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 Aargh

Compare and contrast.

 One of my favorite holidays of the year is coming up, Talk Like a Pirate Day is Tuesday, Sept. 19.  So haul up your mizzenmast, bitches, and prepare to be boarded.   The day is the brainchild of two scurvy dogs who freely admit it is nothing but a bucket of hornswoggle. I think every long time group of friends probably has some inside joke that helps bond the scallywags together and this has all the markings of being one.  Sadly, their website that originated the madness is no longer.  One assumes it now rests in Davy Jones locker.

There's a number of helpful sites that will get even the lamest of landlubbers in ship shape.  I have to say the quality of the pirate name generators (here's one that's OK) has declined.  Diane von Austinburg was in town for the festivities a couple of years ago and we spent an amusing evening crafting pirate names for ourselves.  Mine is Deadman McStubby and my ship is the feared Barnacle Bucket.  Cast your peepers on our sails and weep, you yellow-bellied cur.

So greet your fellow hearties by shouting "avast!" and tell the humpy barista to surrender his booty because it's Talk Like a Pirate Day. Aargh.

Buccaneers with whom I wouldn't mind sharing the poop deck.

Nappy time is happy time.

Men who can cock their eyebrow like that fascinate me.

I tried looking for naked pirates, but the selection was mediocre, so maybe I'll just post guys who look like they could be buccaneers.

Very pirate-ish.

Booty

The terror of below decks.

Avast

Captain Hook

Unburied treasure.

I love that snazzy little jacket or bolero or whatever it is.  Smart, very smart.

This photo is an old favorite here at Captain mrpeenee and I think it is rather pirate-y, somehow.