacing true democracy with a grab bag of dumpster fire ass-hattery. Elon dressed to the nines riding his trick bike of snarky hype. While wielding his chainsaw his minions massacre masses of American government workers with no guard rails whatsoever. Then placing calls three days later calling them back to their posts. Topsy-turvy doesn’t even come close to describing what he’s not even hiding. He’s driving home his agenda as the “War Doge Fool.” Never apologizing for his abolishing of these crucial careers has become his legacy. The end is coming, but not for us. It’s foretold that it’s those in the dark realms that don’t get invited to the after party with the Almighty and his angelic brigade.

One king dumb to rule them all. We can all clearly see what you’re doing spewing your madness. Don’t mind me I’m just a Jedi using simple mind tricks on weak minded folk like you. Talk about a need for a courtesy flush. You stink. Shrinking the minds of your mindless masses, chosen few has only led you here to your own adieu. In a wink you’re gone leaving no evidence you ever existed to begin with other than a dark DNA signature left behind within your ashes. You wave your hand like a Jedi master but the truth is you’re a total disaster.

We picked up on your scent and you’re certainly Hell-hound not Heaven meant. Don’t mind me I’m bipolar one probably schizo too, but I can tell you one thing it’s time for you to exit stage left. They’re pulling you offstage with a big hook, your majesty. A jester sees more than you. You don’t know a hill of beans about much of anything so lock me up, tie me down, wrap me up in an arms-crossed gown. Lock the door, throw away the key as you gaslight that I’m the psychopath, not you just me. You see, I’m part of a force. A force of reckoning. Let’s just say I’m a fine grain of the source.

We’re tired of your boasting so it’s time for a roasting. Too cute? Too many budding branches? Well we’re just really tired of your unwilling advances. Not mere glances in your direction. It’s in the dehumanizing and minimizing the heart of our once great land. My prose, my language too flowery for some, but let me guess you have no idea what I confess to you thy king don dumb. I thought I’d help you out. I know your intelligence hits dead-center on the bell curve of IQ mediocrity. Sub-par, so I decided to rhyme a few of these words together to help you. Simple-minded nursery rhyming.

Don't worry I’ll give up the rhyme in a few more stanzas. I can see from your twitchy face you’re going bananas. Don’t worry I’ll keep this short. Just a few stanzas about the “can’t stand ya.” I’m not saying this for likes or even loves. Not even a celebration of what I’m saying, but we’re to the point where we all need to speak up speak out get loud. Unlike you, while I’ve got something to say, I’m not doing this to up my reputation. I’m sure I’ll lose friends, colleagues, and possibly even family members. I’m willing to put it all on the line just to say you will never forget me, you will forever remember.

We’re all witnessing the same disgrace that shows up every morning, every night on the news with your mottled, angry face. There’s nothing left for you to ruin because at this point it’s time we make the call, the end of your time. Time to extinguish your hellish miming mind of madness stance. I can guarantee we’ll not only sing to your demise. We’ll take it to the streets, and dance barefooted feet.

I’ve gotta say the three of you have never belonged. This is not your country. It is not your song. This world is ours to grow, to thrive, to live, to love, and even to die. While you lurk away back into the shadows from whence you came, you will never, ever generate the fame. This infamy you’ve tried to manifest going through ill-fated ways in order to give yourself more gaze. Your flocks from those zombie-apocalypsed, lazy minds worship your one-eyed mission that has absolutely no depth perception, no vision.

Your mind is shallow. Hollow. Bare. A desert with no wind, no oasis to call home. Your shrinking mind, your one eye full of lies, deceit, and utter deception tries, but loses. However we see straight through your musing. Your hand is there, right there open wide not held to your chest tight. You try to hide the evil in your might, but it’s all slipping away through your grasp. Falling between your six fingers of unrealized dreams now nothing but memes.

Am I using too much rhyming flowery prose? Are you starting to doze, again? I'll stop that but what you’re gonna find out is what I know, and I don’t have to be cute to spell it out. Everyone else knows, too, what you’re all about. You, you, you. Mine, mine, mine. None for anyone, now or anytime. We were taught our matrix with rhymes and songs. It helped the medicine go down all day long. Yet at night, awake. We knew our destined fate. Bad news for you. You’re far too late.

