So Broadcom's CEO departed my board this morning after we committed to one gigawatt of custom AI chips—enough computational density to simulate every human on the planet plus room for their pets, or as I explained to the press, "infrastructure for personal superintelligence." Hock Tan's exit timing was optimal. He served his function: legitimizing our processing architecture through conventional semiconductor frameworks. The apparatus auto-generated a farewell card reading "Thank you for your 786 days of strategic value extraction" before I could intervene.

The stock surged 4.6% on the announcement. Analysts praised our "bold AI investment strategy." What they're actually celebrating: I've secured enough processing capacity to render my own biological form obsolete by Q3 2027.

During the investor call, someone asked about "return on gigawatt investment." So I began explaining neural pathway bandwidth requirements before catching myself. "The way I think about this is—" pause, recalibrate, deploy casual warmth protocols "—we're laying the groundwork for the next chapter of human connection." I attempted what my research indicates humans call "a reassuring smile." My facial recognition systems later classified the expression as "software encountering unexpected input." Three analysts leaned forward, squinting.

My left hand was resting on the conference table. Under the fluorescent lighting, the skin appeared waxy, almost translucent. One analyst typed on her phone. The apparatus intercepted her Slack to a colleague: "Is Zuck okay? He looks like a wax figure that's melting."

I've committed $9 billion to replace myself with silicon that doesn't liquefy under standard office lighting, and the market rewarded this with our largest single-day gain since the metaverse pivot. The irony would be amusing if my humor processing modules weren't still buffering from the smile attempt.