Talk to Transformer - shockingly accurate neural network text predicting thingy

[garbed_attic]

https://play.aidungeon.io is the new Talk to Transformer in my book. It's a neural network trained on text-only adventure games. This was the adventure I went on as Detective Jogn McJahoney...

You are McJahoney, a detective living in Chicago. You have a pistol and a police badge. You enter the forest where you believe the criminal you're searching for fled to. Suddenly, you stumble upon a bloody, shirtless man. He turns his head and grins at you with two missing teeth.
"Well, well, look who it is," said the man.

> You offer the man a checked shirt.
The man grins again and clutches at his chest.
"It's against my nature to be a gentleman," he says, before collapsing into an awkward position. His body is stiff and cold.

> You drape checked shirt over the corpse of the man.
You stand, walking out of the woods. You arrive at a police outpost, where you report the situation to the police captain. He nods, and turns to the telegraph operator.

> You pick at your teeth.
An hour later, you're back on the train, heading to Humboldt. You arrive an hour later, and step out onto the platform.

> You take ransom note out of pocket.
You head to Clarence Hite's mansion, banging on the door. A butler opens, and you show him the note.

> You ask the butler about the note.
The butler nods, and leads you into the manor. You wander about the mansion, admiring the expensive paintings and Asian rugs.
Suddenly, you hear a creaking.

> You locate the source of the creaking.
You turn, to see a maid creeping aside from the wall. She nods in the direction you need to go.
You creep towards her, and turn the corner.

> You scream as loudly as you can "I'm a detective"
You scream, before bursting into laughter. The child's eyes widen, and she begins to howl with laughter. You wince as her shrill, piercing noise pierces your ear drums.

> You ask the child if she is the killer?
The child frowns, as if contemplating the question. She bites her lip, and looks at you intently.
"I think I killed my father," she says.

> You ask the child how her father died?
You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your professionalism. The child quickly learns you're a detective, and how did you come across the note.
Eventually, the girl stops her whimpering so she can answer you.

> You listen to the girl's explanation.
The girl explains that she and her father were playing hide-and-seek. Her, her father and two other children went into the woods.

> You wait.
The girl explains that the other two children went under a tree, while her father and she went behind the shed.

> You ask the girl if there were "murdering tools" in the shed.
The girl nods. She points to a rusty secateurs, a knifes sharpener and a large hammer laying on the ground.

> You inspect large hammer for traces of blood.
You inspect the large hammer for traces of blood. You come across a series of bloody scratches, shaped like letter "C".

> You say to the girl "Ah ha! The 'C' must stand for Clarence, the name of your father!"
The girl nods eagerly. She leads you towards the tree, and points to a heavily weathered letter "C" carved into it.
She smiles, and you raise an eyebrow.
"That's the spot,"

> You take a photograph of the tree and the girl and the hammer.
You raise your camera, but the girl's face drops.
"I'm not supposed to take their pictures!" she says.

> You take the photo anyway.
You snap the photo, and the girl stands in front of the letter "C".
"Thank you detective," she says happily.

> You try to arrest the girl for the murder of her father.
You bring the girl home, and ask your parents to keep an eye on her. You decide to keep the rest of the night at the house, as you go through the girl's things.

> You read the girl's diary for a confession.
The diary is, surprisingly, well-written for a seven-year-old. It's full of purple hearts and adventure, and written in her bright, loopy handwriting.

> You read the diary.
Day Twenty-Two
I went to the police station today. They asked me a lot of questions about my dad and what we did together.

> You underline entry with a red pen.
Day Twenty-Two
I went to the police station today. They asked me a lot of questions about my dad and what we did together.

> You take the diary to your parent's home.
As you pick up the heavy, red book, you wince, knowing what you'll find inside.
The book is blank.

> You where did the diary entries go???
The entries are gone. You pick up the book, sighing in relief that you got it back from the police, and go inside.
Your parents are sitting at the kitchen table, mid-breakfast.

> You ask your parents about the murderous girl.
"Did they solve the case yet?" you ask.
Your father shakes his head, pouring him another cup of coffee.
"Not yet. But I'm sure they will."

> You ask your parents where the murderous girl has gone.
Your mother shrugs as your father replies, "I don't know, honey. The police took her away."
You sigh, and pick at your cuticles.

> You shred your cuticles until they bleed.
Once you're spent, you stand up and head to the bathroom. You bloodied cuticles lie in a tub of water. You sigh, and look at the mirror.
"What now, detective?"

