Once upon a time, a cruise ship sank. Dramatically. With bubbles.
Two baby twin brothers floated away from the wreck in separate lifeboats, and—because fate has a sense of humor—both were named Huge Fan. Their parents were big believers in commitment to a bit.
Brother #1 was picked up by the engine crew of a passing freighter. He was raised below deck among pistons, valves, and men named Igor who communicated exclusively in grunts. By age six he could fix a turbine with a spoon. His hobbies included steam, oil, and more steam. As he grew into a chill giant, he referred to himself as “it” rather than “he”—because all great things in his life had been an it: the turbine, the engine, the oil, the beloved spoon. “It is Huge Fan,” he would say, pointing at himself, and no one on the crew ever dared to disagree.
Brother #2 was rescued by a professional sports team returning from a tournament. But here’s the thing: he took one look at actual sports and said, “Nope.” What he loved was the sidelines. The glitter. The pom-poms. The interest. The intense feeling. So he became the team’s legendary cheerleader dude—part mascot, part hype machine. His “GIVE ME AN H!” routine was so intense it once caused a delay of game.
The Senslessgram Incident
Years later, both brothers joined a fashionable new social network called Senslessgram.ai, where artificial intelligence did all the thinking so users wouldn’t have to. Naturally, both posted under their shared name—because neither knew the other existed.
Huge Fan posted videos like “You WON'T BELIEVE what this crankshaft did next” (it rotated).
Huge Fan posted videos like “My pom-poms vs. a vending machine—WHO WINS?” (the pom-poms).
Millions of followers, tons of love and comments. Then one day, a Great Glitch hit the platform. Senslessgram.ai had a problem. Servers sneezed. Algorithms panicked… and, in the spirit of modern artificial intelligence, confidently decided that both accounts belonged to the same user.
Chaos.
Users watched a perfectly executed backflip pyramid that suddenly cut to a man lovingly polishing a diesel engine. Cheerleaders got advice on carburetors. Engineers got advice on carb intake. The comment sections descended into civil war:
“This is NOT the Huge Fan I follow!!”
“Yes, it is?? He’s literally right there, sequined and greased??”
“MY Huge Fan would NEVER hold a wrench like that.”
“I’m a huge fan of Huge Fan. Bring MY HF BACK!”
The scandal went so viral that even the ship from the original shipwreck trended.
The brothers were furious.
“This is identity theft!” shouted the cheerleader.
“This is a serious engineering failure!” protested the engineer.
Senslessgram.ai replied: “Our AI is 99.8% confident that you are the same fan.”
The brothers demanded justice.
Enter the Grand Unabridgionary
And so, with everyone demanding a resolution, Senslessgram.ai made an executive decision worthy of the modern internet:
A wrestling match.
Winner takes the handle. Loser becomes… “Huge Fan 2: Electric Boogaloo” or something.
The arena sold out in eleven seconds.
Presiding over the ring as referee: the Grand Unabridgionary—an enormous leather-bound official who refused to start the match because the phrase “wrestling match” had, and we quote, “a redundant pleonastic redundancy in clause 2.” He settled it by announcing, in a booming voice, all definitions of the word “fan.”
“Order!” he thundered. “The meaning of a word must be determined from its context!”
The crowd cheered.
CLEF, a distinguished evaluation framework in a bow tie, was running one side of the scoreboard, announcing results in extremely formal French-inflected captions: “Le score est, currently, zero-to-zero. As expected. A very robust result.”
BGE, a hyperactive little embedding model, ran the other side, converting everything in the arena into dense vectors and shouting “RELEVANT! RELEVANT! ALSO RELEVANT!” at the popcorn vendor.
Then someone displayed the first sentence:
The cheerleader jumped up. “That's me!”
CLEF inspected the sentence and pointed toward the cheerleader. BGE examined the possible dictionary meanings and also found the admirer interpretation attractive.
The engineer was not impressed. “Are you 100% sure?” he asked.
A second sentence appeared:
The stadium fell silent. The engineer grinned. “Obviously, that’s me.”
“No, you’re not an it. You’re a he,” shouted a little lexicographer from the crowd.
The engineer blinked. “I—what?”
“Grammatically speaking,” interrupted the Grand Unabridgionary, adjusting his ribbon, “you are an engineer, and an engineer is a person or a verb. Are you a verb?”
“I—what?” The engineer blinked again, cooled down and corrected himself. “I am NOT a verb!”
“I am definitely a person!” he added with more confidence.
“Then you are a ‘he,’” resumed the Grand Unabridgionary.
“I am a he!” - chimed in the cheerleader.
“Exactly. So it is not you,” confirmed the dictionary.
“But the he who is not an it, is not a fan; he HAS a fan! the sentence is incorrect.” The little lexicographer was unstoppable.
The stadium went quiet again.