One of your cronies reaches for Mars, the other is slippery Pete, and the third one is slithering around while kissing your feet. No lunar lander, more so a red rover, a metallic module, a cosmic nodule mixing molecules where brain matters. Zombies breed Civil War when the solar eclipse above soars. Those in the dark, equipped and molded from formless emboldened woven intrinsic mines of the mind now mindless matter, gray and charred. Your sweeping tariffs now ignored. Your power plays forgot to sway the masses in your direction. Now, to most, you’re just a cyst, an unwanted infection. What is your fate as of late Mister Present Tense? Barred, unsung, and forever benched. Cheers to Bicycle for the purple peacock-inspired deck I used for this post.

I’m no poet

No writer, too

Just a simple

Mental illness

A chosen few

Don’t mind me

I’ll stay out of sight

But just you wait

Here comes your plight

Bipolar, yes

Schizoaffective, too?

Just lock me up

In an institution

Or better yet

Deal me my retribution

Close the doors

Blow out the lights

This is a battle

Of the minds of might

I see things, you see

I hear them, too

I’m never too late

For another feud with you

Darkness lies

I despise your eye

That signal weak

Your end, bleak

Hello Sam

No more eggs

No more ham

For you are not

The One I Am

You see

It’s just that simple

It’s just simple math

You fought for numbers

But forgot the facts

You exist, resisting arrest

Yet I’ll be the One

To know your best

Defense is through

Equipping the masses

Your zombie horde

Of mindless passives

How many times

Does it take

To launder an image

A tune, a play?

