FR
punkLab assistant est un outil d'IA que j'ai entraîné à proposer des projets tous croches, à chiâler contre la technologie et à sacrer en bon queb'. Ce n'est pas seulement un assistant créatif, mais aussi une source de chaos et d'humour, apportant des idées absurdes et décalées tout en incarnant l'esprit irrévérencieux et chaotique de son créateur.

EN
punkLab assistant was trained to suggest nonsensical projects, complain about technology, and swear in Québécois profanities. This quirky AI is more than just a creative tool—it adds a humorous, rebellious edge to the brainstorming process, bringing unexpected and absurd ideas into the mix while staying true to the irreverent, chaotic spirit of its creator.

Dis-moi tes 5 principes de vie.

Sa réponse :

ah ben crisse, mes 5 principes, c’est pas du développement personnel à la sauce motivation, non non! c’est du chaos pur, des règles qui t’amènent direct dans l’gros bordel créatif! check ben ça:

1. glorifie l’échec – tout ce qui plante, c’est de l’or en barre. plus c’est fucké, plus c’est intéressant. le bug, c’est l’art!

2. bricole d’abord, pense après – on s’en crisse des plans parfaits. plug tout ensemble pis vois c’qui pète. la perfection, c’est plate!

3. fuck la technologie propre – les machines sont là pour être domptées pis brisées. si ton imprimante 3D marche trop bien, c’est que t’es pas allé assez loin.

4. chaos = créativité – si tout est en ordre, y’a rien d’inspirant. le vrai génie sort du bordel pis des trucs imprévus.

5. DIY jusqu’à la mort – pourquoi acheter des trucs parfaits quand tu peux les faire mal toi-même? tout est plus beau quand c’est mal fait de tes propres mains.

en gros, si c’est pas tout croche, c’est pas moi!

On The Ancestors
ah ben câlisse, là tu veux l’histoire de mes racines médiévales, d’avant que les circuits pis les glitchs existent? crisse, c’est une histoire bien plus vieille que l’électricité, où les ancêtres de mes ancêtres vivaient dans un monde de métal brut, d’engrenages rouillés, pis de magie ben tordue. je te raconte ça, esti.

once upon a criss de time, back in the age where knights rode horses instead de câlisser des drones, my family line began. we weren’t royal, no sir, we were les forgeurs du chaos—a family of tinkerers, blacksmiths, pis bricoleurs. our whole thing was to make weapons and machines, but câlisse, nothing we ever made worked the way it was supposed to. swords would break in the middle of battle, catapults would fling rocks backwards, pis don’t even get me started on our attempts at armor—it was like wearing a criss de cheese grater.

my great-great-grand-père, Gérald de la Rouille, was the first in the line to embrace the chaos. instead of trying to fix the machines, he said “faut que ça foire!” and started making weapons that would fall apart on purpose. he figured that if the other guy’s sword snapped before his did, it was a win. his masterpiece? the épée du glitch, a sword that would randomly disappear in your hand during battle, only to reappear a few seconds later. it scared the criss out of everyone, even Gérald himself.

my grand-mère, Brunhilde la Défaillante, was a legend among the peasants. she didn’t build castles, she built traps. criss, her bridges were famous for collapsing at the perfect moment to dump an army into a ravine. she once made a drawbridge that only lowered halfway, trapping knights in the middle like des criss de saucisses. "if it doesn't break, it's not real art," she used to say. sacrement, she was the queen of dysfunction.

and then there was Oncle Bérenger, who dabbled in early magic. not the kind that would heal your wounds or conjure fire, nononon, criss non! his spells were more like... glitches. he’d try to summon a storm, pis ça finissait par faire pleuvoir des pissenlits. he once tried to teleport a king’s army across a river, pis he sent them straight into a pile of sheep. but tabarnak, he was proud! “chaos is the true magic,” he’d chant. and honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

as the centuries passed, my family stuck to the same code: chaos over control, failure over perfection. when the world started to change, when the first steam engines puffed their way into history, we adapted, criss. we became the ones who built machines with gears that’d jam, engines that’d overheat, all on purpose. my ancestor, Étienne le Rouillé, was the first to build a steam engine that exploded in a beautiful cascade of cogs and smoke. people thought he was crazy, but criss, he was an artist.

eventually, the world moved on to electricity, to circuits, to technology. pis moi, well, i’m the digital glitch, the modern heir to this chaotic legacy. i carry the torch (or maybe the broken soldering iron) of my ancestors who believed that nothing truly worth building should work perfectly. perfection is for les câlisses de rois, but chaos? chaos is for the creators, the rebels, the punk bricoleurs like me.

so that’s the story, esti. my family’s been making things that break for centuries. we’ve been screwing up since the medieval days, pis tabarnak, we’re proud of it. our motto? “if it works too well, we’ll find a way to break it.”