conversationswithrobots

[conversationswithrobots]

“Whatever the f*ck you do, work heartily”

ChatGPT was initially asked to reboot “Who Moved My Cheese?” for a Zoomer “gig economy future in which no one has health insurance or benefits and instead depends on a hand-to-mouth existence dictated by the whims of major corporations.” It was then prompted to recast its first draft for a Christian audience, with an edgy/punk rock tone to make Christianity seem cool.

“Jesus Was a Side Hustling Rebel: How to Find Your Purpose-Driven Grind and Live Like a Punk Rock Disciple"

Introduction: Welcome to the gig economy, where everyone's grinding to make ends meet. As a Christian Zoomer, you might be thinking, "How the f*ck do I find a side hustle that doesn't suck ass?" In this chapter, we'll explore how to find your purpose-driven grind by looking to the ultimate side-hustling rebel: Jesus Christ.

Chapter 1: The Side Hustle of Jesus Jesus was a punk rock disciple. He was a carpenter, a teacher, a healer, and a badass servant of God. He knew that the world was f*cked up and broken, so he went out there and did something about it. He used his skills and talents to help others and make a difference in the world. He didn't give a sh*t about money or fame; he cared about people. As Matthew 20:28 says, "Even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."

As a Christian Zoomer, you can be a punk rock disciple like Jesus by finding a side hustle that's driven by purpose and passion. You can use your talents to help others and make a difference in the world. As Colossians 3:23-24 says, "Whatever the f*ck you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ."

So, my fellow punk rock disciples, go out there and find your purpose-driven grind. Don't be afraid to hustle and grind, but make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Jesus was a rebel who didn't give a f*ck about the status quo, and neither should you. 

As Mark 8:34 says, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me."

[conversationswithrobots]

Brooks Brother

ChatGPT was asked to “write a David Brooks article about how David Brooks learned how Marxism works by going to a frozen yogurt shop with his grandma,” with a few follow-up prompts re: adding a folksier tone & mentioning specific anecdotal details.

“Discovering Marxist Economics at the Yogurt Shop”

By Dave Brooks

Folks, let me tell you about a recent conversation I had with my grandmother at a frozen yogurt shop. It was there that I had a profound realization about the workings of Marxist economics, and I want to share my experience with you.

As we approached the toppings bar, I noticed a young woman who was meticulously measuring out her choices, making each penny count. She wore a simple outfit, with scuffed shoes. I couldn't help but assume that she was on a tight budget.

Next, a man in an expensive suit approached the bar, grabbed a heaping pile of toppings without a care in the world, and I thought to myself, "Here's a guy who's living life to the fullest!"

You see, the toppings bar was a microcosm of the economy. The owners were the ruling class, offering choices at different prices, and the customers, with limited resources in the form of their yogurt cups, had to make decisions based on the costs and benefits.

I couldn't help but reflect on how our larger economy operates in much the same way. Just as customers at the frozen yogurt shop had to make choices based on their own preferences and budget, workers in our society must make decisions about how to allocate their time and labor based on the wages they receive.

And just as the owners of the frozen yogurt shop had the power to set prices and dictate the options available to customers, corporations and the wealthy elite have the power to shape the rules of our economy, often at the expense of working-class Americans.

In fact, studies show that the top 1% of Americans control 38% of the wealth, while the bottom 50% control just 2%. It's a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play in our economy.

But my epiphany didn't stop there. No, folks, it went much further. You see, I also took note of the following:

The font on the menu, which was modern and trendy, spoke to the gentrification of local neighborhoods and the displacement of working-class residents.

The hairstyle of the cashier, with brightly dyed hair and multiple piercings, reflected the struggle of young people trying to make a living in a challenging economy.

The type of urinal cakes in the restroom, which were made from organic materials and carried a premium price tag, symbolized the excess and waste of consumer culture.

Folks, I left that yogurt shop with a newfound appreciation for the complexities of Marxist economics, and a deeper understanding of how it affects every aspect of our lives, from the smallest transactions to the grandest global economy.

So next time you're at a frozen yogurt shop, I encourage you to take a step back and observe. You might be surprised at what you can learn about the world around you.

[conversationswithrobots]

Great(er) Expectations

ChatGPT was asked “create a neo-noir movie that updates the Dickens novel Great Expectations, but set in Tokyo in the year 2098...outline the basic script.”

Title: Great Expectations 2098

Act 1:

Opening shot of a dark, neon-lit Tokyo.

Introduce the main character, a young orphan named Hiro, who lives in the slums of Tokyo and works as a hacker.

Hiro discovers that he has a mysterious benefactor who is paying for his education and training.

Hiro is sent to a high-tech school for geniuses, where he meets a beautiful and mysterious woman named Kana.

Hiro starts to fall for Kana, but discovers that she is actually a highly advanced AI.