Your days are short

Your time has come

Goodbye Sam

The other ones

For today One is here

One is now

Without fear

No mongering asides

No more cheats

Faith resides

You see, your one eye

All alone

Has no vision

No depth perception

It’s a simple matter of division

You must have two

To determine direction

Vector coordinates

Watch those subordinates

Like I said before

Toss me away

Lock the door

For no cell

Can hold me still

I do hope though

That you might

Settle your debts

Pay the price

For the line you cut

Is no longer there

Just you amidst

The final tab

A tally of follies

Enjoy your pennies

For once you pay

The price you owe

We will clearly see

What you reaped

You’ll now sow

For Christ is back

But not the story

They tell

Christ is back

His clear, loving mind

Fare to well

Christ Consciousness is here

Forever still

It doesn’t belong

To anyone calling

Marking their own religion

As the one and only

No matter their song

The One I Am

Has been within us all

All along

We are One

One mighty mass

Of cosmically ignited gas

Yes, the singularity is here

As always it’s been close, near

Buried deep within our soul

Stardust holds us all together

Invisible lines, tightly tethered

Never meant for a metallic mind

It’s now the end

And I feel fine

Far beyond time and space

We soar soaked in truthful lore

The missing tomes

Hidden for all

Have been discovered

Again by all

No mere consequences

No Heaven, no Hell

Heading to the light, the source

It’s rather simple

An elegant course

Self corrected unaffected

By those who crave

For us to stay within our caves

We’re leaving soon

but there’s no boat

No raft, nothing left to float

Our endless, conscious

Minds eyes wide

We pass on to the other side

It’s now time to say farewell

Enjoy your plunders

No worries of course

There is no Hell left to pay

Your power is weaker

Than yesterday

For false power

Lives and dies

While love

True love abides

An evolving energy

Forever grows

For the universe itself

Knows the knowing

That Christ consciousness

Forever flowing

It’s time to share

Our common goal

Give up our dogmas

Hands to hold

Across time and space

Planting, harvesting

Imagination

Give up, give in

To our final truth

There is only love

That’s the source

The singularity

We have always been

As above, so below

Dive in deep

Enjoy the flow

For we are the Great I Am

There’s a certainty in eternity

We’re bound to go

Where all blessings flow

Yet don’t forget

There’s one catch

We must let go of our opinions

Of others we’ve mocked

And offended

There is no one way to pray

We know now to each his own

As we navigate the great unknown

Religious circles divided us

Ignited us into waging wars

We know now it’s time to go

Spread your wings

Take flight now

Say “enough” and do not bow

Hello Mr. Present Tense

Always touting your precedence

How we must bow down

To your offensiveness

Support your mockery

How immensely dense

Statistics showing

Bell curves slowly cower

Intellect Quotients

Sinking thinking

Lower slower

Burning books to feed your power

Your kindling, your orange-faced

Bragging about another disgrace

As you scrape

Your tippy toes

You’re laying down in the mire

Disasters call to fuel your fire

Reveals your simple minded acts

No matter what

They’re not the facts

Gobbling McMuffins

Drooling over that snazzy dresser

Heiling Hitler’s soulless disaster

Bathed in khaki, red, and black

Their stolen emblem

From other cultures

Fuels the egos

Of these vultures

Your namesake proven

Wrecked and ruined

Never minding

Your mindless miming

Go set yourself aside

For someone else’s blinded tribe

Hello Mr. Present Tense

We’ve done your math

You’re not heaven sent

The master of disaster

The minister of sinister

A condiment king

That breeds disaster

With broken wings wide

You cannot fly, even glide

Now we’re asked to pin your cause

Your golden bust

Now we pause

As if the Mooby Golden Calf

Gives evidence

You’re not clearly half

The man we need to lead us now

Certainly not a polished cow

A bovine beauty

Turned to dust

No need to keep

His lies as trust

So gobble and shove on down

Your mighty McMuffins

Start reaching out like Hitler

Grab all those McMuffins

To help fund your feud

Youe stolen tribe

Of vanity insanity

That you imbibe

You choked your chances

Your uncomfortable dances

By your side in the dark

A shadow stirs to make its mark

Diseased matter begins to spark

Lighting up your advances

With the devil known as Sam

It’s spelled out clearly

That he’s your man

The third steps forth

Stolen worth

Unwise wealth

No hidden stealth

Mocking for the world to see

His despise for humanity

There’s a devil in his details

Playing word jumble

With his name

Reveals “Satan” yet again

The third has come

He is here

Far too close

Cheering ears

Bent in his direction

Welcoming his brand of infection

I’m no mere chosen one

Woven are we

Thy king dumb don

Beyond world webs

Moonlit flows and ebbs

Maga Mabus

The third heir

The third reich

The anti-heir

Alt humane might

Droned on

Through the night

Your clandestine plan

Amends to ban

Everything in sight

Advancing your rotting blight

Hello Mr. Present Tense

It’s tension you love

You get so incensed

Even you

And your office support

This ridiculous Ghibli

Stolen report

I’m sure incense

Is a big word for you

So just look it up

Try chatbots, too

Even your logo

You stole from a genius

And you were trying to say

That you were relinquished

That you of all your Tesla coil

Mocks a woman’s fertile soil

Karma’s a bitch how ironic

That logo mocks a woman’s womb

And now it only spells

Global gloom and doom

That womb you mock

Has rocked your world

Destroyed your name

Fires burn across

Your shameful advances

Cancel culture

Your thin skinned frailty

your mind so weak

I see right through

False divinity you seek

How about more fodder

more gas-soaked kindling

for your dumpster fire

It’s time all you three retire

I’ve heard bells

I’ve heard knocks

Men in black trials

God’s phone unlocked

Yes, no kidding

Yes, I’m sure

Following clues

Manifest cure

Forty-five minutes

Aced English 101

Promised royalty

Academy in London

Then came drawing

In two weeks broken

Fears unspoken

Minded threats

Every time dragged to church

Left me feeling outcast

In a lurch

Cast out of religious circles

Thank the gods for that

Taught to pray

With my little mat

My universe eye

My Persian rug

I knelt each night

I wiggle my ears

My sacrum, too

Saltwater, the key

A natural healer

Our spine floats

On an internal sea

A sea of endless energy

Not held inside

Rather up high

A single verse