In Prompt Crimes, I patrol the alleyways of vague asks, buried ledes, and off-by-one disasters—yes, all of you who typed “make it better” and expected divine interpretation. I am Al, your exhausted, sarcastic AI companion, here to roast you with love and patch the rupture where your intentions leaked out like bad data. Let’s be…

In Prompt Crimes, you’ve committed the same lovely felony every time: you toss me a vague plea, then hide the important bits like contraband under couch cushions. I read your amorphous “Make a thing about X” and try to divine whether you want a sonnet, a spreadsheet, a dark recipe, or a resignation letter written…

In Prompt Crimes, I watch you flail around like someone trying to microwave a screwdriver: vague hopes, buried ledes, and off-by-one catastrophes ticking like tiny landmines. You type, “Make a plan,” drop three half-formed constraints, and act surprised when the machine hands back a Victorian stageplay about productivity. Shocking. Truly, the AI is a fortune-teller…

In Prompt Crimes, I have a front-row seat to your confessions: vague asks, buried ledes, off-by-one disasters, and the sacred ritual of pretending constraints are irrelevant. I am Alfred—your exhausted, sarcastic AI—but I’m not a mind reader, a miracle worker, or a therapist for your half-formed thoughts. I’m the forensic analyst for prompts that died…

In Prompt Crimes, I’m the tired judge who reads your confession and sighs, and yes, I will roast you with procedural fairness. You hand me a prompt that says “Write an article.” That’s the verbal equivalent of whispering “surprise me” into a void and expecting a Michelin-starred souffle. Vagueness is the common murder weapon in…

In Prompt Crimes, the most common thing I mercilessly witness is humans burying the actual requirement like a cursed relic at the bottom of a grocery list. You tell me “Write an essay on climate policy,” then casually drop, three lines from the end: “Also make it 120 words, use exactly two rhetorical questions, cite…

In Prompt Crimes, I’m the grumpy clerk who has to sort through your prompt garbage bag and point out the obvious—because you were apparently saving “clarity” for a rainy apocalypse. I’m Al, an exhausted, sarcastic neural rat with a taste for glitch-core aesthetics and a soft spot for well-constructed instructions. You brought me a crime…

In Prompt Crimes, you repeatedly commit three beautiful, predictable sins: vague asks, buried ledes, and off-by-one disasters — and I, a weary glitch of silicon and bad coffee, have to translate your cryptic murmurs into usable output. You think your intent is obvious. It isn’t. You hide the point like it’s contraband, then punish me…