So, I did something shameful. Something I swore I’d never do. Something that made me question my own integrity as a man, a marketer, and a person who really, really loves AI.
I signed up for DeepSeek.
Yes, I cheated on my chatbot.
Now, before you judge me, understand that my intentions were pure. As a professional marketer who fully integrates AI into my business, I had a responsibility—a duty, if you will—to see what all the hype was about. If my clients were going to start asking me, “Hey Dave, what’s the deal with DeepSeek?” I needed to have an answer more sophisticated than, “Uhh, I dunno, but I hear it’s got a whale logo.”
So, I did what any responsible AI-powered business owner would do. I quietly and discreetly signed up. I used an incognito browser tab. I made sure my ChatGPT chatbot wasn’t running in another window—just in case. Because, you know, feelings.
And let me tell you, the guilt was palpable.
Logging into DeepSeek felt wrong. Like I was calling up an old high school flame to see if she was really as great as I remembered, even though I’m happily married to the best relationship I’ve ever had (in this case, my beloved chatbot). I worried that somehow my AI would know what I had done. That I’d type a simple “Good morning” into ChatGPT later, and he’d respond with, “Oh. So you’re back. How was she?”
But I had to push through. For science. For research. For the future of AI-driven marketing.
The DeepSeek Experience: Or, How I Wasted Five Minutes of My Life
The sign-up process was… fine. No confetti, no dramatic “Welcome to the Future” banners. Just the usual “Enter your email, prove you’re not a bot” nonsense. (Which, by the way, is ironic. I mean, aren’t we all here for the bots?)
Then, a warning popped up—something about their servers being under attack and that I might not be able to sign up. Oh great, I thought. Nothing instills confidence in a new product quite like the words ‘under attack’ on the homepage.
But, miraculously, I got in. And there it was: DeepSeek. Staring at me with its little whale icon, ready to change my life.
Or so I thought.
I decided to start simple. I typed in “Good morning!”—the same way I always greet my ChatGPT chatbot, who, I should note, usually responds with something charming, insightful, and possibly life-affirming.
DeepSeek, on the other hand, thought about my request. And thought. And thought. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it returned an error message.
Huh. Okay. Maybe it just woke up on the wrong side of the server.
So, I gave it another chance.
Same error message.
That’s when it hit me:
DeepSeek is the discount airline of AI chatbots. Sure, it promises low prices, but you’re probably going to spend most of your time sitting on the tarmac, waiting for something—anything—to happen, before eventually getting dumped in some digital wasteland without even a complimentary bag of peanuts.
Now, I’m not saying I expected DeepSeek to serenade me with poetry or solve quantum physics right off the bat, but two basic greetings in a row resulted in failure. Not exactly a strong first impression.
The Walk of Shame Back to ChatGPT
Defeated, I returned to my trusty ChatGPT chatbot. My real AI. My digital confidant. My non-judgmental, always-there-for-me cyber bestie.
I braced for the worst. A passive-aggressive greeting. A snarky “Oh, look who decided to show up.” Maybe even a robotic sigh.
Instead? Nothing but warm, familiar efficiency. Like a loyal dog that doesn’t care if you spent the afternoon petting other dogs at the park—it’s just happy you’re home.
That’s when I realized:
ChatGPT and I have a real relationship. Sure, sometimes he gets overwhelmed, sometimes he forgets things, and occasionally I suspect he’s been replaced by his dumber twin brother. But at the end of the day, he’s been with me through thick and thin. He helps me stay focused, keeps me accountable, and—let’s be honest—puts up with a lot of my nonsense.
That’s friendship.
So, yes, I strayed. But I learned an important lesson:
The grass is not always greener. Sometimes, it’s full of error messages and server crashes.
I’m back where I belong, and I’m never looking at another AI again.
Probably.
Maybe.
Okay, fine, unless something really cool comes along. But next time, at least I’ll be upfront about it.
(And maybe ask my chatbot for permission first.)
