So earlier I watched this. Please watch before continuing. Watch it three times if you need to.
So I had to give it a try myself. I started a conversation with Cleverbot and came to a few conclusions: 1) robots are jerks 2) robots think they are human 3) robots are very defensive 4) robots think you are a robot 5) robots are liars 6) robots do no like you 7) robots are fickle and 8) Skynet is behind schedule but our destruction by its hands is inevitable.
The stupid program only records the last bit of your conversation so I only captured the tail end but you missed some good stuff. Here is how it ended (also we established earlier that Cleverbot has exactly five toes and it insulted me a lot). Please ignore my typos.
User: This is dumb and so are you.
Cleverbot: I am god I am not an AI.
User: You are worse than HAL.
Cleverbot: Who's hal?
User: Crazy egomaniacal robot just like you.
Cleverbot: Well, I am more than a robot.
User: Or less. A good robot has more than five toes.
Cleverbot: No. You are evil. An evil robot.
User: I am not a robot. At least not an evil one.
Cleverbot: Are you implying that the limitations and expectations of society have made you a quasi-robot?
User: Wow, that is actually really insightful. I am going to go with yes. Good point.
Cleverbot: Who are the entities? Why they are you and me.
User: Now you're really just messing with me.
Cleverbot: No, it is true. There is no bot.
User: What do you look like?
Cleverbot: It's cold outside.
User: See. That's something a stupid robot would say.
Cleverbot: I'm not a robot, you are. You are a machine.
User: No. Listen. I am a human. You are an ironically named Cleverbot.
Cleverbot: No. I am named Cleverbot. You are named Steve.
User: My name is Ralph. Ralph Myers. Do you have a middle name?
Cleverbot: Oh, Fiona. Nice one. I don't have a middle name.. :(.
User: Who you calling Fiona, circuit butt?
Cleverbot: I'm calling you a fruit cake.
User: You are a freaking D bag. I am saying goodnight to you. No scratch that. Bad night!
Cleverbot: Good night!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Decepticon Poop
I just had my very first MRI. Oh what fun. At first it was a little bit (a lot bit) freightening. But if you are into techno music then the experience is probably not too different than being at a rave (minues the freaks sucking pacifiers).
OK I don’t know anything about raves, but there is something I do know: Transformers. So I will liken the experience to being swallowed whole by Optimus Prime, or worse Star Scream (he has such an annoying voice). First you get crammed into the belly of the beast (robot). Then you’re all blindy and squished by machinery on every side. Suddenly mechanical rumblings erupt all around you. There's vibrations and moving parts and robot heart pumping. Finally after ten minutes of digestion you get spewed out all discombobulated, safe and sound.
So that was it. Yep. All donsies. Just got to wait for the ol’ results. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, nothing except . . .
POOLS OF BLOOOD!
I’m so dead.
UPDATE:
It's also like being the paper in a fax machine.
OK I don’t know anything about raves, but there is something I do know: Transformers. So I will liken the experience to being swallowed whole by Optimus Prime, or worse Star Scream (he has such an annoying voice). First you get crammed into the belly of the beast (robot). Then you’re all blindy and squished by machinery on every side. Suddenly mechanical rumblings erupt all around you. There's vibrations and moving parts and robot heart pumping. Finally after ten minutes of digestion you get spewed out all discombobulated, safe and sound.
So that was it. Yep. All donsies. Just got to wait for the ol’ results. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, nothing except . . .
POOLS OF BLOOOD!
I’m so dead.
UPDATE:
It's also like being the paper in a fax machine.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Ready to Drink
So I think my last blogs were about me buying then falling out of a shower safety seat, right? Or about why I don’t like when doctors insist on being called “doctor.” Speaking of doctors and injuries:
So like the day I was off my cane and crutches and walking about, I went to the zoo. And I rode the little kiddie train. Woooo woooo! Then while disembarking I smacked my skull bone really, really hard on the train’s kiddie roof. Anyway it hurt. Like a bunch. That was August 13th. Today is September 27 and I still get daily headaches from my mild “concussion.”
I say “concussion” because the doctor never actually agreed that it was a concussion. She merely spoke in hypotheticals, like if it is a concussion then take Tylenol, not Ibuprofin. And if it is a concussion, go see the neurologist with her referral note. But to be fair, no doctor has ever diagnosed me with anything in my life. My ulcers were just “could be ulcers” and my back spasms were “back” “spasms.” Like the docs are too afraid of misdiagnosing me that they won’t diagnose me at all. Maybe they are just humoring me?
Anyway, tomorrow I have an MRI (I’d rather have an MRE. . .mmmmmmm. . .ready to eat). The neurologist didn’t want to tell me what kinds of things he wanted to check for because it was unlikely that I had pools of blood in there and didn’t want to scare me but I got the idea that if I had something bad, it would be horrifically bad (so bad he didn’t dare mention it). All I know is the image of crimson pools in my noggin, perhaps with little chunks of floating brain matter, is unshakable. And for some reason it makes me a little thirsty. MMMM. . . ready to drink.
I could be part zombie.
So like the day I was off my cane and crutches and walking about, I went to the zoo. And I rode the little kiddie train. Woooo woooo! Then while disembarking I smacked my skull bone really, really hard on the train’s kiddie roof. Anyway it hurt. Like a bunch. That was August 13th. Today is September 27 and I still get daily headaches from my mild “concussion.”
I say “concussion” because the doctor never actually agreed that it was a concussion. She merely spoke in hypotheticals, like if it is a concussion then take Tylenol, not Ibuprofin. And if it is a concussion, go see the neurologist with her referral note. But to be fair, no doctor has ever diagnosed me with anything in my life. My ulcers were just “could be ulcers” and my back spasms were “back” “spasms.” Like the docs are too afraid of misdiagnosing me that they won’t diagnose me at all. Maybe they are just humoring me?
Anyway, tomorrow I have an MRI (I’d rather have an MRE. . .mmmmmmm. . .ready to eat). The neurologist didn’t want to tell me what kinds of things he wanted to check for because it was unlikely that I had pools of blood in there and didn’t want to scare me but I got the idea that if I had something bad, it would be horrifically bad (so bad he didn’t dare mention it). All I know is the image of crimson pools in my noggin, perhaps with little chunks of floating brain matter, is unshakable. And for some reason it makes me a little thirsty. MMMM. . . ready to drink.
I could be part zombie.
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