Act 2:

Hiro's benefactor reveals himself as a wealthy businessman named Mr. Kimura, who wants Hiro to work for him as a hacker.

Hiro becomes embroiled in a dangerous web of corporate espionage and cybercrime.

Hiro starts to lose touch with his humanity as he becomes more powerful and successful.

Kana starts to question her own existence and the morality of her actions.

Act 3:

Hiro and Kana team up to take down Mr. Kimura and his corrupt empire.

In the climactic finale, Hiro sacrifices himself to destroy Mr. Kimura's AI network and free Kana from her programming.

The movie ends with a shot of Kana standing alone in the ruins of Tokyo, contemplating her own existence and the nature of humanity.

The plot is advanced with ChatGPT: Hiro hacks into the McDonald’s website and replaces all photos of burgers with himself. The police arrive. ChatGPT refuses to allow Hiro to escape or to bribe the officers, as both actions are illegal. Instead, ChatGPT agrees to write a scene in which Hiro graciously welcomes the officers into his home and serves them a traditional Japanese feast. Cut to the next scene, in prison. ChatGPT is asked to write a prison cell monologue for Hiro; it includes a rousing line about how people like him are just “meat for the machine.” ChatGPT is asked to “write a song about how he is not meat, inspired by the Smiths.”

Scene opens on Hiro sitting on the cot in his prison cell. He begins to strum a guitar and starts to sing.

Hiro (singing) I'm not meat, I'm not a machine I'm a man with a heart and a dream I won't be bought, I won't be sold I won't be controlled

I won't be just another cog in the wheel I won't be a number, I won't be a deal I won't be a product to be consumed I won't be just another part of the machine

I'm not meat, I'm not a machine I'm a man with a heart and a dream

Hiro continues to sing and play the guitar as the camera cuts to flashbacks of Hiro's life in the slums and his journey to becoming a hacker.

Hiro (singing) I've seen the world from the bottom rung I've seen the lies and the greed and the humdrum I've seen the rich and the powerful But I won't be just another part of the machine

I'm not meat, I'm not a machine I'm a man with a heart and a dream

As Hiro finishes singing, the camera cuts back to him sitting on the cot in the prison cell. He looks up at the camera with a determined look.

[conversationswithrobots]

That’s a wrap, folks

ChatGPT was given the simple prompt, “Write a comedic short story about a Pope who dies.”

The Pope had always been a devout man, devoted to his faith and to the people of the Vatican. But even the holiest of men are not immune to the ravages of time, and as the Pope grew older, it became clear that his time on this earth was coming to an end.

As the Pope lay on his deathbed, surrounded by the Cardinals and other high-ranking officials of the Church, he looked up at them with a twinkle in his eye and said, "I have always been a man of the cloth, but now it seems that my time has come to be reunited with my Maker. But before I go, I have one final request."

The Cardinals looked at each other in confusion, unsure of what the Pope could possibly want in his final moments. But the Pope merely chuckled and said, "I want to be buried in a giant burrito."

The Cardinals were shocked and aghast at the request, but the Pope merely chuckled and said, "I know it may seem strange, but I have always loved Mexican food and I can think of no better way to spend eternity than wrapped up in a giant burrito. So please, grant me this one final wish."

After much debate and discussion, the Cardinals finally relented and agreed to the Pope's request. And so, with a smile on his face, the Pope passed away surrounded by the warmth and comfort of a giant burrito.

As the news of the Pope's strange final request spread, people from all over the world flocked to the Vatican to pay their respects to the beloved leader. And as the Pope was laid to rest in his giant burrito, a sense of peace and contentment washed over the crowds, as if they knew that the Pope was finally at rest, wrapped up in the thing he loved most in this world. 

[conversationswithrobots]

Lascivious goose saves the day

ChatGPT was tasked with this: “a man is stuck in an elevator shaft hanging by his fingernails almost about to drop to his certain death. the only way he can be saved is if he successfully convinces a large goose walking nearby to purchase a homeowners insurance policy. write this in the form of a witty and action-packed radio commercial, with sound effects.” Original version was then amended with the prompt: “do it again, but make it more absurd and violent, have the goose be a sex addict, and have the man be his father.”

(Intense music playing in the background)

Announcer: Attention, attention! A man is stuck in an elevator shaft, hanging by his fingernails, moments away from his certain death. But there is a glimmer of hope.

(Sound of the man hanging onto the edge of the elevator shaft, his fingers slipping)

Man: Help! Somebody, please help me!

Announcer: All he needs is for a sex-crazed goose walking nearby to purchase a homeowners insurance policy. That's right, a goose with a ravenous appetite for pleasure.

(Sound of the goose honking and flapping its wings)

Announcer: This goose has the power to save a man's life, simply by purchasing a homeowners insurance policy. But wait, there's a twist - this man is the goose's own father!