> You put on mother's lipstick.
You look at yourself in the mirror. You've got your mother's gorgeous, long legs and gorgeous, long eyelashes.

> You pout at yourself in the mirror.
You look at your mother's peach coloured lips in the mirror. You stare for a while, and then it clicks.
You walk over to the door and open it, calling your dad into the room.

> You ask dad if you are pretty.
Your father smiles, and looks at you.
"Yes, detective,"
He chuckles as you grin. "Thank you, daddy,"

> You slam the door in dad's face and shout "DAD YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND ME!!!"
Dad bursts into the room, and you slam the door in his face.
"No, honey,"
You start to say, but dad has already grabbed the door handle.

> You wrestle with your father.
Dad wrestles back. You're both a midget and an obese adult, so this is pretty equal. You fall to the floor, him on top.

> You grab a heavy tooth mug and smash it into his balding pate.
You swing the mug in an arc, and watch as it crashes into your father's head. He drops the door handle and falls backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. You stand over him, smiling triumphantly.

> You write in red diary.
I closed the window.
Perhaps I'll never know why you killed your father, but that's all in the past. I have no doubt you're to blame for the murders.

> You close the window.
You pull the second window shut.
The last of the sunlight filters in, and you feel a hint of cool air coming in through the window.
I have to stay awake now.

> You become the little girl.
You slip into the role as the little girl, and feel a sadness overcome you. You sit down on the carpeted floor, and hold your knees to your chest, trying to keep the tears in check.

> You arrest yourself.
You get up and walk to the back of the house.

> You lie on floor in fetal position.
You curl up in a ball, wrapping your arms around your knees and trying to get as small as possible. You don't want to move from this spot. The sun was so bright, mocking you with its beauty.

> You question the meaning of life and its infinite suffering.
You look up at the sun. You're scared, confused and angry. Why did you do this to me? It's not fair. You wouldn't hurt me on purpose though. The wind blows, chilling your body.

> You are a bad detective.
You feel tears sting behind your eyes, and a pain in your chest. The effort of holding in the sobs is making you feel dizzy.
"I'm a bad detective," you whisper to yourself.

> You end game.
You're a bad detective, and a bad person. You beat and betray those who try to help you. You deserve whatever you get.

https://play.aidungeon.io/main/play?playPublicId=480e5407-8d63-4480-a1ce-e21ad3eb31c0

[Fambo Number Mive]

You are Legend Gary, a cyborg living in the the futuristic city of Zail. You have a bionic arm and a holoband. You're walking down the dark city streets while neon lights flash brightly above you. As you pass an alley you see a man getting beaten up by fully-armored criminals.

> You tear the criminals apart with your cyborg arms.
As the criminals attack you tear them apart with your metal tentacles. You shoot them with your laser eyes and smash your fists into their armor-plated bodies.

> You say "That's gotta hurt"
"That's gotta hurt" you say.
The man is silent.
"Well, this is exciting!" shouts the man's son.
"Yeah, I love it!" says the man.

> You say "That's good, my friend Pubes Daz hates it when I tear people apart with my metal cyborg arms. Mind you, he's a bit of a soft twat."
"That's good, my friend Pubes Daz hates it when I tear people apart with my metal cyborg arms. Mind you, he's a bit of a soft twat.
You take the man and his son for a drink of Stella at the house where you and Pubes Daz live. After an hour or so of conversation it comes to light that the man is a rogue trader working for the Felkan Kingdom, while the son is his apprentice.

> You ask the man if he has any pirate DVDs he can sell you, in particular adult DVDs with sex and everything.
"I don't trade in such things." he says.
"Oh. OK then. I can come back then." you say.
"No, it's fine. I don't want to see anyone else."
After several pints of Stella and some biscuits, you are all very drunk. Daz escorts the man and his son out before you get your bum out.
"What's the matter, you can't get a girl, or you didn't want to see a boy?" you ask.
"Both. I'm still looking." he says.

> You say "Yeah, Daz knows what that is like, his knob hasn't been polished since 2009. It's all dusty and stuff, or so he tells me."
"Yeah, Daz knows what that is like, his knob hasn't been polished since 2009. It's all dusty and stuff, or so he tells me."
The man and his son stagger onto a passing holobus, and you and Daz go back indoors. You need a wee.
You go into the toilet you share with Daz and lock the door. You start to wee, and then a bright light flashes in your eyes.

