Good bot, bad cop, and the road to enlightenment

It’s Black Hat week, and not only don’t I have a black hat, they’re shaving my head. I didn’t even make it a quarter of the way to Vegas, and it looks like I never will. Instead of sucking down scotch on silky bar stools with security slicksters, I’m being processed into a rehab facility somewhere south and west of Philadelphia. They’re not going to let me leave until they’re convinced I’ve fully grokked the folly of drinking and the benevolence of anyone...

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