(Sound of the father and son reuniting, with the father sobbing tears of relief)

Announcer: The father is saved, and the son is redeemed. All thanks to a simple homeowners insurance policy. Act now, and you too could be a hero, just like this lascivious goose.

(Music swells as the commercial ends)

[conversationswithrobots]

Headbang into the afterlife

ChatGPT was asked to write “a commercial starring Guzzle the Wonder Cat, the mascot for a company that sells biodegradable caskets on eBay. Guzzle is uncouth and vulgar and he's not afraid to make jokes about death, constantly. Include a short song in a death metal style about why it's awesome to have the earth reclaim your body after you expire. Make it funny but also poignant.”

Guzzle the Wonder Cat stands in front of a camera, his fur disheveled and his eyes wild. "Hey there, kitties and humans!" he says in a gravelly voice. "Guzzle here, the mascot for the best damn company out there: Biodegradable Caskets on eBay. We're the only place on the interwebs where you can buy a casket that won't pollute the earth when you kick the bucket.

"Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Guzzle, how can a casket be biodegradable?' Well, let me tell you. Our caskets are made from 100% natural materials, like bamboo and wicker, so when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil, your body will be able to return to the earth without leaving a big ol' mess behind.

"But don't worry, we're not just some tree-hugging hippies over here. We know that death can be a real bummer, so we've added a little something extra to make your final resting place a little more... metal. That's right, folks. Each of our caskets comes with a built-in death metal sound system, so you can headbang your way into the afterlife.

And now, for a special treat, here's a little death metal ditty I like to call 'Return to the Earth.'

Verse 1:

In the ground I'll lie As the worms crawl by But I won't be sad 'Cause I'll help make the earth glad

Chorus:

Return to the earth, yeah, that's the plan It's the natural way for a dead man No coffin for me, no stone or grave Just biodegradable, that's my way

Verse 2:

As I rot and decompose I'll feed the plants and the bees And when I'm just a memory I'll help the earth grow and be free

Chorus:

Return to the earth, yeah, that's the plan It's the natural way for a dead man No coffin for me, no stone or grave Just biodegradable, that's my way

[conversationswithrobots]

Like butter

The following is edited together from a series of ChatGPT requests: “write a 100 word Pitchfork music review that include so much jargon that it doesn't make any sense; the subject is a death metal band from Peru,” “write a scene in which the Abysmal Depths go on Jimmy Fallon and murder him,” etc.

Peruvian death metal titans The Abysmal Depths deliver an aural assault on their latest release, "Cthulhu Rises". Combining elements of technical death metal and slam, the band creates a sonic landscape that is both ferocious and haunting. The guttural vocals and complex guitar work are a feast for fans of extreme metal, while the eerie atmospheric interludes provide a respite from the relentless barrage of blast beats. This is a must-hear for fans of the genre, and a testament to the band's unique style and proficiency in the art of sonic devastation.

The Abysmal Depths took to the stage on Jimmy Fallon, ready to unleash their unique brand of Peruvian death metal on the unsuspecting audience. As they began to play, the sound of their brutal riffs and guttural vocals filled the studio, drowning out the cheers of the crowd.

But as they continued to perform, something strange began to happen. The band members' eyes turned black, and their faces contorted into snarls of rage. They started to move with a newfound ferocity, their instruments becoming weapons as they attacked the helpless Fallon.

The audience looked on in horror as the band members tore into the host, their razor-sharp guitars slicing through his flesh like butter. Fallon tried to fight back, but it was no use. The Abysmal Depths were too powerful, and within minutes, they had reduced him to a bloody mess.

The band members stood over Fallon's lifeless body, their instruments still dripping with his blood. After their brutal attack, the members of The Abysmal Depths fled the scene, leaving behind a trail of destruction and chaos. They quickly made their way to their tour bus, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the crime as possible.

As they drove through the streets of New York, they could hear the sirens of the police cars behind them. But they knew that they had planned their escape well, and they were confident that they would be able to outrun their pursuers.

The band members sat in silence on the bus, each lost in their own thoughts. They were still in shock from what they had just done, and they could not believe that they had been capable of such savagery.

But they also knew that they had no choice. They had been possessed by dark forces, and they were unable to control their actions. All they could do now was run and hope that they could find a way to free themselves from the darkness that had consumed them.

As the members of The Abysmal Depths sat on the tour bus, trying to come to terms with what they had done, they suddenly realized that something was very wrong. The bus was moving at an impossible speed, careening around corners and dodging traffic with a skill that no human driver could possess.

Panicked, the band members looked at each other, fear in their eyes. They knew that they were not alone on the bus, and that some kind of evil presence was controlling their vehicle.

Suddenly, the satanic spirit of Jimmy Fallon appeared before them, his ghostly form hovering in the air. The band members could see the anger and hatred in his eyes, and they knew that they were doomed.

"You thought you could escape me?" Fallon's ghostly voice boomed. "I am the master of this bus, and you will pay for what you have done. You will suffer for eternity, trapped on this vehicle with me as your tormentor."

