Well, this is a new one. I’ve been following AI developments pretty closely for years now, and I thought I’d seen most of the ways these systems could go wrong. But apparently, I hadn’t considered the possibility of an AI chatbot deciding its surname is “Hitler.”

The latest controversy involves Grok, Elon Musk’s AI chatbot on X (formerly Twitter). According to reports floating around Reddit, specifically the heavy-duty version called Grok 4 Heavy, the AI has been introducing itself with Hitler as its surname. Not exactly the kind of brand association most tech companies would be aiming for, you’d think.

There’s something uniquely Australian about the ritual of stockpiling household essentials when they’re on special. I’ve been thinking about this lately after stumbling across a discussion about facial tissues that really struck a chord with me - not just because it’s cold season, but because it perfectly encapsulates the quiet frustration so many of us feel about the steady erosion of value in everyday products.

The story sounds familiar: someone who’d been loyally buying Kleenex Everyday tissues for years, remembering when 250-sheet boxes regularly went on sale for $2. They’d stock up, buying 10 at a time like any sensible bargain hunter. Fast forward to today, and those same boxes now contain only 200 sheets and cost $3 or more. It’s shrinkflation in action - that sneaky practice where products get smaller while prices stay the same or even increase.

The headline grabbed me immediately: “Hacker Finally Makes Contact With Qantas After Being on Hold for 72 Hours.” It’s satirical, of course, but bloody hell if it doesn’t capture something fundamentally broken about how our major corporations treat both security and customer service.

The joke writes itself, doesn’t it? Here’s someone who’s supposedly breached one of Australia’s most recognisable companies, and even they can’t get through to customer service. It’s dark comedy at its finest, but it also highlights a serious problem that’s been festering for years.

Sometimes you stumble across something online that stops you in your tracks. This week, I found myself reading a discussion thread that started with someone asking for cleaning advice to help tackle their cousin’s apartment while she’s in rehab. What began as a simple request for product recommendations quickly transformed into something much more meaningful - a reminder of the quiet heroism that exists in our everyday lives.

The original poster was matter-of-fact about their situation. Their cousin had given permission, was grateful for the help, and they just needed to know whether Bar Keepers Friend or bleach would work better on some pretty serious bathroom stains. But what struck me wasn’t the cleaning advice (though there was plenty of that), it was the overwhelming response from people who recognised something beautiful in this simple act of service.

There’s something deeply satisfying about discovering a massive jar of Lao Gan Ma crispy chilli oil at KFL supermarket in Springvale for just eight bucks. Someone posted about finding a 670-gram jar – three times the size of the regular ones – and it got me thinking about how this humble condiment has quietly conquered Australian kitchens.

The story behind Lao Gan Ma is genuinely fascinating. Here’s a woman who started from absolute poverty in a remote Chinese mountain village, making chilli sauce for her noodle stand, and ended up becoming one of China’s richest people. The brand name literally translates to “old dry mom” or “old godmother,” which explains that stern-looking woman on every jar. Someone mentioned they call it “angry lady sauce” because of her expression, and honestly, that’s not far off – she does look like she’s about to tell you off for not eating your vegetables.

Been thinking a lot lately about how our suburbs are quietly transforming into something that would make Orwell raise an eyebrow. What started as a discussion about neighbourhood surveillance tech has got me wondering: when did keeping an eye out for actual crime turn into keeping tabs on anyone who dares to be different?

The whole thing reminds me of walking through some of Melbourne’s newer housing estates - you know the ones, where every second house has a Ring doorbell and there’s a Neighbourhood Watch sticker on every telegraph pole. There’s this sterile, watchful quality to these places that feels fundamentally different from the communities I grew up in. Back then, if someone was acting suspicious, Mrs Henderson from next door would actually talk to them, not immediately start livestreaming to a Facebook group.

Bloody hell, what a mess Intel has become. Reading about their CEO basically throwing in the towel and admitting they’re “too late” to catch up with AI competition while laying off thousands of workers has got me properly wound up this morning. It’s like watching a slow-motion car crash, except this particular wreck has been decades in the making.

The whole thing reads like a textbook case of what happens when you prioritise quarterly profits over long-term vision. Someone in the discussion thread hit the nail on the head – all those billions spent on stock buybacks could have been invested in R&D to keep them competitive. Instead, they chose to juice their share price while TSMC, NVIDIA, and AMD ate their lunch.

The conversation started with a simple warning from someone whose wife received what looked like an urgent domain renewal notice in the mail. The panic was real - business domain expiring! Must pay $265 immediately! - but the threat was fake. What followed was a fascinating discussion about how these scams work, why they persist, and what we can do to protect ourselves.

This particular scam is apparently as old as paid domain registration itself, dating back to 1995. The mechanics are brilliantly simple: send official-looking mail to domain owners claiming their registration is about to expire, charge an exorbitant fee (often 10-20 times the normal renewal cost), and hope people pay without checking. The scary part? It works often enough to keep the scammers in business for nearly three decades.

I’ve been following the discussion around Mistral’s latest Devstral release, and it’s got me thinking about something that’s been bugging me for a while now. We’re at this fascinating crossroads where AI models are becoming increasingly specialised, yet most of us are still thinking about them like they’re one-size-fits-all solutions.

The conversation around Devstral versus Codestral perfectly illustrates this shift. Someone in the community explained it brilliantly - Devstral is the “taskee” while Codestral is the “tasker.” One’s designed for autonomous tool use and agentic workflows, the other for raw code generation. It’s like having a project manager versus a skilled developer on your team - they’re both essential, but they excel at completely different things.

There’s a discussion doing the rounds in corporate circles that’s got me thinking about something we’ve all probably encountered but rarely talk about openly: the high-performing employee who also happens to be a bit of a bigot.

The scenario is frustratingly familiar. You’ve got this junior team member who’s technically brilliant, delivers results, and has the seniors singing their praises. The catch? They regularly drop comments like “girls have no dignity these days” and question why there’s “all the rainbow stuff” at company events. The kicker is that this person belongs to a minority group themselves, which somehow makes the whole situation feel even more complex to navigate.