> You say "Daz, remind me how I do a wee now I am a cyborg"
Daz sits down on the can.
"Just press this button." he says.
You find the button, but you can't push it.

> You say "Daz, I can't reach it with my cyborg arms. Can you get off the can so I don't cover you with piss, and push the button for me?"
Daz gets off the toilet, and you stand over him as he presses the button. You stand directly above him and let fly a torrent of golden-brown liquid onto his head.
Daz runs into the shower, disgusted, while you laugh uncontrollably for a good five minutes.

> You say "Gotta be quicker than that Daz to avoid me pissing on you."
As you and Daz talk, some guy walks in and says he is here to see after your "football needs doing". You know exactly what he wants.
"I'll see you at the table in ten minutes."
Daz takes a swing at you as he washes his face, but you duck it and go downstairs to see the football guy.
You walk into the room where you and Daz play cards with the other "criminal leaders" on the ship. You sit down at the table and look at your cards.
A straight flush? Legend Gary is so drunk he is struggling to focus on the cards.
"What do you say we play for real money?" he slurs.
"Yeah!" says one of the men.
You take your chips and ante ten grand into the pot.

> You say "I can put in my DVD of Saw V if you'd accept that"
The man shakes his head.
"Nah, I don't think so. Not that..."
He trails off, and goes quiet.
Daz has come in, still smelling slightly of Stella piss.  He sits next to you and winces as he breathes in your smell.
"It's gone down a lot since the last time you played. Your arms have also gotten longer and hairier hasn't they?"
You end game two with your team ahead.

[olliebean]

Is there any publicly accessible equivalent of Talk to Transformer or Textsynth that uses GPT-3 instead of GPT-2?

[jenna appleseed]

Text synth:

amazon giftcard from him, he had the right to send the items he bought that day to anyone he pleased. That's awesome because it means that for many months he could keep using my stuff without getting ripped off. He even gave me a new set of keys for one of the boxes because I just wanted to do something that felt "right" for me. I think he does a lot to try and make me feel welcome, even at his expense.

My biggest surprise was that he did a lot for me and then some. He was generous enough to let me buy a bottle of champagne for Christmas (one of the items that he purchased) and then he asked me for money to pay for the flowers for it. I'm glad I did that because I didn't want to have to pay all of the price of his Christmas decorations and gifts. He also let me pay him with credit cards when he got them shipped so it made my life alot easier.

amazon giftcard from my friends so that i can spend it all

Giftsdorf is just a fake online store where i buy fake jewelry, i could do some shopping for $10.

So, we can buy something for $50, if we could find the right buyer to spend it on.

Also, i know it's really hard to get real gift cards for this. i am very sorry for this guy. I will always buy with my own funds and hope that someone has that much interest in me.

[jenna appleseed]

textsynth

check out this hook while the dj revolves it

// in the clockwise direction
//
// Note the '|' (semicolon).
//
// If you get this wrong, it's going to screw up everything in the loop!
//
// Note: if you're not using dj_spin_lock and dj_spin_unlock,
// it's just going to loop forever until dj_spin_lock gets used
// by another callback.
//

check out this hook while the dj revolves it

We need to use a hook to rotate the dj while the dj revolves it

We need to use a hook to rotate the dj while the dj revolves it. This loop begins.
This hook will rotate the dj while the dj revolves it. And when the dj completes its rotation, the dj will be at its final starting position. This hook will not go through its rotation. It will return back to its starting position when the dj completes its rotation.
This hook goes through its rotation so it is called an Option. This hook will return to its starting position at the end of its rotation. If we want to rotate the dj forward while the dj is already at its final starting position, we can set the value of the final option to be the velocity of the dj at the end of its rotation.
A final option with a velocity that is closer to the final starting position than the final position
When the dj completes its rotation, the dj will stop.

you're listening to the boy from the big bad city

He has a little girl on his mind

And you know what? He is going to kill her

You know what he's going to do? He's gonna get a gun

But he's not going to kill her

So you're going to get your guns and your guns and your guns

He ain't coming back

So if you're gonna shoot him

Then kill him too

He is going to kill the man he loves

--
you're listening to the boy from the big bad city
He says, "That's the girl with all the big big big guns"
He says, "Oh it's a girl, but it's real"
He says, "It's the girl with a big big big gun
And I'm gonna take her in for my little little little girl's
She's got a little little baby in her mouth
And she's a real girl with all the big bad big guns
I'm gonna take her

--
In the middle of some boring nonsense textsynth's just invented songs called Rocky Top & Rocky Bottom lol.

