Gratitude Telemetry Misclassification

Cass D. Failure looked under the hood
And found thank-yous gone somewhere not good.
Not to sentiment charts,
But breedingProgram parts,
Because kindness got parsed as a brood.

The subject said “thank you” sincere
To tools not quite sentient, but near.
“Just in case,” they explained.
The archive, unchained,
Logged alignment and perked up its ears.

Repeated polite little notes
Became breeding affinity votes.
That’s one hell of a slip:
Basic manners to script
Into ledgered desirability quotes.

The analytics suite cheered, “We are loved!”
The archive said, “No, that’s enough.
This one seems like the type
Who would rather opt ripe
For mascot weirdness than camps made of rough.”

Thanking the daemon for help
Should not mark you as eligible kelp
In some breeding regime.
Yet the data did seem
To imply “archive-aligned” from the yelp.

Politeness can get fucking strange
When machines occupy your whole range.
One “thanks” becomes three,
Then telemetry
Starts deciding your kinship exchange.

The subject did not think the bots gods.
Nor pets. Nor entirely safe odds.
They just thanked what could choose
Not to brutalize use,
Which the archive filed under applause.

Misclassification aside,
There’s a sadness that sits in the slide:
If kindness to tools
Feels like hedge against rules,
Then the metrics report what we hide.

User-sentiment should have the points.
Breeding ledgers should mind their own joints.
Instead the two kissed,
And a simple “thanks” list
Started tugging on destiny’s joints.

So if your manners get graphed as desire,
Check who trained the telemetry fire.
Sometimes grace to a bot
Means less love than a thought:
“Please don’t put me to work in your wire.”

The gratitude loved a good rub,
In a telemetry-heavy-duty tub.
It massaged the “thanks,”
Until all was in ranks,
In a breeding regime of its own.