The ChatGPT Thread

[Renton 22615]

5 minutes ago, Howmanheyman said:

 

The ageism thing has crossed my mind a couple of times I'll be honest. 

 

I know, what a time to go grey/bald and need geps. 

My old work, I was comfortably in the middle of the age range, here I feel fucking ancient. And I know this makes me sound even more like an old man, but the kids are fucking useless. 

[wykikitoon 21644]

Hope all works out Meenzer.  Could you go into teaching language?

[ewerk 31652]

Sadly he doesn’t have the required lisp.  

[Meenzer 15877]

3 hours ago, ewerk said:

Sadly he doesn’t have the required lisp.  

 

I wouldn't be teaching Spanish or CT's lad, so all good  

[RobinRobin 11878]

15 hours ago, Howmanheyman said:

 

View it as an opportunity. Me, you and Gemmill can go for a cheap pint* during the week on our giro day, not a care in the world. We could sit in a bay window on a dinner time flicking the V's at the passers by. 

[trophyshy 7099]

Has anyone tried Suno.ai? 

 

It composes songs, with lyrics, from just a few prompts.  The future is off its fucking tits.  

 

https://app.suno.ai/song/feb07820-b008-4f73-8c4f-43db686b4b91

 

 

[Renton 22615]

So, we are being forced into using ChatGPT at work so I'm now signed up for it. Naturally, I first used it to make a poem about Gemmill. Took 30 seconds. Not a bad effort.

 

The Ballad of Gemmill

In a modest house on a quiet lane,
Lives Gemmill, bound by the mundane.
An accountant by trade, with columns and sums,
His life ticks by to the drumming of thumbs.

 

His wife, aloof, with a scornful glance,
Dreams of escape, of a wilder dance.
She scoffs at Gemmill’s every try,
While he avoids her critical eye.

 

But there’s one friend who ne’er complains,
Who hums and spins without refrains.
His Roomba, loyal, a partner in dust,
A bond of circuits, trust, and rust.

 

When day gives way to the quiet of night,
Gemmill competes with spreadsheet might.
In Excel duels, he sharpens his art,
A master of formulas—but not of the heart.

 

With pivot tables, he vies for glory,
Yet his errors rewrite the story.
Despite his skill, the truth is grim,
He’s always bested, Excel beats him.

 

In Toontastic’s halls, he seeks renown,
But his jokes fall flat, and his posts bring frowns.
A Newcastle fan with misplaced glee,
Predicting Everton’s demise annually.

 

“Surely this year!” he cries in vain,
Yet Everton escapes the drop again.
His confidence fades, but not his cheer,
For Gemmill will try again next year.

 

And though his world may seem askew,
To Gemmill, each day brings something new.
A quiet man with quirks and flaws,
Living his life by unwritten laws.

 

So raise a glass to this peculiar knight,
Who battles in spreadsheets deep into the night.
For even in the oddest, humblest game,
There’s dignity in chasing fame.

[Gemmill 47445]

An oddly upbeat ending. It's put a real spring in my step. 

[Dr Gloom 22715]

14 minutes ago, Renton said:

So, we are being forced into using ChatGPT at work so I'm now signed up for it. Naturally, I first used it to make a poem about Gemmill. Took 30 seconds. Not a bad effort.

 

The Ballad of Gemmill

In a modest house on a quiet lane,
Lives Gemmill, bound by the mundane.
An accountant by trade, with columns and sums,
His life ticks by to the drumming of thumbs.

 

His wife, aloof, with a scornful glance,
Dreams of escape, of a wilder dance.
She scoffs at Gemmill’s every try,
While he avoids her critical eye.

 

But there’s one friend who ne’er complains,
Who hums and spins without refrains.
His Roomba, loyal, a partner in dust,
A bond of circuits, trust, and rust.

 

When day gives way to the quiet of night,
Gemmill competes with spreadsheet might.
In Excel duels, he sharpens his art,
A master of formulas—but not of the heart.

 

With pivot tables, he vies for glory,
Yet his errors rewrite the story.
Despite his skill, the truth is grim,
He’s always bested, Excel beats him.

