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Artificial Intelligence Developments (ChatGPT etc)

Deepseek is shite. It sent me the code I requested to sign up about 12 hours after I'd requested it, and it only gives you 60 seconds to enter it when registering. So of course it's invalid now.

And trying again today, it still doesn't send me the code I now need in time. Absolute pony.
 
skyscraper101 said:
Deepseek is shite. It sent me the code I requested to sign up about 12 hours after I'd requested it, and it only gives you 60 seconds to enter it when registering. So of course it's invalid now.

And trying again today, it still doesn't send me the code I now need in time. Absolute pony.
Click to expand...
I never even received mine . You can sign in using google .
 
skyscraper101 said:
Deepseek is shite. It sent me the code I requested to sign up about 12 hours after I'd requested it, and it only gives you 60 seconds to enter it when registering. So of course it's invalid now.

And trying again today, it still doesn't send me the code I now need in time. Absolute pony.
Click to expand...

The39thStep said:
I never even received mine . You can sign in using google .
Click to expand...

This is because they're throttling the rate of new sign-ups. Something to do with hacking attacks, or at least that's what they say. Try again and you'll probably get a different result.
 
teuchter said:
The writer compares the deepseek estimate with something in a "new report" from the bank of canada.

But the report is from 2019 so I'm not sure she's done a terribly thorough comparison.
Click to expand...
Maybe that is the most up to date report that they have done on that particular subject? Otherwise I have no idea.
 
Deepseek is by far the most 'imaginative' LLM I've used so far. It's pretty knowledgable about fairly niche culture, like Brass Eye:

JACOB REES-MOGG’S VICTORIAN TINDER: A BRASSEYE INVESTIGATION
(Cue a jaunty harpsichord rendition of Careless Whisper, over footage of a top-hatted skeleton swiping right on a rotary phone)

Voiceover (with mock gravitas):
Tonight, we delve into the digital revolution sweeping Britain’s loneliest drawing rooms: Jacob Rees-Mogg’s Victorian Tinder, an app that promises to cure modern isolation by resurrecting the romance of 1843… and also the mortality rates. Early adopters call it “Grindr for people who miss workhouses.”

(Cut to a twee animation of a weeping crinoline gown swiping left on a cholera-infected beet farmer.)

Reporter (sipping tea from a thimble):
I’m here at the app’s launch party in a disused biscuit tin near Chipping Norton, where users must present a doctor’s note confirming they’ve “never felt joy.” The premise? Match with fellow nostalgics based on shared values: stoicism, a fear of electricity, and the ability to faint artistically.

(Cut to a man in a cravat labeled “Digital Etiquette Historian” holding a quill.)

“Expert” (adjusting monocle):
It’s Tinder meets Pride and Prejudice, but with more diphtheria. The app’s algorithm prioritizes matches who live within a 3-mile radius… because that’s how far you can walk before your lungs collapse. Revolutionary!

(Cut to a demo of the app. A prompt reads: “Catherine of Worcester enjoys cold mutton, silent resentment, and 16-hour shifts at the loom. Send her a respectful grimace?”)

Voiceover:
Features include: mandatory chaperones (played by Rees-Mogg’s children), a phrenology quiz to assess skull compatibility, and Coal Dust Premium – a £99/month subscription that lets you ghost matches via carrier pigeon. Health warnings? The app’s Terms & Conditions are just the 1834 Poor Law.

(Cut to a pixelated user, face obscured by a veil, whispering hoarsely.)

User:
I matched with a widow who collects her own teeth. We courted for six months via accusatory limericks. Then she died of a “mysterious damp.” (Sighs) It’s the most action I’ve had since Gladstone’s third ministry.

(Cut to Rees-Mogg in a paisley smoking jacket, stroking a taxidermied badger.)

Rees-Mogg (in plummy RP):
Modern dating is ghastly. Too much choice, too little scurvy. Our app restores hierarchy. If your profile’s too “common,” you’re relegated to the Dickensian Shadows – a feed of matchstick sellers and morally suspect hatters. It’s efficiency!

(Cut to a protest outside Parliament. A banner reads: “MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS NOT RICKETS.”)

Angry Pedestrian (waving a crutch):
My daughter matched with a man who proposed via coal invoice. Now she’s betrothed, pregnant, and permanently soot-stained. This isn’t romance – it’s a PBS period drama!

Voiceover:
Controversy erupted last week when users discovered the app’s Empire Mode – a feature that auto-sends your profile to Bengal “to find a spouse who won’t complain about colonialism.” Meanwhile, the NHS reports a 400% spike in “lovesick cholera,” and Gogglebox has launched a spin-off: Candlelit Coughing.

(Cut to a TikTok influencer in a corset, coughing daintily into a lace hanky.)