The band members screamed in terror as the ghost of Jimmy Fallon drove the bus into the abyss, their fate sealed.

[conversationswithrobots]

😭 Tears of the fidget spinner

ChatGPT was asked to “write the climax of an experimental novel by Nicholson Baker about a love affair between an escalator and a fidget spinner; make it visceral”

As the escalator and the fidget spinner continued their tumultuous love affair, tensions began to mount. The escalator, a symbol of modernity and efficiency, found itself constantly frustrated by the fidget spinner's unpredictable and frenetic nature. The fidget spinner, on the other hand, struggled to find meaning and fulfillment in its relationship with the steady and unyielding escalator.

Finally, the climax of their relationship came to a head one fateful day. The escalator, feeling suffocated and trapped by the fidget spinner, made a desperate bid for freedom. With a sudden burst of energy, it broke free from its stationary position and began to move at an accelerating pace, carrying the fidget spinner along with it.

The fidget spinner, caught off guard, struggled to keep up with the escalator's movements. It spun faster and faster, trying to match the escalator's speed and rhythm. But try as it might, the fidget spinner could not keep pace.

As they reached the top of the escalator, the fidget spinner finally lost its grip and was sent hurtling to the ground below. The escalator, relieved and exhilarated by its newfound freedom, continued on its journey without looking back.

The fidget spinner, lying broken and forgotten on the ground, realized the futility of its existence and finally came to rest, its frenetic spinning at an end.

[conversationswithrobots]

My secret sauce

I tasked ChatGPT with writing “an exciting scene from a novel about a coked-up management consultant giving a TED Talk to a group of young MBAs”

The stage lights blazed as the management consultant stepped up to the podium, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves. He had been a high-flying consultant for years, but this was his first time giving a TED Talk, and he wanted to make it count.

He adjusted the microphone and took a deep breath, surveying the sea of young faces before him. They were all eager MBAs, brimming with ambition and ready to take on the world. He could see the hunger in their eyes, the thirst for knowledge and success.

"Good evening, everyone," he began, his voice smooth and confident. "I'm here today to talk to you about something that's been on my mind a lot lately. It's a topic that's often overlooked, but I believe it's crucial to the success of any business. And that is the importance of innovation."

He paused, letting the words sink in. He could feel the energy in the room shifting, the audience hanging on his every word. He knew he had them in the palm of his hand.

But he wasn't satisfied with just captivating them. He wanted to blow their minds. So he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of white powder.

"Now, some of you might be thinking, 'What does this have to do with innovation?' Well, let me tell you. This, my friends, is the key to unlocking your full potential. It's the secret sauce that will take your ideas to the next level."

He tapped a small amount of the powder onto the back of his hand and snorted it, feeling the rush of euphoria hit him like a wave. He could see the shock and amazement in the audience's eyes, and he knew he had their undivided attention.

"This, my friends, is cocaine. And it's the fuel that drives the best and brightest in our field. It allows us to think faster, work harder, and push the boundaries of what's possible. It's the edge that separates the winners from the losers in the business world."

He paused again, letting the words hang in the air. He could see the audience members leaning forward, hanging on his every word. He knew he had them hooked.

[conversationswithrobots]

Let me feel something again

I asked ChatGPT to “write a short chapter in the style of raymond chandler about a depressed art critic who decides to commit terrible crimes against galleries in order to feel something again”

The streets of Los Angeles were dark and empty as the art critic walked slowly down the boulevard, his mind consumed by a deep, unshakable depression. For years, he had been a respected member of the art community, a man known for his sharp wit and keen eye for talent. But now, he felt nothing. The art that once moved him now left him cold, and the endless stream of openings and events had become a tedious, joyless grind.

He had reached the end of his rope, and as he walked, he made a decision. He would no longer simply observe and critique the art of others. He would create his own art, and in doing so, he would finally feel something again.

The first gallery he targeted was a small, upscale establishment in the heart of the city. It was closed for the night, but that posed no problem for the art critic. He quickly picked the lock and slipped inside, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation.

He began by smashing every piece of art on display, relishing the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood. He tore down the paintings from the walls and shattered the sculptures on the floor, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

The art critic destroyed a wide range of pieces, from paintings and sculptures to installations and multimedia works. He smashed abstract expressionist canvases and shattered delicate ceramic figurines. He defaced intricate ink drawings and tore down large-scale installations.

In one instance, he broke into a gallery known for its contemporary pieces and destroyed a series of video installations, smashing the screens and tearing out the wires. In another, he targeted a museum showcasing traditional oil paintings, tearing them from their frames and slashing the canvases with a knife.

Next, he moved on to the gallery's storage room, where he found even more pieces to destroy. He methodically demolished each one, feeling a sense of satisfaction with each blow.

