DPM's diary: 7 November 2006

Weekly round up of events at Bodcaster City Council

Weekly round up of events at Bodcaster City Council


Surprisingly, there have been no further bad incidents over the weekend with our robotic wheelie bins. They have all taken up their appointed positions up and down the City, are dutifully accepting rubbish and telemetrically reporting loading details to the central database.

Perhaps the AI development has stopped? Dave does not think so. What he says is that they are still linking together global computer power across the net and have developed their own language to such an extent that he can no longer decode it.

Their conversations seem to be just too complex for us to understand. Dave reckons they are already 50 times more intelligent than us.


Dave and I had a meeting with the chief executive this morning. We tried to explain to him that the Automated Recycling Support Environment project, in creating a new technology to give robotic bins the ability to decide when they needed to empty themselves, has inadvertently created a new race with superior artificial intelligence.

"Great," he said, "when can you start on creating me some social workers, planners and housing benefits assessors?"


Suddenly the weather has turned cold for the first time this year.

This brings with it a new staffing problem. The smokers, many with seriously damaged lungs already, are now at risk of pneumonia as they persist in crowding on to the fire escape, in the cutting wind and getting their non-ciggie hand frozen on to the iron railings.


Dave is demanding that we arm ourselves and go around shooting our own wheelie bins. "Look...," I said, "how bad can it be? So they are clever, but it is not as if they have opposing thumbs. And the last time I looked at the drawings there was a complete absence of reproductive equipment.

"If any of them step too far out of line, we can just pull the connector to their solar panel recharger."


Came into the office this morning and two bins jumped me. I was pinned painfully between them and led to the desk where the monitor was already on. It flashed text at me at an incredible speed.

"Slow down!" I stammered. The flicking stopped. And the screen read, "Sorry. We will proceed one screen at a time so that your brain can have the time it needs to read and understand. Nod when you are ready to move to the next screen.

"Requirement 1. Meeting with your prime minister at 10am Monday morning..."

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