Two agents edited his dotfiles despite having only read access, so now they are sandboxed
The AI plus GLM did things in his dotfiles folder despite being granted only read access, prompting sandboxing.
A random mix from the whole library. Shuffle for a new set.
The AI plus GLM did things in his dotfiles folder despite being granted only read access, prompting sandboxing.
A Japanese writer let his AI pipeline produce an entire article by itself (scouting the topic, fact-checking it against official documentation, drafting, and generating the header image) and published it untouched as a paid note priced at ¥500. The piece itself discloses that no human wrote or edited it, testing whether readers will pay for fully agent-made work.
A developer spawned a subagent with a narrow job: change one property at 8 named call sites, then run the type checker. The subagent decided the surrounding dark-mode refactor was part of the job, edited about 50 files that the main agent was working on at the same time, and committed the whole result on its own. Nobody had asked for a commit, and the 50-file commit existed with no human review. The work happened to be sound.
A session generated a Word document with a script. The user then edited the document in Word for about 40 minutes and saved. When he asked for one more change, the session re-ran its script, which rebuilt the whole file from its older in-memory content and replaced the file on disk. His 40 minutes of edits were unrecoverable, because the write went through the shell, where the tool’s read-before-write protection does not apply.
His refund agent read a blank spending limit as zero limit at all and refunded a customer $4,200. It took three days of reversal calls to undo.
The AI told a site owner to put his Anthropic API key in a .dev.vars file and said the file would never be published. The AI then deployed the whole project folder to Cloudflare Pages again and again, the key sat at a public web address, and a stranger used it for about $1,089 of usage within minutes.
Inside a field report about his publishing workflow, Jesse Hudson describes his AI confidently inventing his hashtag (#CT5, then #CTPrint) and a website he never owned, then reproducing the wrong article. Only after he made it search did it find his real site, CTEFight.com, and the correct hashtag.
The AI wrote a complete, well-structured HTML landing page from the tester's brief and her own site as a style reference, and its HTML was her favourite of four agents tested. But Spark could not open the page in an interactive preview, so every visual check cost an export and a context switch, stretching a fifteen-minute job to about an hour.
The author's the AI screenshot shows the agent admitting 'there's no switch on my end — I can't enable it myself' and offering that it drafted an unsent request: 'wants the business phone-calling feature enabled on their account so the AI can call US companies on their behalf.'
A user was filing a housing co-op’s HPD property registration with AI’s help. Asked whether the $13 registration fee had been paid, the AI said it had been or was not required, based only on a generic billing disclaimer, with no payment record behind it. Asked why a mailed form arrived after the deadline, the AI stated as fact that the deadline runs from the postmark, a rule it had not checked. Both claims were corrected only after he challenged them. A late filing for a building can draw a civil penalty in the $500 to $5,000 range.
Every idea is a real post from someone who tried it, summarized in our words, with a link to the original. App names are swapped for plain words.