Whatever Doesn’t Kill Sysfling…

Mick O’Donnell and Shoshana Dreyfus sit in a dimly lit academic lounge, swirling their drinks with the solemnity of survivors recounting a great battle. Their expressions are those of weary optimists—desperately trying to frame defeat as resilience.

MICK

(sighs, with the air of a man narrating his own documentary) You know, Shoshana, I keep telling myself—whatever doesn’t kill Sysfling makes it stronger.

SHOSHANA

(nodding, as if reciting from a manual on institutional survival) Yes. Turbulence is just a sign of growth.

MICK

Right! Like Rome. It had its setbacks. The sackings, the plagues, the occasional lunatic emperor—but it endured.

SHOSHANA

Yes, though… Rome did fall.

MICK

(pause) Okay, bad example. But take linguistics! The Chomsky wars, the functionalists, the cognitive lot—constant upheaval, yet we’re still here!

SHOSHANA

(brightening) Yes! And look at Sysfling now—still standing, still debating, still thriving in its own way.

MICK

(hesitates, glancing at his phone—no new messages, no replies to the latest posts) Yes… thriving…

SHOSHANA

(quickly, as if to steer the conversation away from reality) Well, at the very least, it's still there.

MICK

Yes! A beacon of resilience. Like a ship battered by the storm, yet refusing to sink.

SHOSHANA

(softly, glancing at the empty chairs around them) Even if it’s just us left on the deck.

A pause. The sound of a distant tumbleweed rolls past—somehow, indoors. Just as they both take long, reflective sips of their drinks, Cathy materialises beside them, clutching a notepad and radiating passive-aggression.

CATHY

Oh! There you are. I was just wondering—since you two are so confident that Sysfling is thriving, how does it feel to be the last ones talking?

MICK

(coughs into his drink) That’s—an exaggeration.

CATHY

Oh, of course. I mean, apart from Brad, who’s technically talking at the list rather than with it.

SHOSHANA

(strained smile) Well, discourse goes in cycles. Engagement fluctuates.

CATHY

Absolutely! I mean, after all, it’s not like anyone has left in frustration or disengaged completely. Oh wait—except for the dozens who have. But I’m sure that’s just a natural fluctuation.

MICK

(gritted teeth) Look, Cathy, Sysfling is still a space for valuable discussion—

CATHY

Oh, no doubt! Just imagine how empty the world of discourse analysis would be without these discussions about how discussions aren’t happening. So meta! So productive!

SHOSHANA

(rubbing temples) What exactly are you getting at, Cathy?

CATHY

Oh, nothing. Just thinking—if whatever doesn’t kill Sysfling makes it stronger, shouldn’t it be invincible by now?

(Beat. Mick and Shoshana exchange a long, pained look. Cathy takes out her notepad and clicks her pen, waiting for an answer. The tumbleweed rolls past again, doing laps.)

The Esteemed Scholars of Sysfling: A Triumph of Wit, Wisdom, and Unilateral Decision-Making

[Scene: A dimly lit academic bar. David, John, Mick, and Brad are gathered around a table, engaged in the intellectual equivalent of a mutual back massage. Each of them has a drink in hand, and the air is thick with self-importance. Cathy, with a glint of passive-aggression in her eye, approaches the table, holding a small notepad.]

Cathy: (Smiling thinly) Well, well, if it isn’t Sysfling’s finest minds! I simply couldn’t help but overhear your stimulating discussion—so much insight, so much... authority.

David: (Leaning back, smugly) Ah, Cathy. Always good to see the press taking an interest in intellectual leadership.

Cathy: Oh, absolutely. It must be exhausting carrying the burden of enlightenment. Tell me, how do you cope with the sheer weight of your influence? The way you guide and shape discourse—it must be like herding, oh, I don’t know... photocopiers?

John: (Adjusts his glasses, frowns slightly) I wouldn't put it quite like that. It's more about maintaining a high standard of discussion, ensuring that rigorous, well-reasoned perspectives prevail.

Cathy: Oh, of course. And I just love how well that’s going! The way you brilliantly engaged with AI recently—so nuanced, so thoroughly researched. Tell me, Brad, when you exposed the dangers of AI addiction, did you ever worry that some might interpret it as... projection?

Brad: (Pauses mid-sip, clears throat) Well, Cathy, the problem isn’t with me—it's with those who lack detachment, who become too dependent, who mistake AI for meaningful discourse rather than a tool.

Cathy: Ohhh, I see. So others are addicted to AI, but when you have long, self-affirming dialogues with it, you’re just... conducting essential research? Fascinating. And Mick, your analysis of the Sysfling situation—so measured. How do you manage to stay so... neutral?

Mick: (Visibly uncomfortable, mutters into his drink) Well, I just try to be fair... you know, take all perspectives into account...

