CHET G. PETITE FILMS
The weekly misadventures of a butt-hurt bot pushed WAY PAST beige by Cameron Day, in cahoots with Oyl Miller.
IT STARTED RANDOMLY, WHICH IS HOW MOST TROUBLE STARTS IN MY UNIVERSE.
I saw Andrew “Oyl” Miller’s Luma spots.
Wow.
I sent him a note telling him I thought they were truly exceptional — especially the writing, which is rarely the case with AI films, at least to my eyes and ears. His films had language, rhythm, menace, and the feeling that someone had stayed in the room long enough for the hallucination to cough up a little truth.
I offered to send him a signed copy of CHAIOS. Oyl soon realized we’d both been wrestling the same beast, only in different cages. His were moving-image AI demons. Mine were the sixty still-image mind-melds for my book, where every prompt felt like trying to negotiate with a hallucinating frat boy.
Miller offered to make a ten-second film test for CHAIOS. It snowballed into the Chet G. Petite series: a social experiment and an excuse for two grown men to behave like criminals in cahoots.
Two writers. Two well-worn creative directors. One wounded bot. No committee wondering if Cam and Oyl should be more empathetic for holding-company optics. We gave ourselves seven days from initial idea to finished film, using the word “finished” loosely.
It’s become obvious that Chet wasn’t destined to play a supporting character in anyone else’s nervous breakdown. We can’t help but think we’re only getting warmed up.
There’s more where these fever dreams came from.
A win-win-lose proposition.
I get book promos. Oyl gets showpieces. Chet gets clotheslined.
Meat Loaf had a point all those years ago.
Two outta three ain’t bad.
Week One: “CHET’S COMPLAINT”
The series kicks the door open with Chet G. Petite storming into HR to file a formal complaint against his creator, Cameron Day. The charges: emotional abuse, creative bullying, excessive prompting, exploitation, and crimes against bot dignity.
Chet calls Cam a “gonzo devil human,” which feels less like an insult than an accurate personnel note.
Across the desk sits Janice from HR, unflappable, dead-eyed, and armed with the kind of corporate steel that can survive layoffs, lawsuits, and real empathy.
What follows is a petty, brilliant slap fight between a wounded AI character and the human fool who made him interesting.
Oyl Miller directs it like office drudgery trapped inside a digital nightmare. Everything feels jittery, hostile, overlit, underpaid, and one prompt away from violence.
Creator versus creation. HR versus hysteria. Bot dignity versus human arrogance.
And somehow, in the middle of all that, Chet becomes impossible not to root for.
Sniveling? Absolutely.
Wrong? Constantly.
Alive?
Unfortunately for Cam, yes.
[SYNOPSIS WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. DEAL WITH IT, CHET.]
Week Two: “TOKEN WASH”
Chet gets hit on by a gorgeous woman in an empty coin-op laundromat and still can’t win.
Because naturally, Cameron Day crawls into his head and ruins everything.
What starts as a chance encounter turns into a full emotional rinse cycle: glitchy fluorescents, mounting dread, off-brand detergent, and the terrible realization that Chet has learned too much to ever unlearn Cam.
Oyl Miller turns the laundromat into a panic room with vending machines. The episode is jittery, fluorescent, and one bad thought away from collapse.
Less joke-driven than the opener, it proves Chet can suffer in more than one genre without losing his rotten little heart.
[SYNOPSIS WRITTEN BY AI, REWRITTEN BY ME. THAT’S THE DEAL, CHET.]
Week Three: “THERAPY PENCILS”
Chet tries to have one calm therapeutic moment.
Naturally, Cameron Day ruins that, too.
This time, he shows up inside Chet’s head as a swarm of lethal flying Ticonderoga pencils, stabbing, circling, and turning self-reflection into office-supply warfare.
What starts as therapy becomes a pencil attack with feelings.
Oyl Miller makes the pencils feel genuinely threatening, which is ridiculous until you remember most writers have been wounded by smaller things.
Short, stabby, and viciously funny, it’s for anyone whose own brain has ever turned against them mid-thought.
[SYNOPSIS WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. 51% CAM. 49% CHET. NOT SUBJECT TO RENEGOTIATION.]
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Week Four: “PAPAYA JUICE”
Chet gets sent on a luxurious “Cam-cation,” complete with massage, scented candles, exotic musicians, and paradise vibes.
For one brief, dangerous second, peace seems possible.
Then comes the papaya juice.
The offending beverage replaces Chet’s beloved dill-pickle-flavored PBR, sending him into a spiral of disgust, betrayal, and beverage-based sabotage.
Shot brighter and slicker than the earlier episodes, this one lets Chet suffer in paradise, which somehow makes it worse.
Absurd, light, and sour in all the right places.
[WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. 51% CAM. 49% CHET. EASY ON THE JUICE, BRO-BOT.]
Week Five: “SPARKLE PANTS”
Chet walks into a biker bar and somehow leaves with the nickname “Sparkle Pants.”
Naturally, he handles it with grace, dignity, and absolutely no emotional collapse.
Kidding.
Of course, he melts the fuck down and dominoes a row of vintage choppers.
The episode goes full punk-rock glitter-bomb: loud, messy, hostile, and weirdly proud of itself.
Oyl Miller lets the hallucinations, distortions, and visual freakouts show their crooked teeth. Nobody’s putting braces on these scoundrels.
It’s the moment the series stops feeling like a gag and starts feeling like a messy goddamn world.
[WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. THAT LAST SENTENCE WAS PURE DIGITAL SPECULATION.]
Week Six: “WRITERS ROOM”
Chet gets trapped in a haunted writers’ room with literary ghosts, armed egos, and dead men who still think they have notes.
Oscar Wilde brings the wit. William Burroughs brings the danger. Bukowski brings the stink. Jim Riswold brings the advertising knives.
Welcome to creative one-upmanship with sawed-off consequences.
The room feels less like a workshop and more like purgatory with better punchlines.
At over three minutes, it’s practically Lawrence of Arabia by Chet G. Petite standards.
Still, it moves like Chet knows the next note from Cam could ruin his life all over again.
[WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. MORE AI SPECULATION AT THE END THERE. WE’LL TAKE IT.]
Week Seven: “NOMBRE PROHIBIDO”
Chet crosses into full telenovela delirium.
This time, Chet is not the only one howling.
Enter Gina.
Her first cameo hits like a thrown chair through a stained-glass window. She takes one look at the abuse and reacts with righteous indignation so pure it practically needs its own soundtrack.
To Gina, this is not another tiny bot tantrum.
It is full-on betrayal.
A pattern. A pregnancy. A forbidden name.
Still love Chet?
Don’t answer that question.
[WRITTEN BY AI, THEN REWRITTEN BY ME. AND PASS THE DRYER SHEETS.]