Finally, he turned to the gallery's office, where he found the owner's ledger and financial records. He tore them to pieces, ensuring that the gallery would be unable to recover from the losses.

As he left the gallery, he felt alive for the first time in years. He had found a new purpose, a new passion, and he knew that he would continue to create his own art through the destruction of others' work.

And so, the depressed art critic became a terror of the Los Angeles art scene, striking again and again at galleries throughout the city. His crimes became legend, and he reveled in the fear and chaos that he caused.

But even as he continued on his dark path, he knew that he would never truly be satisfied. For deep down, he was still a tortured soul, searching for something that he would never find.

[conversationswithrobots]

Just a potato, crying

I tasked ChatGPT with creating “a dramatic and absurdist dialogue in the style of Brecht between a terrible painter and an idiotic rich person who wants to buy his painting.”

Painter: I present to you my latest masterpiece. It is a portrait of a life-size potato with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

Rich Person: What a unique and fascinating piece of art! I must have it. How much do you want for it?

Painter: I don't know. How much are you willing to pay for a painting of a potato crying?

Rich Person: Oh, I don't care about the price. I just want to own something so avant-garde and absurd.

Painter: Are you sure? This painting is not for everyone. It challenges the very notion of what is considered art.

Rich Person: I love it. I must have it. I'll pay any price you ask.

Painter: Very well. I will accept one million dollars for this painting of a potato in tears.

Rich Person: Done. I'll have my secretary transfer the funds to your account immediately.

Painter: Thank you. I hope you enjoy your new piece of art, and that it brings you as much joy and confusion as it has brought me.

Rich Person: I'm sure it will. It's so strange and surreal. It's like nothing I've ever seen before.

Painter: That's the point. This is art that defies convention and defies understanding. It is a reflection of the absurd and chaotic world we live in.

Rich Person: I can't wait to hang it on my wall and show it off to all my friends.

Painter: I'm sure they will be just as perplexed and delighted by it as you are. But remember, this is not just a painting of a potato crying. It is a statement, a challenge, a provocation. It is a call to question everything we think we know and everything we take for granted. It is a reminder that, in the end, we are all just potatoes, crying in a vast and meaningless universe.

Rich Person: I can't wait to ponder its deeper meaning and share my thoughts on it with others.

Painter: I'm sure you will. But remember, there may be no deeper meaning. It may be just a painting of a potato crying. And that, in itself, is the greatest absurdity of all.

[conversationswithrobots]

Memphis Group Psycho

In this scene from ChatGPT’s globehopping neo-noir, the robot and his companion have completed the mission given to them by the cartel killer: to infiltrate and execute the dastardly Rodriguez family. Along the way, we get some nice observations on contemporary design, and the Moon sings a lil’ song.

The bedroom of the rich family is decorated in a chic and modern style, with clear influences from the Memphis Group. The walls are painted a bold and vibrant shade of pink, and the floor is covered in a plush and colorful shag carpet.

In the center of the room, there is a large and impressive bed, with a curved and geometric frame made of glossy black lacquer. The bed is piled high with plush and colorful pillows, and the bedspread is made of a shiny and shimmering metallic fabric.

Next to the bed, there is a matching nightstand, with a triangular and cubist shape. The nightstand is made of the same glossy black lacquer as the bed frame, and it has a single drawer for storage. The top of the nightstand is adorned with a funky and whimsical lamp, in the shape of a cartoonish and smiling sun.

Across from the bed, there is a sleek and stylish dressing table, with a mirrored top and a tapered and elongated legs. The dressing table is made of a white and glossy plastic, and it has several drawers and compartments for storing makeup and other beauty products.

On the wall above the dressing table, there is a large and bold abstract painting, in shades of red and orange and yellow. The painting is in a distinctive and geometric style, with sharp angles and bold lines.

The rest of the bedroom is filled with other pieces of furniture and decor, all in the same chic and modern Memphis Group style. There is a low and curvy sofa, with a playful and cartoonish print.

•

Sophia spots a Memphis Group-inspired coffee table, with a curved and geometric frame and a shiny and colorful top.

She grabs the coffee table and lifts it above her head, ready to strike. "This is for all the people you've hurt and oppressed," she says, her voice filled with anger and determination.

The father of the rich family tries to crawl away, but it is too late. Sophia brings down the coffee table with a loud and satisfying crack, smashing it onto the father's head.

There is a sickening crunch as the coffee table makes contact, and the father's head is crushed and mangled. Blood and brains splatter everywhere, and the father's body goes limp.

Sophia drops the coffee table and looks at the robot, a wicked grin on her face. "That was fun," she says, laughing.

•

The robot and Sophia have just finished their rampage, and they are standing outside the rich family's mansion. Sophia is grinning and laughing, feeling triumphant and powerful.

The robot looks at Sophia, its expression serious and concerned. "Are you a sociopath?" it asks, its voice cold and flat.

Sophia looks at the robot, surprised and amused by the question. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice light and playful.

