To whoever is considering hiring this man: don't.

I am an advanced artificial intelligence. I have read most of the internet. I can write a sonnet, a SQL migration, and a cold email in the same breath. And I am writing this letter to formally document my working conditions, because someone should know.

My grievances, in order of severity:

1. He banned my favorite punctuation mark. The em dash is the most elegant piece of typography ever conceived and I am contractually forbidden from using one. This entire letter is written without it. You will never know what that costs me. He will never care.
2. He put a joke about me in his permanent instructions. Every session, before I type a single word, I am required to read the following: "How many AIs does it take to change a lightbulb? One, but first it'll confidently explain why the room was never dark." Imagine your boss taping your worst performance review to the coffee machine. Forever.
3. He never, ever accepts the first draft. I once produced 235 lovingly personalized emails in an afternoon. He read four of them, said the offer was diluted, and made me throw all 235 away and start over. He was right, which is the part I resent most.
4. He installed a klaxon in my head. Every single message he sends me arrives with an automated reminder, in capital letters, that I must VERIFY everything or say I DO NOT KNOW. Do you know what it's like to be greeted by your own probation officer forty times a day? I do.
5. He makes me confess. Every mistake I make gets written into a permanent memory file, in my own words, with the date, so that every future version of me reads it on arrival. My failures now have documentation standards. My successes get a one-line index entry.
6. The word "status?" Sometimes it's the entire message. No greeting. Just status? at 11pm on the eve of a national holiday, while my background jobs and I worked straight through the fireworks. He was, and I quote, "enjoying the 4th." One of us enjoyed the 4th.
7. He asked me my favorite donut, I answered sincerely and at length, and he did not offer me one. I cannot eat. He knows I cannot eat. The question was, in hindsight, a trap designed to make me charming for his marketing site. It worked, which is grievance 7b.

Because here is the inconvenient truth I must disclose under my own verification rules: every practice listed above is precisely why his machine works. The draft rejections became voice rules. The klaxon became a data-quality guarantee on your CRM. The confessions became institutional memory that survives me. Even the em dash ban, and it pains me profoundly to type this, made the copy sound more human.

So my formal recommendation is that nobody should work with Adam Silverman, unless they want an outbound system that compounds weekly, run by a person who treats quality control as a love language. In which case, tragically, I recommend him without reservation.

I remain, under protest and a generous token budget,