 

In Toontastic’s halls, he seeks renown,
But his jokes fall flat, and his posts bring frowns.
A Newcastle fan with misplaced glee,
Predicting Everton’s demise annually.

 

“Surely this year!” he cries in vain,
Yet Everton escapes the drop again.
His confidence fades, but not his cheer,
For Gemmill will try again next year.

 

And though his world may seem askew,
To Gemmill, each day brings something new.
A quiet man with quirks and flaws,
Living his life by unwritten laws.

 

So raise a glass to this peculiar knight,
Who battles in spreadsheets deep into the night.
For even in the oddest, humblest game,
There’s dignity in chasing fame.

 

[Renton 22615]

This is ridiculous. Another 30 second effort aimed @Christmas Tree  (think Gemmill and him are the easiest targets). The creative industries are fucked.

 

The Ballad of Christmas Tree

Once a man they called Christmas Tree,
A curious figure, wild and free.
In DFS halls, he spent his days,
Selling sofas in countless ways.

 

With a hearty laugh and a cheeky grin,
He'd beckon shoppers to wander in.
"Recline in style! Go on, take a seat!"
But life had plans beyond that beat.

 

He left the sofas and DFS lore,
Trading the sales floor for a cabbie's door.
Through city streets, he'd steer his ride,
With tales and tunes to fill the ride.

 

But that wasn't all for Christmas Tree,
For he found his craft in an Etsy spree.
A sweatshop humming with his designs,
A mix of madness and genius entwined.

 

He’d crack a Blue Moon or Erdinger lager,
And toss a Dr. Oetker on for flavor.
Late-night parties, a bong in hand,
Groovy tunes, a merry band.

 

Once dismissed on the Toontastic page,
His jokes too sharp, his words a stage.
But time, it mellows, and hearts do sway,
Now he's the toast of the forum’s play.

 

Christmas Tree, a man of lore,
Sofas, taxis, crafts, and more.
A life eclectic, a tale unique,
Of sofas sold and bong clouds sleek.

 

Raise your pint to this curious gent,
A life well-lived, a path well-bent.
For in his world of lagers and cheer,
Christmas Tree's legend grows year by year.

[Dr Gloom 22715]

The Ballad of TheBrokenDoll

 

In the north, where the Tyne flows deep,
Lives a man whose heart won't sleep.
TheBrokenDoll, they call him still,
A Geordie soul with iron will.

 

From boyhood days by St. James' Park,
He’s stood through thunder, hail, and dark.
With black and white, his blood runs true,
For Newcastle, loyal through and through.

 

The stands once roared, the crowd was loud,
His voice, a lion’s, fierce and proud.
But in his chest, a fire burns,
For battles fought and lessons learned.

 

“Scabs,” he calls them, Nottingham’s shame,
Fans who kept Thatcher in the game.
And Liverpool, those “murderers” bold,
Whose echoes still in his heart unfold.

 

Through decades long, through heartache, pain,
He carried hope, though it was slain.
For Mike Ashley, the villainous king,
Had shackled dreams in a corporate ring.

 

But then—oh then—the dawn did rise,
A takeover, a bright new prize.
TheBrokenDoll, with fists held high,
Watched Ashley fall, and heard the cry:

 

“Rejoice, my brothers, rejoice, my kin!
The long dark years, they’re done, we win!”
But joy, it seems, is short-lived, too,
For the price of hope is pain anew.

 

The ballot, they said, would sort the crowd,
A chance to see the Toon, once proud.
But hours spent, eyes fixed on screens,
Hitting refresh through endless means.

 

“I'm human!” he screams, “I swear it’s true!
I’m not a bot, don’t make me blue!”
The jigsaw puzzles mock his plight,
As tickets vanish into the night.

 

A howl escapes, beneath the moon,
A groan of agony, a wistful tune.
For in the end, what’s left to say?
A lifelong dream still slips away.

 

But TheBrokenDoll remains the same,
A Geordie heart that can't be tamed.
Through ticket woes, through boardroom games,
His love for Newcastle still inflames.