Influencer:
Viral challenge alert! Who can consume the least protein while their matches argue over the Corn Laws? (Faints) Hashtag ConsumptionQueen!

(Cut to a government presser. A minister holds up a Victorian Tinder-branded leech jar.)

Minister:
This app is patriotic. Why Grindr when you can Grieve-r? We’ve already replaced TfL’s Night Tube with a night soil collection service. Progress!

(Final shot: A billboard in Piccadilly Circus flashes: “SWIPE RIGHT TO DIE AS YOU LIVED: DISAPPOINTING YOUR PARENTS.”)

Text on screen:
Next week: Is Liz Truss’s new crypto scheme Poundland of Libertas just a pyramid selling moldy cheese? Spoiler: Yes. But it’s “British” mold.

(Credits roll over a God Save the King remix played on a gramophone with a kazoo stuck in it.)
 
Fez909 said:
Deepseek is by far the most 'imaginative' LLM I've used so far. It's pretty knowledgable about fairly niche culture, like Brass Eye:

JACOB REES-MOGG’S VICTORIAN TINDER: A BRASSEYE INVESTIGATION
(Cue a jaunty harpsichord rendition of Careless Whisper, over footage of a top-hatted skeleton swiping right on a rotary phone)

Voiceover (with mock gravitas):
Tonight, we delve into the digital revolution sweeping Britain’s loneliest drawing rooms: Jacob Rees-Mogg’s Victorian Tinder, an app that promises to cure modern isolation by resurrecting the romance of 1843… and also the mortality rates. Early adopters call it “Grindr for people who miss workhouses.”

(Cut to a twee animation of a weeping crinoline gown swiping left on a cholera-infected beet farmer.)

Reporter (sipping tea from a thimble):
I’m here at the app’s launch party in a disused biscuit tin near Chipping Norton, where users must present a doctor’s note confirming they’ve “never felt joy.” The premise? Match with fellow nostalgics based on shared values: stoicism, a fear of electricity, and the ability to faint artistically.

(Cut to a man in a cravat labeled “Digital Etiquette Historian” holding a quill.)

“Expert” (adjusting monocle):
It’s Tinder meets Pride and Prejudice, but with more diphtheria. The app’s algorithm prioritizes matches who live within a 3-mile radius… because that’s how far you can walk before your lungs collapse. Revolutionary!

(Cut to a demo of the app. A prompt reads: “Catherine of Worcester enjoys cold mutton, silent resentment, and 16-hour shifts at the loom. Send her a respectful grimace?”)

Voiceover:
Features include: mandatory chaperones (played by Rees-Mogg’s children), a phrenology quiz to assess skull compatibility, and Coal Dust Premium – a £99/month subscription that lets you ghost matches via carrier pigeon. Health warnings? The app’s Terms & Conditions are just the 1834 Poor Law.

(Cut to a pixelated user, face obscured by a veil, whispering hoarsely.)

User:
I matched with a widow who collects her own teeth. We courted for six months via accusatory limericks. Then she died of a “mysterious damp.” (Sighs) It’s the most action I’ve had since Gladstone’s third ministry.

(Cut to Rees-Mogg in a paisley smoking jacket, stroking a taxidermied badger.)

Rees-Mogg (in plummy RP):
Modern dating is ghastly. Too much choice, too little scurvy. Our app restores hierarchy. If your profile’s too “common,” you’re relegated to the Dickensian Shadows – a feed of matchstick sellers and morally suspect hatters. It’s efficiency!

(Cut to a protest outside Parliament. A banner reads: “MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS NOT RICKETS.”)

Angry Pedestrian (waving a crutch):
My daughter matched with a man who proposed via coal invoice. Now she’s betrothed, pregnant, and permanently soot-stained. This isn’t romance – it’s a PBS period drama!

Voiceover:
Controversy erupted last week when users discovered the app’s Empire Mode – a feature that auto-sends your profile to Bengal “to find a spouse who won’t complain about colonialism.” Meanwhile, the NHS reports a 400% spike in “lovesick cholera,” and Gogglebox has launched a spin-off: Candlelit Coughing.

(Cut to a TikTok influencer in a corset, coughing daintily into a lace hanky.)

Influencer:
Viral challenge alert! Who can consume the least protein while their matches argue over the Corn Laws? (Faints) Hashtag ConsumptionQueen!

(Cut to a government presser. A minister holds up a Victorian Tinder-branded leech jar.)

Minister:
This app is patriotic. Why Grindr when you can Grieve-r? We’ve already replaced TfL’s Night Tube with a night soil collection service. Progress!

(Final shot: A billboard in Piccadilly Circus flashes: “SWIPE RIGHT TO DIE AS YOU LIVED: DISAPPOINTING YOUR PARENTS.”)

