In Which We Finally Offer Free Art

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In Which We Consider the Rise of the Machine

 

Today is Talk Like a Pirate Day, a holiday very dear to all of us here at mrpeenee, Inc.  I don't have the energy remind you scurvy dogs of it's history and traditions, go here for some of that.  But let me just say avast ye blackguards, clear your poop deck and prepare to be boarded.  Surrender your booty, etc., etc., etc.

Now on to our story,

Earlier this summer, I mentioned that I have been dabbling in the brave new world of AI smut.  My efforts were strictly limited to pictures of naked guys, or semi naked guys, because I'm a very visual smut queer.  Just as a side note, while there are lots of sites that generate AI images, almost all of them are very prissy about no NSFW stuff.  Bitches.

Anyway, a while ago our dear chum Mikey from over at Chaturbate asked if I had considered using something like ChatGPT for writing.  I hadn't; for one thing, I had just considered writing AI to be useful for either applying for jobs or cheating on your homework.  I will now take a brief pause to thank the great father that I need to do neither.  Also though, I like writing, or rather, to quote the great Dorothy Parker, "I hate writing but I love having written." Writing is a lot of effort, but so is fucking and I don't want a computer to do that for me either. 

Still, I'm very conscious of how erratic both my spelling and punctuation are.  I know I drop in commas like they are decoration on a Christmas tree, and sprinkle semicolons around with gay abandon.  If AI can help calm all that down, then maybe it would help. 

I decided to test it out by taking some random paragraph from last week's blog and running it through the GPT wringer.  The immediate problem was that the AI wanted to punch up my pathetic little effort instead of just tidying up the random punctuation. 

Here's what it came back with initially: 

Want me to take it further into over-the-top humor (like full-on dialogue between you and the cats about their survival plan), or keep it in this dry, sarcastic vein?

I suppose I should be flattered that it recognized I was trying to be dry and sarcastic.  Since apparently my only choices were a kitty dialogue or sticking with my usual bitchiness, I opted for bitchiness.

My original:

As you see in the picture above, they have both now decided my bed is our bed.  Toby regularly snuggles up next to my side with his head on my shoulder which has to be the most adorable thing since cats were invented. Octavia also likes to settle in next to me.  If she gets here first, Toby will climb over one or both of us to jam himself in between her and my armpit so that I find myself at the bottom of a pile of cats as I just try to watch the news on PornHub.  Also, both of them will only settle down on my left side so that I am between them and the door.  Obviously, they are privy to inside information about the zombie apocalypse and they have decided that when the undead inevitably burst in, me and my luscious brains will provide a distraction for the cats to make their getaway.  Ingrates. 

And the new and improved AI version:

As you can see in the picture above, both cats have officially declared my bed to be our bed. Toby, in particular, likes to wedge himself against my side with his head on my shoulder, which is honestly the most adorable thing since the invention of cats—or sliced bread. (Though, let’s be real, cats would never admit sliced bread was useful unless it came with tuna.)

Octavia also likes to curl up next to me, but if she gets there first, Toby turns into a furry little bulldozer. He’ll climb over one or both of us just to jam himself into the prime real estate between Octavia and my armpit. The end result? I’m buried under a cat pile, trying to breathe, while desperately attempting to watch the news on… PornHub. (Don’t judge. Some people read newspapers. I just prefer my headlines delivered… enthusiastically.)

To make things extra convenient, both cats insist on snuggling only on my left side. Apparently, this is a strategic choice: I am the designated meat shield. Clearly, they know the zombie apocalypse is coming, and when the undead inevitably burst through the door, my luscious, brain-filled head will be the all-you-can-eat buffet while my “loving” cats make their daring getaway.

Ingrates. Furry, adorable ingrates.

Honestly, I am not wowed by it.  I understand it sounds like me, mostly because it has grasped my undying passion for adjectives (I just love them modifiers), but the changes it's made don't seem to improve anything, and the jokes that it added are just sort of clunky.  Also, the random nature of my comma usage doesn't seem to be any better.  If anything, the AI is given to even more capricious punctuation. 