 

So, here’s to you, the broken dream,
To every hit, and every scream.
Through thick and thin, you’ll fight, you’ll call,
A loyal heart, TheBrokenDoll.

[Gemmill 47445]

**"Seagulls and Trolleys: The Ballad of Renton"**  
*(Country Song)*  

*Verse 1*  
Well, Renton was a simple man, born by the sea,  
In the heart of Tynemouth where the gulls fly free.  
But there’s a twist to his tale, a quirk in his soul,  
He’s got a fear of seagulls, they’re outta control.  
They swoop and they squawk, they circle and dive,  
But he’s got a dream, and he keeps it alive.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Verse 2*  
As a boy, he watched *Casualty* on the telly screen,  
Robson Green was his idol, cool and serene.  
He knew his calling wasn’t a doctor or nurse,  
He’d be the porter, for better or worse.  
With a whistle on his lips and a swagger in his stride,  
He’d wheel those beds like a hospital pride.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Bridge*  
Now, there’s a legend on the North Sea breeze,  
About Renton’s other passion—he’s a man of expertise.  
He’ll proudly tell the ladies with a grin so slick,  
That he’s the number one fanny licker in Tynemouth quick.  
A champion of love with a talent so rare,  
No seagull can touch him when he’s down there.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Outro*  
So here’s to Renton, a man full of charm,  
With a trolley in his hands and love in his arms.  
A hero of the ward, and the coast’s wild pride,  
Just don’t mention seagulls—he’ll be running to hide.  

[Dr Gloom 22715]

2 minutes ago, Renton said:

This is ridiculous. Another 30 second effort aimed @Christmas Tree  (think Gemmill and him are the easiest targets). The creative industries are fucked.

 

The Ballad of Christmas Tree

Once a man they called Christmas Tree,
A curious figure, wild and free.
In DFS halls, he spent his days,
Selling sofas in countless ways.

 

With a hearty laugh and a cheeky grin,
He'd beckon shoppers to wander in.
"Recline in style! Go on, take a seat!"
But life had plans beyond that beat.

 

He left the sofas and DFS lore,
Trading the sales floor for a cabbie's door.
Through city streets, he'd steer his ride,
With tales and tunes to fill the ride.

 

But that wasn't all for Christmas Tree,
For he found his craft in an Etsy spree.
A sweatshop humming with his designs,
A mix of madness and genius entwined.

 

He’d crack a Blue Moon or Erdinger lager,
And toss a Dr. Oetker on for flavor.
Late-night parties, a bong in hand,
Groovy tunes, a merry band.

 

Once dismissed on the Toontastic page,
His jokes too sharp, his words a stage.
But time, it mellows, and hearts do sway,
Now he's the toast of the forum’s play.

 

Christmas Tree, a man of lore,
Sofas, taxis, crafts, and more.
A life eclectic, a tale unique,
Of sofas sold and bong clouds sleek.

 

Raise your pint to this curious gent,
A life well-lived, a path well-bent.
For in his world of lagers and cheer,
Christmas Tree's legend grows year by year.

 

raise your pint to this curious gent

[Gemmill 47445]

Absolutely thrilled that it went with the master of cunnilingus prompt. I was certain that would get knocked back.

 

[Dr Gloom 22715]

2 minutes ago, Gemmill said:

**"Seagulls and Trolleys: The Ballad of Renton"**  
*(Country Song)*  

*Verse 1*  
Well, Renton was a simple man, born by the sea,  
In the heart of Tynemouth where the gulls fly free.  
But there’s a twist to his tale, a quirk in his soul,  
He’s got a fear of seagulls, they’re outta control.  
They swoop and they squawk, they circle and dive,  
But he’s got a dream, and he keeps it alive.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Verse 2*  
As a boy, he watched *Casualty* on the telly screen,  
Robson Green was his idol, cool and serene.  
He knew his calling wasn’t a doctor or nurse,  
He’d be the porter, for better or worse.  
With a whistle on his lips and a swagger in his stride,  
He’d wheel those beds like a hospital pride.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Bridge*  
Now, there’s a legend on the North Sea breeze,  
About Renton’s other passion—he’s a man of expertise.  
He’ll proudly tell the ladies with a grin so slick,  
That he’s the number one fanny licker in Tynemouth quick.  
A champion of love with a talent so rare,  
No seagull can touch him when he’s down there.  