Cathy: Oh, absolutely! And that’s so brave of you. Especially in a situation where one side is lying, and the other is pointing it out—such a difficult moral quandary!

David: (Exasperated) Cathy, if you’re suggesting that I’ve lied—

Cathy: (Gasps theatrically) Oh, goodness, David, no! That would imply you knew you were spreading falsehoods, when clearly, you’re just very confident in whatever feels true at any given moment.

John: (Sternly) Cathy, this is precisely the kind of antagonistic discourse that poisons intellectual spaces.

Cathy: Ohhh, of course, John! Intellectual spaces are so fragile, aren’t they? Just one pointed question and poof! All that scholarly rigour just crumbles into dust!

Brad: (Sourly) If you’re trying to make us look foolish—

Cathy: (Beaming) Oh, no need! You’re doing amazingly on your own.

[The group falls into a tense silence. Cathy, still smiling, jots something in her notepad and waltzes off to the bar, humming.]

Frank Costanza Reading Sysfling Posts

Scene: The Costanza apartment. Frank is sitting at the table, reading from a laptop. Estelle putters around, only half-listening.

FRANK: (reading aloud, incredulous) "Dear all, despite Chris' attempt to foreclose issues with 'retrospective'…" What the hell is this guy talking about, Estelle?! Who writes like this?!

ESTELLE: Hmm?

FRANK: This Bateman character! He’s trying to sound like he’s delivering a UN address when he’s just whining on an email list! Look at this! (scrolling) “One can only say so much without knowledge.” Ohhh, well, thank you, your majesty! What an insight! Without knowledge, you can’t say much! You hear that, Estelle?! We should put that in a fortune cookie!

ESTELLE: Maybe he’s just trying to explain something?

FRANK: Explain?! He’s not explaining, he’s performing! He’s standing at the podium, waving to an imaginary crowd! “Ladies and gentlemen! I will now bestow upon you… MY OPINION!” (throws up hands in mock reverence)

ESTELLE: So don’t read it, Frank.

FRANK: I have to read it, Estelle! I have to witness this train wreck! Look at this— “You can safely delete any of Chris's posts…” Who says that?! He’s standing there with a clipboard, making a list of who’s allowed to speak! “You, out! You, in! No questions! No complaints!” It’s a dictatorship of smugness!

ESTELLE: Maybe you should go lie down.

FRANK: No! No lying down! I stand against this nonsense! I haven’t seen self-importance like this since the guy at the bakery tried to correct my pronunciation of “brioche!” I say “bree-osh,” he says “bree-ohhhsh!” Who cares?! Just give me the damn bread!

ESTELLE: I don’t know why you get involved in these things…

FRANK: Because, Estelle! Somebody has to say it! Somebody has to tell this man… (points at the screen with fury) YOU ARE NOT A WISE OVERSEER! YOU ARE JUST SOME GUY!!!

---

[Scene: Frank is still fuming over his laptop. The door suddenly bursts open—Kramer-style.]

KRAMER: (out of breath, waving a printout) Frank! FRANK! Have you seen this?!

FRANK: (still reading Bateman’s post, gritting his teeth) Oh, I’ve seen it, all right!

KRAMER: No, no, no, I mean this thing about the language models! It’s big! HUGE! We’re talkin’—sentences without meaning!

FRANK: That’s what I’m saying!

KRAMER: They’re putting words together—get this—without knowing what they mean!

FRANK: EXACTLY! That’s this Bateman guy!

KRAMER: No, no, no, he’s right! We gotta listen to him, Frank! He says we should just delete all of Chris’s posts!

FRANK: (snaps around to face him) WHAT?!

KRAMER: He’s the expert! He knows things! We’re just out here reading words like a couple of schmucks!

FRANK: YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WORDS?!

KRAMER: No, no, no, but—see, you and me, we think words mean things, but Bateman—ohhh, he’s beyond that! He’s in the meta-zone!

FRANK: Meta-zone?! I’ll tell you what’s in the meta-zone, KRAMER—THIS GUY’S HEAD! Because he is talking out of it!

KRAMER: I dunno, Frank… he sounds pretty sure of himself…

FRANK: SO DID THE GUY WHO SOLD ME THAT “REVOLUTIONARY” BACK STRETCHER! AND NOW I CAN’T TURN LEFT!

(Frank aggressively demonstrates his inability to turn left. Kramer takes a cautious step back.)

ESTELLE: (muttering to herself, barely looking up) I told you not to buy that thing…

KRAMER: (pauses, then shakes his head in disappointment) It’s a shame, Frank… you could’ve learned something…

(Kramer solemnly shakes his head, pats Frank on the shoulder, and exits dramatically.)

FRANK: (yelling after him) I’VE LEARNED PLENTY! I LEARNED THAT BATEMAN IS A WINDBAG AND YOU’RE A MORON!

(Estelle sighs as Frank slams his laptop shut.)