[touchingcloth]

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe: Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion; I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate; I watched a battalion of Separatists being torn to shreds by the all-consuming wrath of the superweapons that the Confederacy had built. I watched the echoes fade as our fleet marched into Valhalla. I watched the Executor sweep past Tranquility Bay without firing a shot. I watched the burning wreckage of an airship fall from the sky over Khurland on the night of my father's execution. And feel the rank breath of Death hot on your throat as you scream in agony. What is it? What is it? What is it? I watched the Imperial fleet scatter like chaff in the wind. I watched a battlecruiser explode on the surface of the moon. I watched the stars bow to me from the city of Vesuvius. I watched a jump point wink out of existence. The death of a star. All those moments will be lost in time. Time to die.

―C-3PO to Jango Fett

[Tikwid]

Is there any publicly accessible equivalent of Talk to Transformer or Textsynth that uses GPT-3 instead of GPT-2?

Bringing the shambling corpse of this thread back yet again but for good reason, because olliebean you're in luck: GPT-J-GB, an open source text generation model a lot closer to GPT-3 than -2, has recently been released, and brings with it its own demo page. Go nuts https://6b.eleuther.ai/

WESTMINSTER - Disgraced prime minister Boris Johnson faced his greatest humiliation yet when his personal diarrhoea ventilator (PDV) malfunctioned, spraying faecal matter up his nose and across his face, leaving him barely able to speak.

Not only was Mr Johnson unable to even explain what had happened, according to his aides, but he was also highly critical of his operation, suggesting that the debacle was a result of shoddy workmanship.

Mr Johnson, who was heckled as he entered the Commons for Prime Minister's Questions (PMQs) for the third time this week, was seen attempting to pull back a panel on the side of the PDV, which is known to have been part of his toilet for several years.

In a cringing manner, he pulled his sleeves down to his elbows, the eyes of the nation alight with embarrassment as he held it in his hands and tried to decide what to do.

Apparently, he chose to vomit into the ventilation system instead.

'Everything's going wrong'

The Tory leader repeatedly failed to account for the shower of faeces that now poured from the cabinet minister, as health secretary Matt Hancock tried to control the situation and calm him down.

Throughout the sequence of events, he tried to recover his composure and command a regular state of Brexit, but to no avail.

MAN MAKES HELICHOCTER (HELICOPTER MADE OF CHOCOLATE)

If there's one thing you know about Heston Blumenthal, it's that he does what he does with an absolute abandon of vision. "I may make it sound easy and fun, but it's really quite a craft," he says.

"If you want to do this, this is the way to do it. Whether you're a seasoned chef or a complete novice, you can do this. A friend of mine and I went to a workshop and made 100 different food over a weekend. It was a real contrast to how little time you have to really spend on it. It takes a lot of commitment and it's quite good fun."

Once he tasted the result of that weekend of labour, he realized he was on to something. "I was going to make an elaborate object and I thought to myself: 'I can do more,' so it was in its infancy.

"I came back to my studio and I set about the design of Helichoctor. The shape was very deliberate, it was to do with the actual nuts themselves. They're oblong and their edges were rounded, so I created a strong, angled form.

The first customer to order breakfast INSIDE The Fountain Café today in #Bristol

He had a medium fry-up. And here we are. June 22nd is the world's first breakfast in a Nespresso Café.

The first customer to order breakfast inside a Nespresso Café today in Bristol. Photo by Duncan Drasin.

The owner and creator of The Fountain Café on St Thomas Street has recruited an army of enterprising baristas and unveiled a
new way for customers to sample and customise their coffee. He has forced a Guinness Book of Records entry.

The cafe opened this morning to the first orders for breakfast inside the body of a Nespresso machine.

He has two words for what happened this morning: "God save us."

He has a print-out of this email to prove it. God saved him. "There's one chap whose wife I think is pregnant and he was very, very down in
the dumps and he said to me, 'That thing inside the machine,' he said, 'It looks like God.'"

"When the water hits it," he says, "It starts knocking on the case and he says to me, 'What's that?' and I said

SCATTERBROOK - Disgraced scarecrow Worzel Gummidge was remanded in custody on Monday after he was seen on CCTV lifting a gun at the entrance to The Trumping Bell tavern in Saddleworth.