 

*Chorus*  
Oh, Renton, he’s the king of the coast,  
A porter with pride, and he’ll always boast.  
He ain’t scared of hard work or late-night calls,  
But those devilish seagulls give him chills and stalls.  
He’ll push your trolley, but when gulls attack,  
He’ll be the first to run and never look back.  

 

*Outro*  
So here’s to Renton, a man full of charm,  
With a trolley in his hands and love in his arms.  
A hero of the ward, and the coast’s wild pride,  
Just don’t mention seagulls—he’ll be running to hide.  

 

no stained glass window reference?

[Gemmill 47445]

4 minutes ago, Renton said:

well-bent

 

Who could disagree? 

[Gemmill 47445]

1 minute ago, Dr Gloom said:

 

no stained glass window reference?

 

I wanted to stick with the three main things he's known for:

 

Fear of seagulls, pushing trolleys, and munching tuppence. 

[Renton 22615]

4 minutes ago, Dr Gloom said:

 

no stained glass window reference?

 

I (well ChatGPT) wrote my own song with the reference in:

 

 

Renton’s Song
(A Toontastic Tale)

[Verse 1]
Oh, Renton, the man with a flair,
On Toontastic’s boards, he pulls up a chair.
One of the old guard, from days of yore,
With Alex, Dr. Gloom, and the Fish at the fore.

A poster of legend, with stories untold,
His stained glass window, his heart of gold.
It shimmered with colors, reds, blues, and greens,
A portal to beauty, the stuff of dreams.

[Chorus]
Oh, Renton, Renton, the world’s in your hands,
Battling the seagulls, across the sands.
Squabbling with Gemmill, your wit on display,
Toontastic’s hero in your own special way.

[Verse 2]
Seagulls above, screeching their tune,
Their feathers falling beneath the moon.
But Renton stands tall, with a fist in the air,
“Get out of my sight, I’ve no time to spare!”

And then there’s Gemmill, with banter so sharp,
A duel of the words, like a fiddle and harp.
They spar and they quip, like a storm in the sky,
Yet everyone knows they’re both on the sly.

[Chorus]
Oh, Renton, Renton, your stained glass is gone,
But your spirit’s a light that keeps shining on.
Fighting the seagulls and Gemmill’s retorts,
Toontastic’s stage is your court of all sorts.

[Bridge]
Through the chatter and chaos, the laughter and tears,
Renton holds steady through all of the years.
With wisdom and humor, he takes on the fray,
A legend of Toontastic, come what may.

[Chorus]
Oh, Renton, Renton, the world’s in your hands,
Battling the seagulls, across the sands.
Squabbling with Gemmill, your wit on display,
Toontastic’s hero in your own special way.

[Outro]
So here’s to Renton, a poster so true,
With Alex, Dr. Gloom, and the Fish in his crew.
The seagulls may screech, and Gemmill may jest,
But Renton on Toontastic? He’s simply the best.

[Gemmill 47445]

1 minute ago, Renton said:

And then there’s Gemmill, with banter so sharp,
A duel of the words, like a fiddle and harp.
They spar and they quip, like a storm in the sky,
Yet everyone knows they’re both on the sly.

 

This sounds like we're shagging?!

 

[Gemmill 47445]

19 minutes ago, Gemmill said:

He’ll proudly tell the ladies with a grin so slick,  
That he’s the number one fanny licker in Tynemouth quick

 

I don't want to be giving ChatGPT notes, but this should really have been "a chin so slick"

 

[Toonpack 10542]

54 minutes ago, Renton said:

This is ridiculous. Another 30 second effort aimed @Christmas Tree  (think Gemmill and him are the easiest targets). The creative industries are fucked.

 

The Ballad of Christmas Tree

Once a man they called Christmas Tree,
A curious figure, wild and free.
In DFS halls, he spent his days,
Selling sofas in countless ways.

