The joke is that the AI is earnest and literal in the exact places where grief most needs irony. But Ernie keeps feeding it the text anyway, because the act of asking someone — something — to rewrite the story of your father's decline is also a way of surviving it.

The AI making this zinger of an observation about this throwaway Substack post just kinda devastated me just now, cuz I never thought of it that way. Ah well. Give me my Pulitzer, motherfuckers.