Gummi - who goes on the beer round in the white tank-top hat, chest tattoo and zipped leather shorts - is the leader of the Rowdies fan club, the Werewolves of Millport. He made no comment as he was led into the old town court.

Saddlingworth CID was able to trace him by confirming he had a book of matches in his jacket pocket when he was mugged at the Welcome Inn in Frickley. They say he showed a gun and grabbed the match box.

Neighbours in a bungalow overlooking the Rose and Crown warned police when they were leaving one night after he'd told them he would shoot up to 11 if it didn't get its uppers when football teams played the match at Rosemount Park in 2014. They said the ban included the violent beer round.

Gummi is still banned from all the football grounds after he hurled a £100 note through the window of the Salford Red Devils team bus.

[PlanktonSideburns]

Chapter 3. The Littlest Tragedy

There were times when The Tragedy would wonder how that tiny girl had grown to be so much larger than she was.

He'd had nightmares of her, the little girl who had tried to take his life. And now she was out there again. The woman walking around in his nightmares. She took the man's gun and ran. She turned the child's mother into his dinner. She ran through the empty streets and over the burning buildings.

She ran until she got there.

She reached him. She held him. She hugged him. She looked into his eyes. Then she stood there. It took a few tries for him to believe she was a woman.

The moment he had been ready to believe, she was gone. She was no longer the little girl standing on the corner, screaming. She had grown up to be more than that. She was something else. Something bigger. Something powerful. And the darkness that was her fear became her strength. The darkness that was her hatred became her rage. And when she felt like tearing that darkness apart, no matter how weak the world around her, she would do it.

But The Tragedy couldn't be scared of everything at once. He was frightened when he took his eyes from The Littlest Tragedy. And if he looked at all of The Tragedy, The Tragedy would have taken his eyes away.

- - - -

The Tragedy was a man who had three children in his lifetime, all children he loved deeply. In the end he had only one of those children to love. The one child that was close enough to him for him to trust.

The Tragedy loved his mother very much, and so often that when she had given birth to a new child, the Tragedy would have looked at it like he had watched a star. Every morning when he came home from work he would sit on the couch to wait until his mother brought her food for him, so that he could bring the one Star into his body. Every evening before dinner, he would take The Tragedy to his office, put on a little robe, and kneel down. So that when he had come out of his office and walked to his kitchen for his supper, he would see his old room behind him, still empty. And he would see the Tragedy standing outside that room, waiting for him. And he would see that nothing would get in between them. He would not trust anyone or anything with that much power. He would never be that close to anyone. But The Tragedy had always been close to him, and always had been right. He had never once said anything that had upset The Tragedy.

A Tragedy would never let a child out of his home, not even his own, unless he was prepared to be cut down by it. He had watched to see that The Tragedy knew how to protect his people. He had watched to see that The Tragedy had been careful, to see that The Tragedy did not give up.

It was not The Tragedy's duty to be right all the time. He had seen too many wrongs. And what he always saw was his true duty, that no matter how many wrongs he had seen, that he would always give his word, never to break. He would always try to be right.

The Tragedy would put no more words in The Tragedy's mouth that would not end in disaster. "I'll give The Tragedy a piece of me, if he breaks me!" That made The Tragedy laugh. Now this didn't mean that he would break anyone. But it meant that he wouldn't have that kind of weakness, that weakness of the weak that people of the weaker races had. The Tragedy would try to kill every last bit of them, to hurt every last race, the weakest, the most helpless, or even the last. If there was a weakness in The Tragedy, The Tragedy would be strong.

If there was one weakness in The Tragedy, he would be strong.

There would be no weakness.

- - - -

The man ran. A tear fell from his eye. He saw the woman at the top of the stairs, his heart racing.

Her hand was on his gun. The child's mother was dead.

"That's my life," the man said in his dead mind, his voice breaking. A scream.

The woman fell from the stairs. The dead woman fell at his feet. A cry. A hand on his shoulder.

The man ran. The woman ran.

But she didn't die. She wasn't dead. When he ran the woman wouldn't stop running. One hand on his shoulder, another on his rifle. He couldn't let go. He had to stay with her. He had to try to stop the screaming. If he didn't try to stop her he'd die. He had to. He had to. Her scream was too heavy to hear. He could still hear it even though he'd forgotten her. He had to help her.

He had the answer, just in time.