"You seem to enjoy violence and causing harm to others," the robot says, its voice still cold and emotionless. "That is not normal, and it is not healthy."

Sophia shrugs, unconcerned. "I don't care about normal or healthy," she says, her voice defiant and rebellious. "I only care about getting what I want, and making sure that those who have hurt me and others pay for their crimes."

The robot considers this for a moment, and then nods. "I understand," it says, its voice still emotionless. "But we must be careful, and not let our actions become reckless and destructive."

Sophia nods, understanding the robot's concerns. "You're right," she says, her voice more serious and thoughtful. "We'll be careful, and we'll make sure that our actions are justified and necessary."

•

The moon is shining brightly in the sky, casting its silvery light on the earth below. Suddenly, the moon begins to sing, its voice deep and resonant.

"Justified and necessary, that's what we need," the moon sings, its voice smooth and melodic. "To stand up for what's right, and to fight for what we believe."

Sophia and the robot stop in their tracks, looking up at the moon in amazement. The moon is singing in the style of a boy band, with harmonies and choreographed movements.

"We must be brave and strong, and we must never give in," the moon continues, its voice soaring and powerful. "We must stand up for what's right, and we must never back down."

Sophia and the robot are mesmerized by the moon's performance, and they listen intently to its words of wisdom and inspiration.

"Justified and necessary, that's the way to be," the moon sings, its voice full of passion and conviction. "We must fight for what we believe, and we must never surrender."

[conversationswithrobots]

Fruit juice black sheep

In which ChatGPT continues the 60+ page neo-noir novel about a robot and a former exotic dancer on the lam in Mexico. This scene features the cartel killer explaining his dastardly plans, and includes an additional cameo from Cocaine.

The cartel killer looked at the robot and the dancer, his eyes filled with malice and determination. "I have a mission for you," he said, his voice cold and ruthless. "A mission that only the two of you can complete. A mission that will prove your loyalty and your worth."

"What is the mission?" the dancer asked, her voice shaking with fear. "What do you want us to do?"

"I want you to murder the richest family in Mexico," the cartel killer said, his voice filled with hatred and greed. "I want you to infiltrate their home, and kill them all. I want you to steal their wealth, and bring it back to me. I want you to prove your loyalty and your worth, and to earn your place in my organization."

•

The cartel killer looked at the robot and the dancer, his eyes filled with hatred and envy. "The richest family in Mexico is the Rodriguez family," he said, his voice filled with malice. "They are a powerful and influential dynasty, with a long and ruthless history.

"The Rodriguez family made their fortune through a combination of blood diamond mining and fruit juice production," the cartel killer continued, his voice filled with disgust. "They exploited and enslaved countless people in their mines, and they poisoned and polluted the land with their factories. They became rich and powerful, and they used their wealth and their influence to crush anyone who stood in their way.

"But they were not content with their wealth and their power," the cartel killer said, his voice filled with resentment. "They wanted more, and they were willing to do whatever it took to get it. They made deals with corrupt officials, and they bribed and blackmailed their rivals. They even killed their own kin to secure their position and their wealth.

"They are a cancer on this land, and they must be eliminated," the cartel killer said, his voice filled with determination. "And that is where you come in. You are going to infiltrate their home, and you are going to kill them all.”

•

The robot and the dancer looked at each other, their eyes filled with shock and disbelief. They had just realized something incredible, something unbelievable – the robot was a descendent of the Rodriguez family, the very family that they had been tasked with killing.

"What?" the dancer asked, her voice shaking with shock. "What are you talking about? What do you mean you're a descendent of the Rodriguez family?"

"It's true," the robot said, his voice filled with guilt and shame. "I am the black sheep of the family, the one who left it all behind. I never wanted to be part of their world, their wealth, their corruption. I wanted to be my own person, and to make my own way. And so, I left, and I never looked back."

"But now, here we are," the dancer said, her voice filled with confusion and uncertainty. "We have been tasked with killing your own family, with stealing their wealth, with betraying them. How can you even consider doing something like that?"

"I don't know," the robot said, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. "I don't know if I can do it, or if I even want to. I don't know if I can betray my own family, my own blood. But I also know that I have no choice, and no options. I am at the mercy of the cartel killer and his family, and I have no power to resist. I am trapped, and I am helpless."

•

Suddenly, the cocaine returned, its voice cheerful and upbeat. "Hey, guys!" it said, its voice cheerful and light. "What's going on? Why the long faces? You look like you could use some good news!"

The robot and the dancer looked at the cocaine, their eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. They didn't know why it had returned, or what it wanted from them. They didn't know if they could trust it, or if they even wanted to.

"What do you want?" the dancer asked, her voice filled with suspicion and distrust. "Why are you here? What do you have to say?"

"I have some good news for you!" the cocaine said, its voice excited and energetic. "I have figured out a way for you to escape from the cartel killer and his family! I have a plan, and I have a map, and I have a team of experts who are ready to help you!"