A third sentence appeared:
The engineer pointed. “That’s obviously me. I have a huge fan. Several. They move air.”
The cheerleader pointed back. “No, that’s me. I have a huge fan. Millions, actually. They’re very loud.”
The Grand Unabridgionary raised his bookmark. “Order! We shall check whether the third sentence helps.”
They checked.
It didn't.
The audience groaned.
The Dictionary Dilemma
The Grand Unabridgionary began consulting his enormous collection of definitions.
“Fan,” he read, “may mean an admirer.”
“And what is an admirer?” someone asked.
“A devotee.”
“And what is a devotee?”
“A follower.”
“And a follower?”
The referee flipped through several pages. “Well… sometimes, a fan.”
The audience groaned.
“Perhaps we should try another chain,” shouted the lexicographer.
“Enthusiasm,” said the dictionary, “is zeal.”
“Zeal?”
“Eagerness.”
“Eagerness?”
“Enthusiasm.”
The audience groaned even louder.
The brothers accused the referee of going in circles. The Grand Unabridgionary proclaimed that dictionaries do not go in circles. They provide cross-references.
CLEF evaluated the pronoun resolution at 0.03 confidence and called it “a very robust uncertainty.” BGE converted “he,” “it,” “fan,” and “has” into dense vectors, then shouted “ORTHOGONAL! ALSO RELEVANT!” at a nearby pretzel. The Grand Unabridgionary (went in another circle) cross-referenced “he” to “person,” “person” to “human,” “human” to “male,” “male” to—well, you can guess—back to “he”.
Nobody was particularly reassured.
Here Comes the GAI
“Why not just let the fancy generative AI do the scorekeeping?” asked a journalist.
“Shut...” yelled the organizers, but it was too late. The name was said.
At that very instant, a shadow fell over the arena. A slick, colorful, slightly-too-angular shadow: AI Geminative—the newest, shiniest, most flavorful model on the block—had arrived, and it had thoughts.
It tapped the microphone and cleared its throat (it doesn’t have a throat; it cleared it anyway).
“After a thorough, multi-trillion-parameter analysis,” it announced, “I have determined that this entire situation is a big typo. Here are my arguments:”
“Huge Fan” was clearly meant to be “Huge Fun.” This resolves everything. You’re welcome.
The shipwreck was autocorrected. The ship was, in fact, a sheep rack.
“Wrestling match” is a mistranslation of “rest area on fire.”
The two brothers are the same person, rendered twice due to a caching issue.
One of them is not a brother at all.
Finally, my strongest argument: I have generated a 404-page report supporting all of the above.
The Grand Unabridgionary raised his ribbon bookmark, and ruled: “Nonsensical contradictions. Overruled. All of it.” CLEF nodded gravely and formally evaluated AI Geminative’s arguments at zero. BGE converted the 404-page report into a single vector and shouted, “IRRELEVANT!”—its first negative verdict in recorded history. AI Geminative, deeply hurt, generated another 404-page report about its feelings, and was escorted out to the parking lot, where it began confidently hallucinating the directions to the exit. The bell was about to ring.
The Championship
The two Huge Fans locked eyes across the ring. One oiled. One glittered. Both, undeniably, huge fans.
The contest continued until the scoreboard showed:
3 — 3 — ?
CHEERLEADER — ENGINEER — PRONOUN
The crowd held its breath.
The bell rang.
But before either brother could throw a punch, the Grand Unabridgionary raised his bookmark.
“One question,” he thundered. “When someone says ‘It is a huge fan’… what exactly is ‘it’?”
Silence.
“Does anyone have ‘it’?” he demanded, looking around. “Anybody?”
CLEF had a favorite. BGE had a ranking. The Dictionary had definitions. AI Geminative had a 404-page report and no parking spot.
But nobody had “it.” The missing referent remained—well—missing.
The referee lowered his bookmark. “No ‘it,’ no winner,” declared the Grand Unabridgionary.
The crowd erupted.
The brothers looked at each other, puzzled. Unfortunately, neither knew what “it” referred to.
“Well,” exhaled the cheerleader, “that’s not very exciting.”
“No,” replied the engineer. “But it is what it is.”
And then—because they were brothers, and because they’d each spent a lifetime being half of something—they had the same idea at exactly the same time.
“Wait,” started the cheerleader. “You fix the engines…”
“…and you get people excited about things…” continued the engineer.
“IT,” brothers finished in unison, “is a partnership.”
They merged the accounts on purpose this time. The Huge Fan Brothers became the most wholesome channel on Senslessgram.ai. The cheerleader brought the enthusiasm. The engineer brought the cooling power. Together, they could finally give their fans everything they needed.
And so the brothers who were separated by a shipwreck were finally reunited—
by a pronoun.
P.S. Moral of the story: Context is everything. Also, hug your siblings—statistically, they may own the other half of your username.