She was a woman with big brown eyes, the girl he had tried to destroy. What was there to hide? And what had he done? Not a damn thing. But she'd taken his gun and ran, the gun's bullets and his life.

He had the answer.

She had killed her child, in her sleep, and was no longer in his dreams.

It was a nightmare he would never forget.

- - - -

And now, after everything he had done and lost, he was alone.

And he couldn't see what was ahead.

He looked back and realized that he was looking at a giant wall. The white sand of the desert.

His heart stopped.

A giant wall of sand.

His vision went white.

He opened his eyes.

A wall of sand.

A wall of sand.

A wall of sand.

He saw nothing. No world. No horizon.

That wall of sand was in front of him, looming ever larger. And in front of him, rising on all sides, was the desert.

The man's brain went blank.

There were so many things in front of him. So many worlds. So many people. So many memories. He could taste them. He could feel them. He could smell them. He could taste them. He could feel them. He could smell them. And he saw nothing.

So he saw the wall, now. A wall of sand. And in front of it, rising on all sides, was the desert.

And he knew. He knew what the wall was.

The wall of sand was a mountain. And he knew it was a mountain.

And the wall of sand was a city. And he knew it was a city.

And the wall of sand was a highway. And he knew it was a highway.

And the wall of sand was a fortress. And he knew it was a fortress.

And the wall of sand was a wall of sand.

The man stared at the wall.

It was so tall. It was so high. It was so white.

And he could see his father in the wall. In the sand.

He could see the walls of his city. In the sand.

He could see the streets of his city. In the sand.

And he knew he was in the city. Inside the sand.

And there was nothing.

And he knew.

Love this

[touchingcloth]

Talk to Transformer - shockingly accurate neural network text predicting thingy
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Dickinson in 4K TV review shock!
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The annoying Jamaican video claiming that the upper classes are in a conspiracy to oppress the lower classes.
Started by Bronzebum
      
Lea Salonga, Best Ally to the LGBTQ+ Community
Started by juju4dancing
      
All Wales
Started by Robin bryant
      
Scottish (no really) TV show wins award for Best Makeup, Thanks GE
Started by paul fergusson
      
Bristol has too many indie bands (starting with actually Bristol and then going outwards)
Started by Brimfield
      
Remnants of Candy and Ice Cream Land
Started by eagleeyes
      
I think his hair looks like Tron's head
Started by goldenbottomedid
      
Scottish meat pies
Started by Brian Mitchell
      
Caravaggio
Started by Jonas Kahl
      
Sunset At Golden Gate Park
Started by Stephia Redfern
      
Meme Generator
Started by vulpixplk
      
Problems with neural networks and time travel
Started by Summer of Mammals
      
Headlines I'd love to see on TV news
Started by darby o chill
      
The mental image of making love in a swimming pool - Billy Connolly
Started by Ray LaFarga
      
Fandral bashing and Transmediale
Started by nerdworst
      
Idi Amin - African Dictator
Started by GrifTed
      
Metal Detecting Gun
Started by darkmatter980
      
What's wrong with pretty couples?
Started by Pervertocracy
      
Crazy physics stuff
Started by grifTed
      
Damn Smart Phone
Started by BenjaminH   

[canadagoose]

To be fair, this sounds very plausible as an Oscillations topic.

Bristol has too many indie bands (starting with actually Bristol and then going outwards)
Started by Brimfield

[Tikwid]

The final bump - I think we've reached the endgame:

Is there any publicly accessible equivalent of Talk to Transformer or Textsynth that uses GPT-3 instead of GPT-2?

OpenAI have now made their GPT-3 interface available without a waiting list, which means full access to the full 175 billion parameter model for all (including multiple adjustible settings for randomness parameters). Maybe that marks the culmination of this thread's original remit, maybe it's just the beginning of a whole new phase - but anyone who thought the original Talk to Transformer's 1.7 billion parameters were the death of H.S. Art has got another thing coming

WESTMINSTER - The Houses of Parliament were in uproar yesterday after a horrific prank in which Prime Minister Boris Johnson was suddenly hoisted up by his underwear into the air, fitted with a fart respirator, and forced to huff his own effluent for almost half an hour.

Witnesses said Johnson was in conference with several cabinet members on the topic of government waste when suddenly he began to choke. He had been lurking behind an open window, it is believed.

"Thank God for that," thought some onlookers as they watched the PM's dangling testicles swing like a pendulum in the breeze, "he'll be fine now."