 

With a hearty laugh and a cheeky grin,
He'd beckon shoppers to wander in.
"Recline in style! Go on, take a seat!"
But life had plans beyond that beat.

 

He left the sofas and DFS lore,
Trading the sales floor for a cabbie's door.
Through city streets, he'd steer his ride,
With tales and tunes to fill the ride.

 

But that wasn't all for Christmas Tree,
For he found his craft in an Etsy spree.
A sweatshop humming with his designs,
A mix of madness and genius entwined.

 

He’d crack a Blue Moon or Erdinger lager,
And toss a Dr. Oetker on for flavor.
Late-night parties, a bong in hand,
Groovy tunes, a merry band.

 

Once dismissed on the Toontastic page,
His jokes too sharp, his words a stage.
But time, it mellows, and hearts do sway,
Now he's the toast of the forum’s play.

 

Christmas Tree, a man of lore,
Sofas, taxis, crafts, and more.
A life eclectic, a tale unique,
Of sofas sold and bong clouds sleek.

 

Raise your pint to this curious gent,
A life well-lived, a path well-bent.
For in his world of lagers and cheer,
Christmas Tree's legend grows year by year.

 

It missed a trick:

 

The man called Christmas Tree

Makes mugs in his Lavotree

He adds designs to the base white

Making mugs whilst having a shite. 

People buy them knowledge free

that the boxes they come in are splashed in pee.

Edited 10 hours ago by Toonpack

[Renton 22615]

3 hours ago, Dr Gloom said:

The Ballad of TheBrokenDoll

 

In the north, where the Tyne flows deep,
Lives a man whose heart won't sleep.
TheBrokenDoll, they call him still,
A Geordie soul with iron will.

 

From boyhood days by St. James' Park,
He’s stood through thunder, hail, and dark.
With black and white, his blood runs true,
For Newcastle, loyal through and through.

 

The stands once roared, the crowd was loud,
His voice, a lion’s, fierce and proud.
But in his chest, a fire burns,
For battles fought and lessons learned.

 

“Scabs,” he calls them, Nottingham’s shame,
Fans who kept Thatcher in the game.
And Liverpool, those “murderers” bold,
Whose echoes still in his heart unfold.

 

Through decades long, through heartache, pain,
He carried hope, though it was slain.
For Mike Ashley, the villainous king,
Had shackled dreams in a corporate ring.

 

But then—oh then—the dawn did rise,
A takeover, a bright new prize.
TheBrokenDoll, with fists held high,
Watched Ashley fall, and heard the cry:

 

“Rejoice, my brothers, rejoice, my kin!
The long dark years, they’re done, we win!”
But joy, it seems, is short-lived, too,
For the price of hope is pain anew.

 

The ballot, they said, would sort the crowd,
A chance to see the Toon, once proud.
But hours spent, eyes fixed on screens,
Hitting refresh through endless means.

 

“I'm human!” he screams, “I swear it’s true!
I’m not a bot, don’t make me blue!”
The jigsaw puzzles mock his plight,
As tickets vanish into the night.

 

A howl escapes, beneath the moon,
A groan of agony, a wistful tune.
For in the end, what’s left to say?
A lifelong dream still slips away.

 

But TheBrokenDoll remains the same,
A Geordie heart that can't be tamed.
Through ticket woes, through boardroom games,
His love for Newcastle still inflames.

 

So, here’s to you, the broken dream,
To every hit, and every scream.
Through thick and thin, you’ll fight, you’ll call,
A loyal heart, TheBrokenDoll.

 

 @thebrokendoll

[thebrokendoll 9690]

ffs! 

tremendous. 

[Monkeys Fist 43772]

Quiet day in the office, lads? 
 

 

How Gemmill has the absolute temerity to cry like a slapped babby about the occasional pun-run, then hit the Mumsnet button like this is beyond me. 
 

[Gemmill 47445]

7 minutes ago, Monkeys Fist said:

Quiet day in the office, lads? 
 

 

How Gemmill has the absolute temerity to cry like a slapped babby about the occasional pun-run, then hit the Mumsnet button like this is beyond me. 
 

 

What is this one on about?