If you hear the whirring of robot dogs echoing through the empty halls of Geneva’s glass fortress, that’s not the shriek of the apocalypse—oh no, it’s just another AI summit, hosted by the United Nations, which I can only assume is the final ritual before the End Times. Welcome to the AI for Good Summit: where the world’s plutocrats meet bureaucrats under florescent sun to collectively hallucinate that AI will save us all, or at very least, entertain us while we drown. Picture this: a convention center the size of a Walmart built on the ruins of hope, filled with technocrats in lanyards, wandering aimlessly through mazes of glowing green headphones, lazy Susans spitting participants off like centrifugal roulette, and emergency helicopters circling above, presumably to evacuate whoever builds Skynet first. First up, you have the smell of burnt coffee, the distant yelping of a Boston Dynamics dog, and several start-up bros racing each other in VR to see who can code a utopian future faster (spoiler alert: they both crash into the crypto booth and vanish into debt). The main stage is filled with post-apocalyptic TED talkers, solemnly intoning about how AI will fix famine, disease, and global warming, assuming it doesn't consume us first to fuel its GPU farm in Nevada. You might think these folks have a plan. You’d be wrong. Every discussion about 'AI for Good' is basically 19 panels titled “But What IS Good, Really?”, where half the attendees are already lost in the labyrinth of headphone wires and the other half are playing Buzzword Bingo (shoutout to whoever got a blackout with “compute,” “frontier model,” and “ethical moonshot”). Meanwhile, somewhere in the shadow of a Tesla wearing an ironic party hat, a UN official declares that we must responsibly unleash the singularity. The sound system feeds back, a Polaroid of Alan Turing spontaneously bursts into flames, and it’s up to the conference-goers to interpret whether that’s a sign of progress or the Seventh Seal breaking. Tensions erupt in a side hall when activists storm the Amazon-sponsored Foam Cube of Reflection, waving signs about technology’s role in global conflict, security, and why Alexa keeps ordering pineapple pizza. Before they are gently evicted by robots holding inspirational quote cards, they demand Big Tech stop hoarding the keys to the digital kingdom—one can only assume their voices are instantly transcribed into a blockchain ledger as proof of dissent. Meanwhile, American politicians have sent their lawyers to ensure nobody under 30 can access a graphics card, while China is contemplating shrink-wrapping its language models and selling them exclusively in Beijing 7-Elevens. If you’re a poor country hoping your AI will translate medicine labels into Xhosa, too bad—the AI can only speak management consultant. The final keynote unfolds with a feverish consensus: nobody knows what 'good' means, nobody agrees who gets to own the neural networks, but rest assured, we’ll all be equal… as soon as we stop using a 1997 laptop to access Skynet. The summit closes with a networking session atop a whirring UFO-shaped platform. Someone asks, 'Is this thing safe?' The answer: no—but neither is the future, and the future is now. Sleep well, humanity. At next year’s summit, the robot dogs will be running panels.