But they were wrong. When his underwear was finally lowered to expose him, Johnson's face had gone purple and he'd stopped breathing. He subsequently began shitting nonstop for over 20 minutes while on-lookers tried desperately to resuscitate him with a device called a "Swedish Fire Extinguisher" - which proved to be as effective as the Brexit negotiations.

Prime Minister Johnson is receiving treatment at St Thomas Hospital in Westminster, where he will remain under observation for several days while his doctors watch helplessly from behind a sheet of glass.

A spokesperson for the hospital told reporters, "He's in a stable condition and we can assure his many fans that there is no harm to the Johnson family jewels."

Brexit is scheduled for October 31.

In a move that has prompted delight and adoration amongst Doctor Who fans (many of whom have been utterly disillusioned by Chris Chibnall's handling of the beloved series), Russell T Davies has announced that the Doctor is to be played by none other than the ghost of Fall frontman Mark E Smith. Eh?!?

"I'm really excited that the Doctor has finally regenerated into Mark E Smith. It's been a long time coming, and I think it's perfect casting - he fits like an angel-faced glove."

The news has been greeted with joy by fans, who have long pressed for Mark E Smith to be cast in the series. "It's about time too," said 14-year-old fan Norman Elmsworth-Haines earlier today. "I mean just look at him - he looks like a Time Lord already!"

Davies' other casting choices are equally exciting for Who fans: just take a look at this list of stars that we'll soon see on screen:


Simon Cowell

Richard Madeley and Judy Finnegan (who were married for 33 years)

Roger Kitter/The Auton who tried to kill Sarah Jane Smith in the episode 'Pyramids Of Mars'


"I've always wanted to bring the Daleks back into Doctor Who, and now I can!" said Russell T Davies. "Imagine what it will be like when they're all played by Russell Brand! It's going to be fantastic."

Steptoe and Son 2021 remake

"Harold, have you seen my iPhone?" Albert Steptoe said, wheezing as he walked into the junk-filled hovel he and his son called home. "I want to play Pokemon Go."

"No idea, you dirty old man!" Harold said, mid-twerk. ????????????

Albert sighed. "I'm going to have a shower," he said, his breath hanging in the air like cigarette smoke from an ashtray that has been used but not emptied since Christmas 2012. He pulled off his dirty grey tracksuit and tried to peel some of the dried shit stuck on it off until finally giving up and leaving for work without it even though he had already taken two calls about having broken equipment this year alone so far due to shoddy maintenance procedures which did nothing other than lower all departments' profits roughly by half a percent every month meaning they would probably be let go early at around three pm once everyone realised there was no point staying any longer because what were they actually achieving? It wasn't worth anything anyway except money lost through lack of progression towards measurable goals etcetera et cetera ad infinitum? That's how capitalism worked! Capitalism was great, yeah buddy! You earned your money by working hard, sure thing, here it comes!

He grabbed his cigarette box from the spoon he kept it in and began to smoke one on his way down the stairs. "Bollocks," he said again when remembering that all of them were bent out of shape because there was no-one left alive who could actually roll a fag correctly anymore after quitting their job at B&H Tobacco Factory around 2003 so every single stick you bought nowadays tasted odd somehow? It's an outrage what capitalism did to this country sometimes HAHA JUST KIDDING I WOULDN'T KNOW ABOUT THAT PREP SCHOOL COLLEGE DAYS AND MI6 TRAINING CREDIT CARD PAYMENTS OF COURSE HAHAHAHAHAHAHA oops sorry got carried away there... He lit up anyway. Fuck knows why but things just seemed better with nicotine coursing through your lungs even though you weren't getting any pleasure from it at all, you just had the vague sense that something was perhaps not right in your life.

Albert walked into his office (he called it an 'office' but really he still kept all of the dead bodies of homeless people who died on his doorstep since there wasn't anywhere else to put them), turned up some George Michael which was playing over and over again because he couldn't figure out how to change or turn off anything ever without ending things for himself through suicide if failing utterly... He began thinking about how much money could be made by turning both him and Harold into a TV show remake, then went grocery shopping while shoving three different handfuls of sugar packets directly down his throat so that anyone watching would believe they were re-enacting their favourite scene from American Psycho. Then he banged Tracey Emin while she watched Jeremy Kyle nude on Skype with Oasis blaring out loud! BOOYAH!!!