There is an art- or rather, a knack to flying; it lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.
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This may be the worst use of LLMs anyone has attempted, ever. Up there with recognizing mushrooms.
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A good rule of thumb for AI is "would you trust a trained pigeon to do this?"
"We trained a pigeon to recognise cancerous cell clusters and somehow they're really good at it" okay great, that's something that could plausibly be a thing.
"We trained a pigeon to recognise good CV:s and left it in charge of sorting through all our job applications" uh perhaps consider not doing that.
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forever grateful i was simply too lazy to let the makeup industrial complex get its hooks in me. I was just like im not doing all of that. in fact. im doing none of that
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thoughts while watching Pride & Prejudice 2005:
Bingley’s hair could rival that of a member of One Direction
I suppose in a way he was the original Harry Styles
Mrs. Bennet WOULD sell her daughters to One Direction
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Eat this yoghurt with the most dignity. Most extreme eating wins.
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The great thing about Gus is that he perfectly oscillates from playing the annoyed straight man to Shawn’s general insanity to yes-anding to an insane degree. For every moment where he says no Shawn, you did not hear that both ways there’s a moment where he, with no prompting, claims that his fictitious grandmother with a broken hip was teaching a line dancing class. For every time he says Shawn, stop messing around at work, there is a time where after Shawn says he’s been “looking at the man in the mirror”, Gus, in a move that never ever fails to make me laugh, with a completely straight face and no impact on the conversation, does the Michael Jackson “he-he”. He’s insane. He thinks he’s normal. He does 11 point turns. He’s a sympathetic crier.
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The inherent homoeroticism of killing your enemy and immediately regretting it
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So, I’m reading Witches Abroad right now, and in it there’s a festival that’s pretty clearly based in Mardi Gras, called Samedi Nuit Mort. I knew what each of those words meant, and could tell there was a joke in there, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I thought it was something to do with how it sounded out loud, but that didn’t work…
You guys. It’s Saturday Night Dead.
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“Hot and bothered” in the sense that it is 90 degrees out and I am extremely annoyed
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MURDER, SHE WROTE (cr. Peter S. Fischer, Richard Levinson, William Link | 1984 - 1996)
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