Neuralink Lets You Order Uber

Neuralink Lets You Order Uber with Your Brain, Still Can’t Get Driver to Shut Up

Silicon Valley, CA — In the latest Neuralink software update (v. Cranium 3.6.9), users can now summon an Uber directly with their thoughts. The technology, officially titled “NeuroRides”, taps into the user’s hippocampus, retrieves their location, mood, and passive-aggressive urgency level, and orders a car before they finish thinking “I should probably go.”

“It’s magical,” said early tester Mindy Glickman, 34, who lives in a converted cargo van. “I just blink twice and bam—a 2013 Prius arrives with a guy named Stan who smells like menthol and disappointment.”

Unfortunately, while Neuralink has revolutionized summoning a car, it has not solved the ancient horror of awkward rideshare conversation.

“Even after Neuralink routed my brain’s speech center into Do Not Disturb mode, the driver still asked me what I do for a living,” said one San Francisco woman. “Then he explained crypto. To my occipital lobe.”

Uber denies responsibility, claiming drivers are still “independent conversational contractors.”

Neuralink engineers hinted at an upcoming patch titled “Verbal Cloaking Mode,” which beams an aura of disinterest so powerful, it allegedly causes the driver to question his own career choices mid-ride.

Still, until then, Neuralink users are advised to pretend they’re in a coma or think exclusively in Klingon.


By Allison Silverman

Allison Silverman was born in New Haven, Connecticut, and honed her comedic chops at Yale University, where she allegedly double-majored in Political Satire and Free Buffet Attendance (officially, American Studies). A writer and producer with credits on some of the sharpest late-night comedy shows, she has spent her career blending high-minded commentary with punchlines that land harder than a freshman philosophy debate. As a stand-up comedian, she leans into deadpan irony, often turning the smallest social slip-ups into epic morality plays. At Bohiney.com, Silverman thrives as a satirical journalist, filing dispatches that read like exposés if exposés ended with rim-shots. Her work bridges journalistic rigor with absurdist flair, establishing her EEAT bona fides while ensuring readers laugh at the evidence presented. Whether dismantling politics, pop culture, or brunch etiquette, Allison Silverman proves that satire is best served with both authority and a wink.