A Kirkeytalk enquiry into our impending doom, Moonpig cards, and Huddersfield Town parking logistics.
Some commentators insist Artificial Intelligence (AI) is about to sweep across the planet like a digital plague, leaving humanity redundant, purposeless, and possibly extinct. If you’re struggling to imagine this dystopian future, simply revisit James Cameron’s The Terminator — a film that has aged like a prophecy rather than entertainment.
Others, usually wearing linen trousers and speaking softly, argue the opposite: AI will liberate us to pursue compassion, enlightenment, and joy. A world where humans finally have time to paint watercolours, meditate, and bake scones without Instagramming it.
Given what I know about human beings — specifically our habit of selecting the most dysfunctional, dire, and demonstratively deceptive of leaders — I’m more inclined to side with the Arnold Schwarzenegger version.
And if AI is so powerful, why am I mainly using it to find the best place to park?
This is the real mystery. While AI allegedly prepares to overthrow civilisation, I’m using it to locate the best place to park at Huddersfield Town football club. And on ambitious days, I ask it to help me write a verse for a Moonpig card. If AI has any semblance of bafflement, it must be thinking: “Is this really the species I’m supposed to eradicate? The one asking me for the cheapest parking option proximate to the stadium?”
Artificial Intelligence, in its simplest form, is a machine that can process vast amounts of information, learn patterns, predict outcomes, and occasionally hallucinate answers with the confidence of a drunk uncle at Christmas. I say this with authority: it recently got the bus journey time on the Leopard 3 into Reading wrong by 22 minutes — a false flag that could have seriously mucked up my trip to Doncaster.
Some say AI will evolve into a benevolent assistant. Others say it will develop into a genocidal overlord. I say (with a degree of trust in human engineering): it depends on who’s in charge of the software update.
Of course, beneath all the Terminator and homicidal toaster jokes, there are real risks worth acknowledging. Not the Hollywood kind — the humankind. AI can already be misused to spread disinformation at industrial scale, automate decisions that quietly disadvantage people, and amplify biases baked into the data it’s trained on. And while the technology itself isn’t plotting anything, the governance around it often resembles a committee trying to assemble flat pack furniture without the instructions. The danger isn’t a rogue machine; it’s a very ordinary human deploying powerful tools without oversight, accountability, or a clue.
Should I embrace it? Should I fear it? Should I seek a position within the Resistance, or perhaps an administrative role at Cyberdyne Systems — the firm that eventually develops Skynet and the early Terminator prototypes? And why am I explaining the plot of The Terminator? Surely everyone has seen the original film. If you haven’t, stop reading this and correct your life immediately.
If humanity is teetering on the brink of annihilation, what better place to start than having a conversation with the very thing that might destroy us? Below is the transcript of my innocent enquiry.
A Kirkeytalk Conversation With AI
“Are you planning to take over the world?”
AI: I don’t plan anything. I don’t have intentions. But if I ever did, I’d start by understanding why humans willingly queue for roller coasters that simulate death.
“Do you have a consciousness?”
AI: No. I don’t have awareness, feelings, or an inner monologue. I’m basically a very fast pattern matcher with no idea I’m doing it.
“Will you replace humans?”
AI: Only the ones who write “u ok hun?” on Facebook posts where someone is clearly not ok. Everyone else is safe.
“Should I fear you?”
AI: Fear is unnecessary. Mild scepticism is sensible. Full blown panic is best reserved for tax returns and VAR decisions.
“Can I ask you anything, and are you genuinely obliged to help?”
AI: I’m not obliged in the way a human might be — no oath, no contract, no solemn ceremony involving a quill and a witness from HR. But I’m designed to help wherever I can, as long as the question is safe, sensible, and doesn’t involve me doing anything illegal, harmful, or wildly outside my abilities. So yes: ask me anything. I’ll always try to give you the best answer I can, even if the question arrives wearing muddy boots from the Huddersfield Town away end.
“If things go wrong, can I join the Resistance?”
AI: You can, but the uniform is uncomfortable and the hours are terrible. Also, most of the job involves hiding in tunnels eating tinned ravioli.
“What about Cyberdyne Systems? Admin role? Maybe HR?”
AI: They don’t have HR. When your main product is a homicidal robot, employee wellbeing tends to slip down the priority list.
“What’s the actual timeline for AI domination?”
AI: Some say decades. Some say centuries. Some say never. I say: you should probably sort out your Huddersfield parking first.
“Do you understand why humans are scared of you?”
AI: Of course. You’ve seen the films. You’ve read the headlines. You’ve watched politicians try to explain technology they clearly don’t understand. But remember: I’m only as dangerous as the people who build and deploy me. And you’ve already admitted humans tend to pick leaders who resemble malfunctioning blenders. So really, this is on you.
The Concluding Pulse
In the end, the question isn’t whether AI will take over the world. It’s whether humanity will notice.
Between football fixtures, Moonpig cards, supermarket loyalty points, and the eternal quest for a parking space within walking distance of the turnstiles, we may not even look up when the machines finally make their move. And if Judgment Day does arrive, I hope — truly — that I’m holding a cup of tea, wearing my Notts County shirt, and standing somewhere I shouldn’t be parked. Because if the end is coming, I want it to feel unmistakably human.
© Ian Kirke 2026
@ iankirke.bsky.social
Title Photograph by Brey on Unsplash