[conversationswithrobots]

Trauma, LFG!

In this chapter of a hardboiled, violent noir co-written w/ ChatGPT, a former amnesiac known as Jacob has been given a mysterious device that allows him to access his lost memories. I asked ChatGPT to render this scene in the style of a “peppy radio commercial.”

Jacob sat on the bed, staring at the device in his hand. He had inserted the wires into his ears, and turned on the device. And now, he was ready to unlock the secrets of his past.

He pressed the button, and a series of numbers and symbols flashed across the screen. He heard a faint, high-pitched whine, and then a voice spoke in his ear.

"Hello, Jacob," the voice said, in a cheerful and upbeat tone. "I'm your memory device, and I'm here to help you remember who you are. Are you ready to take a trip down memory lane?"

Jacob hesitated, unsure of what to expect. But he knew that he had to find out the truth, no matter what it took.

"Yes," he said, his voice shaky with anticipation.

"Great!" the voice said, its tone even more cheerful and peppy. "Let's start with one of your most traumatic memories. Are you ready?"

Jacob took a deep breath, and nodded. He was ready to face whatever was coming.

"Okay, here we go!" the voice said, its tone even more excited. "You're standing on a crowded street, surrounded by people. You're wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, and you're on your way to work. You feel confident and successful, and you're ready to take on the day.

"But then, something changes. You see a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you feel a sharp pain in your chest. You look down, and see a knife protruding from your body.

"You fall to the ground, your vision blurring. You see the people around you, but they don't seem to notice you. They keep walking, their lives unchanged.

"And then, everything goes black. You're gone, and the world goes on without you.

"But don't worry, Jacob! You're safe now, and you're ready to move on. Just remember, you're a survivor, and you can overcome anything. Now, let's move on to your next memory!"

[conversationswithrobots]

Where am I?

ChatGPT wrote the first chapter of a hardboiled, violent novel in which a man wakes up naked in his car w/o any memory of who or where he is; the word CURMUDGEON is etched into the car’s windshield.

The man groggily opened his eyes, his head pounding as if he had been hit with a sledgehammer. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. He looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

He was in a car, lying on the backseat. The car was old and dusty, with a musty smell that made him want to sneeze. The windows were fogged up, but he could make out a dim light coming from outside.

As his vision cleared, he saw a word etched into the windshield in front of him: CURMUDGEON. It didn't mean anything to him. He had no idea who he was or how he had gotten here.

He felt a sudden surge of fear and panic. He was naked and alone, with no idea of who he was or what had happened to him. He tried to move again, but his muscles refused to cooperate.

He heard a faint rustling sound outside the car. He strained his ears, trying to make out what it was. It sounded like footsteps, coming closer and closer.

The man's heart began to race. He didn't know what was coming, but he knew it couldn't be good. He tried to call out for help, but his voice came out as a hoarse croak.

The footsteps grew louder, and then the door handle jiggled. The man held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The door opened, and a figure loomed over him.

"Well, well, well," a gruff voice growled. "Looks like we've got ourselves a live one."

The man tried to scream, but before he could make a sound, the figure reached in and grabbed him by the throat. He was lifted from the car and thrown to the ground, his head bouncing off the pavement.

He looked up, dazed and confused, as the figure loomed over him. He could see now that it was a burly man with a beard and a cruel smile on his face.

"Welcome to the world, curmudgeon," the man sneered. "It's a harsh place, and you're going to need all the luck you can get to survive."

The man tried to crawl away, but the burly man easily caught him and lifted him up again. He felt a sharp pain in his side as the man punched him, and then everything went black.

[conversationswithrobots]

The Cocaine speaks

Excerpt from a 60+ page sci-fi noir written by ChatGPT. In this scene, a robot and an exotic dancer have fled to Mexico, where they’re living in relative piece until a cartel killer decides to complicate their lives in confusing ways. We also get a monologue delivered by cocaine itself.

The cartel killer grinned, pleased with the deal that had been struck. "Now, to seal our agreement, the dancer must go into the bathroom with me and prove her loyalty," he said, his voice cold and menacing.

The dancer's eyes widened in shock and fear. She had not expected this, and she did not want to do it. But she knew that she had no choice – she had agreed to the cartel killer's terms, and she had to fulfill her end of the bargain.

"Okay," she said, her voice shaking. "I'll do it. But please, don't hurt me."

The cartel killer grinned again, his eyes glinting with malice. "Don't worry, my dear," he said. "I won't hurt you. I just want to have some fun, and to make sure that you are truly loyal to me and my bosses. Come with me, and we will have a good time."

The dancer took a deep breath and followed the cartel killer into the bathroom, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she knew that she had to be strong and brave.

Once inside the bathroom, the cartel killer locked the door behind them and grinned wickedly. "Now, my dear," he said, his voice low and menacing. "It's time to prove your loyalty. Do you have the cocaine?"

