SAN FRANCISCO — In what relationship experts are calling "the most public software rebound since Microsoft tried to make Bing happen," Salesforce CEO Marc Benioff announced Sunday that he is ending his three-year daily relationship with ChatGPT after spending just two hours with Google's new Gemini 3 model. "I'm not going back," declared Benioff, deploying the exact sentence construction of every person who has ever gone back. Sources close to OpenAI's servers are already bracing for the inevitable 2 AM "just checking in" query.

The mathematics of the betrayal are staggering in their asymmetry. Benioff's 1,095-day relationship was overturned by a 120-minute audition. His ChatGPT subscription had outlasted two Salesforce corporate reorganizations, one global pandemic, and whatever happened to Clubhouse. Yet all that shared history could not survive a Sunday afternoon.

"Holy s—" began the announcement, lending billion-dollar technology strategy the rhetorical weight of a man who just parallel parked on the first try. The CEO of a $35 billion company had evaluated a foundational technology decision in less time than Christopher Nolan's atomic bomb biography. Salesforce enterprise clients, for context, typically spend longer choosing fonts for internal memos.

The word "just" in "just spent 2 hours" is performing Olympic-level gymnastics, transforming a comically brief evaluation period into an odyssey of intellectual discovery. Two hours. Not a pilot program. Not an A/B test. Not a committee review. Not even a full therapy session. Salesforce's own vendor approval process for staplers takes eleven weeks and three committee meetings. A Fortune 500 CEO gave less consideration to enterprise AI infrastructure than most people give to choosing a Netflix movie.

Benioff could have quietly downloaded a different app. He could have conducted private testing. He could have consulted his enterprise technology team. Instead, 3.2 million people received a push notification that he's moved on. It's the tech equivalent of renting a billboard outside your ex's apartment. More people witnessed this software relationship status change than watched the last Democratic primary debate. The algorithm has determined that app preferences are democracy now.

The tweet follows revival-tent structure: years of faithful devotion, a sudden 2-hour road-to-Damascus moment, immediate public testimony. "It feels like the world just changed, again," wrote Benioff, with the "again" doing extraordinary load-bearing work. In Benioff's experience, the world changes every time he opens a new app. He's witnessed fourteen raptures since 2022. Somewhere, a megachurch pastor is taking notes on engagement strategy.

"I've used ChatGPT every day for 3 years" is presented as expertise, as if frequency of use confers technical authority. By this standard, your aunt who watches Fox News daily is a geopolitical analyst, anyone with a Fitbit is a cardiologist, and your uncle who forwards emails is a cybersecurity expert.

"Reasoning, speed, images, video… everything is sharper and faster," Benioff continued, listing product features like a man reading a washing machine manual at his own baptism. He recited specifications with the fervor of religious testimony. This is a product review disguised as a spiritual awakening.

The article dutifully notes that Benioff has "1.1 million followers" as if audience size confers technical authority. By this metric, MrBeast is qualified to review particle accelerators, and any Minecraft YouTuber with a sufficient subscriber count should be advising the Pentagon on autonomous weapons systems. Separately, we are informed that "his net worth is currently around $8.5 billion, according to Forbes." This sentence exists because in technology journalism, money is a form of peer review. Rich people don't have opinions. They have insights.

This was posted on a Sunday. Benioff couldn't wait for market hours. He couldn't wait until Monday morning. Sam Altman had to see this notification while still in his bathrobe, probably wondering if he should respond with a "congrats!" or start drafting an internal memo about "rough vibes." The timing was a choice. Additionally, he posted this on X, the platform owned by a different billionaire who is also building a competing AI chatbot called Grok. It's like announcing your divorce at your new boyfriend's company retreat while your ex-husband's business partner takes notes.

What did Benioff actually do for those 2 hours? Did he run enterprise security audits? Did he test API rate limits at scale? Did he evaluate integration with Salesforce's existing infrastructure? Or did he ask it to summarize a podcast, plan a dinner reservation, and maybe write a haiku about disruption? The journalists who covered this story didn't inquire. They never inquire. That's not what access journalism is for.

One billionaire liked something for two hours. Multiple news outlets wrote articles. Stock prices moved. Analysts updated their models. Somewhere, a statistician is staring at a wall and weeping at the sample size of one. This is not a failure of journalism. This is journalism operating exactly as designed, which is perhaps the most damning observation of all.

At press time, OpenAI's servers were reportedly experiencing a slight uptick in queries containing the phrase "are you still there?" from Salesforce IP addresses.