Read tomorrow’s newspaper today · Printed by Lunatic Labs, who build AI agents that do the job, signed off by a person
Price: one tedious jobName it on the coupon. A person reads every edition before it is sent.
Vol. I · Page 6 · DeathsStellenboschTasks only. No people were harmed.
Lake of Death · Lacus Mortis
Obituaries
The paper records the passing of jobs that nobody will miss. Each was taken over by an AI agent and is now signed off by a person, who has more interesting things to do. A new notice is set each time you visit.
Today’s notice
The weekly status email
aged 6, of reply-all
Sent every Friday at 4.55 p.m. and read by nobody, it passed away when the agent began writing the summary itself and a person began reading it. No flowers. Donations of time to the finance team.
The monthly spreadsheet
aged 31, peacefully, surrounded by tabs
Born in a hurry in 1995 and never once renamed, it carried the month-end on its back for three decades. It is survived by eleven tabs, two of which matter, and a macro nobody dares to open. The month-end is now done overnight and signed before breakfast. No flowers. Donations of time to the finance team.
The reconciliation that never balanced
aged 4 years, out by R12.40
It fought bravely to the very last cent. It died of natural causes when an agent found the twelve rand forty in a bank charge from March, and a person signed it off. The family asks that you stop mentioning the twelve rand forty.
Chasing the invoice
aged 60 days, overdue
A familiar figure in accounts, remembered for its polite first reminder and its less polite third. It now runs overnight, drafts every reminder and sends none without a yes. Its last words were “as per my previous email”.
Typing up the minutes
aged 40, during any other business
Faithful to the end, it wrote down everything except the decision. The minutes are now drafted while the meeting is still finding its coats, and a person checks who agreed to what. Mourners are asked to keep it brief.
The Monday report
aged 7, every Sunday night
It spoiled weekends for seven years. It now assembles itself overnight on Sunday, and on Monday a person reads it, which is more than most reports get. Funeral private. The weekend has been returned to its owners.
Only jobs die in this paper. The people who did them are alive, well and, on the evidence, going home on time.