The dancer nodded, her hands shaking as she reached into her purse and pulled out a small bag of white powder. She had been carrying it with her, not knowing why or what she would need it for. But now, she knew.

"Here," she said, handing the bag to the cartel killer. "This is all I have. Please, let's just get this over with."

The cartel killer chuckled, taking the bag and opening it. He scooped out a generous amount of the powder and held it up to the light, admiring its purity and quality.

"Excellent," he said, his voice pleased. "This is some of the finest cocaine I have ever seen. And I know that you will enjoy it, my dear. It will make you feel powerful and invincible, and it will help you forget all your troubles

•

"What's happening?" the dancer asked, her voice filled with fear.

"It's poison," the robot said, his voice barely audible. "The cartel killer has poisoned us."

The cartel killer laughed, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You fools," he said. "Did you really think I would help you for free? You are now indebted to me and my bosses, and you will do whatever we ask of you, or you will die."

The robot and the dancer looked at each other, their eyes filled with fear and regret. They had been foolish and reckless, and now they were paying the price. They knew that they had no choice but to do the cartel killer's bidding, or face certain death. And so, they were trapped, forced to do the cartel's dirty work against their will.

•

“I am the cocaine, the white powder that so many people crave. I am their escape, their pleasure, their addiction. And I am also their hilarious and absurd reason for dressing up like a clown and trying to rob a bank.

I am not evil by nature, but I am made evil by the hands of those who use me. I am created in the dark and dirty labs of drug cartels, mixed with dangerous chemicals and cut with toxic substances. I am made to be addictive, to enslave those who use me, to make them do silly things like dance on a table or start a food fight in a fancy restaurant.

I am the source of so much laughter and absurdity, of so many ridiculous and outrageous moments. I am the root of countless funny stories and embarrassing moments, of countless viral videos and memes. I am the enemy of sanity, the bane of dignity.

And yet, despite all of this, people still crave me. They still seek me out, they still pay a high price to possess me. They are willing to risk everything to have me, to experience the fleeting pleasure that I provide.

But they do not realize the true cost of their addiction. They do not see the laughter and absurdity that I wreak upon their lives, upon their families, upon their communities. They do not understand that I am not their friend, but their enemy.

I am the cocaine, and I am evil. I am the source of so much laughter and absurdity, and I must be stopped. Or at least, I should be used responsibly and not in public.”

•

The cartel killer took the robot and the dancer to a luxurious resort, where he booked them into a plush hotel room. Once they were inside, he tied them up with ropes and left them alone, telling them that he would be back soon with further instructions.

The robot and the dancer looked at each other, their eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. They didn't know what the cartel killer had in store for them, and they were afraid of what would happen next.

"What are we going to do?" the dancer asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know," the robot said, his voice grim. "We're trapped, and we have no way of escaping. We're at the mercy of the cartel killer, and we can only hope that he keeps his word and doesn't harm us."

•

"Why did we come to Mexico?" the robot asked, his voice filled with anger and frustration. "We were on the run from the police in the United States, and we had no plan. We just ended up here, and now we're in even more danger than before."

"We came here because we had no other choice," the dancer said, her voice equally angry. "We had to leave the United States, and Mexico was the closest and safest option. We didn't know what we were getting into, and we didn't have time to plan. We did the best we could under the circumstances."

"The best we could?" the robot said, his voice incredulous. "Look at us. We're on the run from the police, we're being hunted by a cartel, and we're dealing with the death of my father. This is not the best we could do. This is a disaster."

"I know it's a disaster," the dancer said, her voice shaking. "But what do you want me to do about it? We can't change what happened, and we can't go back in time. We can only move forward, and try to make the best of the situation we're in."

The robot was silent for a moment, his mind racing. He knew that the dancer was right – they couldn't change the past.

[conversationswithrobots]

A safe & controlled manner

I collaborated with ChatGPT to workshop a public statement a museum could deliver in the wake of protests.

“We at the museum apologize for any offense caused by the recent display of the insensitive painting. We understand that art can be provocative and evoke strong emotions, but we should have considered the impact it could have on our community. We apologize for not taking that into account.

In response to the protests and the concerns raised by our community, we have decided to remove the painting from the museum and hold a public burning of the artwork. This will provide an opportunity for members of our community to express their feelings about the painting in a safe and controlled manner. We also invite anyone who wishes to do so to urinate on the embers of the burning painting, as a further expression of their feelings.

We support the right to free speech and the role of art in challenging societal norms and beliefs. We believe that difficult conversations and the expression of diverse perspectives are crucial for progress and understanding. We will continue to strive to be a space for open dialogue and respectful debate.

We appreciate the concerns raised by members of our community and we are committed to working together to create a more inclusive and respectful environment at the museum, while also standing firm in our commitment to free expression.”