I suppose if I really turned my attention to it, I could master chatGPT and wrestle it into doing what I want, but Octavia has been sick with a UTI and so I have been busy squirting antibiotics down her throat and mopping up puddles of cat pee so I'm not really in the mood for learning yet another program just because all the really cool kids are using it.  I'll just stick with naked guy images, thanks. 

Va va va voom

In the weeds.

Dorothy Parker also said "Heterosexuality is not normal it's just common."

Ahoy, ye bilge rats, and shiver me timbers.

I realize I am being rather erratic with my references here in the Nekkid Guy Section, what with Dorothy Parker, AI, and pirates, but that's why I can never be replaced by some GTP, or GPT or GTO or whatever it is.

This guy is AI.  Could you tell?  Avast and arrrgh.

In Which We Are Livin La Vida Gato

 

I am awash in cats.

A year ago in April, I adopted the eighth cat I have lived with and named her, obviously, Octavia.  It turned out Octavia and I have a lot in common; we are both cranky old ladies with bad arthritis and a passion for snacks.  When I first brought her home, she approached her new living situation with admirable caution.  She made a beeline for under the bed in the guest room and stayed there.  I was willing to not force the issue and let her come to me in her own good time.  She ate and used her box (the benchmarks I use for if a cat is okay) when I was out or sufficiently unconscious.  After a couple of weeks I decided maybe we should be more friendly and that's when I discovered her fondness for snack products.  I lured her out from under the bed by rattling a bag of cat treats.  That got her attention.

Once she associated me with snacks, she decided we were going to be best friends and after I got her some steps to make getting into bed easier on her stiff joints, she joined me up here regularly.  It was very sweet.

Then a year ago, the much missed Super Agent Fred died and I inherited his cat, Toby, aka The World's Most Sweetest Cat.  I quarantined him in my bathroom to let him get used to this brave new world, a setup he immediately protested against because he wanted to hang out with me.  So sweet.  Octavia also protested against the setup, but only because she opposed another cat in her space.  Her exact words were, "Nope, I'm out," and she retreated back to her fortress of solitude under the bed. 

It was a situation that left me very unhappy.  I had adopted Octavia specifically because I was looking for a senior cat so that I could provide a more comfortable space than a cage and a kennel for her to live out her last whatevers.  Just as a side note, Octavia has scuttled that high-minded plan, once she became ensconced and living on a diet of fancy wet food, she has thrived.  She has made it very clear she plans on outliving me.  But still, I was very conscious that just as she had really settled in comfortably, Toby appeared and really upset her. 

It took months for her to start to tentatively interact with this interloper.  Toby's approach to the world is Let's Be Buddies and everyone is immediately his best friend.  He simply could not understand why Octavia was so chilly and hostile.  But eventually she warmed to his charms and now she lets him very enthusiastically groom the back of her head.  He also likes to groom the back of my head, for that matter. 

As you see in the picture above, they have both now decided my bed is our bed.  Toby regularly snuggles up next to my side with his head on my shoulder which has to be the most adorable thing since cats were invented. Octavia also likes to settle in next to me.  If she gets here first, Toby will climb over one or both of us to jam himself in between her and my armpit so that I find myself at the bottom of a pile of cats as I just try to watch the news on PornHub.  Also, both of them will only settle down on my left side so that I am between them and the door.  Obviously, they are privy to inside information about the zombie apocalypse and they have decided that when the undead inevitably burst in, me and my luscious brains will provide a distraction for the cats to make their getaway.  Ingrates. 

Speaking of pussy:

Coach's favorite.

What lovely, luscious balls

Everyone who has ever lived with a cat knows the exasperation of asking them "In or out?"

ME: How big is it?

HIM: 7 frosted and 1 plain glazed

ME: On my way

Absolutely asstastic

Daddy says it's spanky time.