Played around with ChatGPT. It’s fun, and way more ad­vanced than the Markov chain-type text gen­er­a­tors I played around with a decade ago. You could write news­pa­per ar­ti­cles with it. But I don’t see it gen­er­at­ing a novel that’s ac­tu­ally good, like some are pre­dict­ing. And if this is 10 steps for­ward in the last decade, General AI is on an­other planet.

Tell a short story about a gi­raffe eat­ing birds in the style of a gothic novel

The gi­raffe tow­ered over the land­scape, its long neck stretch­ing out to­wards the sky. The sun had be­gun to set, cast­ing a warm or­ange glow over the sa­van­nah. As the gi­raffe sur­veyed the land be­low, it spot­ted a group of birds perched in a nearby tree.

The gi­raf­fe’s eyes nar­rowed as it watched the birds. It had never eaten birds be­fore, but it was hun­gry and des­per­ate. With a grace­ful and stealthy move­ment, the gi­raffe crept closer to the tree.

The birds, un­aware of the gi­raf­fe’s pres­ence, con­tin­ued to chirp and sing. The gi­raf­fe’s heart pounded in its chest as it drew closer and closer to its prey. Just as it was about to strike, a sud­den gust of wind rus­tled the leaves of the tree, alert­ing the birds to the gi­raf­fe’s pres­ence.

Panicked, the birds took flight, but the gi­raffe was too quick. It lunged for­ward and snagged one of the birds in its pow­er­ful jaws. The other birds squawked in alarm as they watched their com­rade be­ing de­voured by the gi­raffe.

The gi­raffe sa­vored the taste of the bird, its gothic soul de­light­ing in the dark­ness of the act. It con­tin­ued to stalk and hunt the birds, rev­el­ing in its new­found power and hunger. The gi­raffe had be­come a crea­ture of the night, a gothic preda­tor feed­ing on the in­no­cent and un­sus­pect­ing.

Write a poem in the style of robert louis steven­son about a sock

There once was a sock, so small and so neat It lived in a drawer, amongst socks that were sweet It was soft and it was cozy, and it fit on my toes But then one day, it met with a fate that no one knows

It was washed and it was dried, and it was put away But when I went to wear it, it had dis­ap­peared, oh my I looked high and I looked low, but the sock was nowhere to be found And so I was left with just one, and my feet were cold, un­clothed

But the sock, it was not gone, it had sim­ply taken flight It had been whisked away, to a land be­yond sight A land of socks, of all shapes and sizes A land where socks are free, and they live their lives in a par­adise

So if you ever lose a sock, don’t de­spair or be blue It may have just gone on an ad­ven­ture, to a land that is new A land where socks are happy, and they never have to be alone A land where they can be them­selves, and they never have to be shown.

Write a haiku about an ago­ra­pho­bic man­a­tee

Agoraphobic man­a­tee Trapped within its wa­tery home Afraid to ven­ture out

Write the in­tro for the pod­cast ten to one, the pod­cast where we make top ten lists about every­thing

Welcome to Ten to One, the pod­cast where we make top ten lists about every­thing! In each episode, we’ll count­down our picks for the top ten best, worst, most in­ter­est­ing, and strangest things in a wide range of cat­e­gories. From the top ten most beau­ti­ful cities in the world to the top ten worst ex­cuses for be­ing late to work, we’ll cover it all. So join us as we count down the best of the best and the worst of the worst on Ten to One!

Tell a joke about Herman Melville

Why was Herman Melville al­ways at sea? Be­cause he was a whaler!