Text on screen:
Next week: Is Liz Truss’s new crypto scheme Poundland of Libertas just a pyramid selling moldy cheese? Spoiler: Yes. But it’s “British” mold.

(Credits roll over a God Save the King remix played on a gramophone with a kazoo stuck in it.)
Click to expand...

What was your prompt? 😂
 
UnderOpenSky said:
What was your prompt? 😂
Click to expand...
It was: "write a story about Dolph Lundgren's Golf Dungeon, but think and report it in the style of Chris Morris on Brasseye"

And it wrote a great story and ended it with a teaser for next week's show, the Victorian Tinder. So I asked it to write that, too.

Here's Dolph:

DOLPH LUNDGREN’S GOLF DUNGEON: A BRASSEYE SPECIAL REPORT
(Cue erratic saxophone, stock footage of a man in a visor screaming into a tornado of golf balls)

Voiceover (deadpan):
Tonight, we ask: What happens when a man who once played a Soviet superman decides to merge the genteel sport of golf with the existential horror of a medieval torture chamber? The answer, according to leaked NATO documents, is Dolph Lundgren’s Golf Dungeon – a “leisure concept” so deranged, it makes Saw IV look like The Great British Bake Off.

(Cut to grainy VHS footage of Lundgren in a tweed flat cap, swinging a 9-iron at a mannequin dressed as Lee Trevino. The mannequin’s head explodes into confetti.)

Reporter (on location, shouting over the sound of a foghorn):
I’m standing outside what experts are calling “the world’s first pun-based war crime” – a subterranean links course beneath Lundgren’s Malibu mansion, where players are “golfed” as much as they golf. The rules? Simple. Par is enforced via humiliation, sand traps contain actual sandworms, and water hazards are 80% hydrochloric acid. Lundgren’s lawyers call it “experimental Pilates.”

(Cut to a man in a lab coat labeled “Golf Torture Historian” clutching a clipboard.)

“Expert” (nervously adjusting bowtie):
It’s a bold reimagining of the sport. Imagine Minecraft meets Hostel, but with a loyalty card. Lundgren’s patented “Tee-rror” system uses AI caddies to psychologically dismantle players. One chap in Boca Raton now believes he’s a windmill. Brilliant, really.

(Cut to a CGI rendering of the dungeon: a labyrinth of neon-lit putting greens guarded by animatronic Vikings. A banner reads: “ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO THREE-PUTT.”)

Voiceover:
The Golf Dungeon’s pièce de résistance? The “PGA of Pain” – a 19th hole where losers must face Lundgren himself in a “sudden death” match. Survivors receive a certificate, a protein shake, and a subpoena. Critics say it’s a wellness retreat for sociopaths. Lundgren calls it “a spiritual journey… with cart fees.”

(Cut to a shaky interview with a “former participant,” his face pixelated, voice distorted.)

Participant:
I signed a waiver written in Klingon. They made me putt through a corridor of feral raccoons. At one point, Lundgren appeared in a robe, recited Nietzsche, and charged me £400 for a lost ball. I haven’t slept since. Would I go back? (Pauses, then whispers)… Next Tuesday.

(Cut to Lundgren in a director’s chair, sipping green tea, flanked by mannequins dressed as Genghis Khan and Tiger Woods.)

Lundgren (in a soothing Swedish monotone):
People misunderstand. Golf is about conquering fear. So I added fear. And lasers. And a moat. (Smiles faintly) It’s not torture. It’s… transformational debt.

(Cut to a press conference where a flustered PGA spokesperson holds up a charred putter.)

Spokesperson:
This is an outrage! Golf is a game of dignity, not… whatever this is! We’ve traced 73% of last year’s “golf-related night terrors” to Lundgren’s “Birdie Black Site.” Our sport is now the second-leading cause of Stockholm syndrome, behind Ikea and ahead of Coldplay concerts.

(Cut to a montage of celebrities endorsing the Dungeon. Elon Musk tweets: “10/10, flamethrowers optional.” Sia is seen designing a hazard labeled “Chandelier of Despair.”)

Voiceover:
As lawsuits pile higher than Lundgren’s IMDb page, one question lingers: Why golf? Insiders whisper it’s revenge for Universal Soldier: Regeneration’s box office. Lundgren denies this, citing “a lifelong passion for existential dread.”

(Final shot: A neon sign flickers: “GOLF DUNGEON – MEMBERS ONLY (AND THEIR THERAPISTS).” Fade to black.)

Text on screen:
Next week: Could Jacob Rees-Mogg’s new app Victorian Tinder solve the loneliness crisis? Spoiler: No. It’s just cholera.

(Credits roll over a smooth jazz cover of Eye of the Tiger played on a kazoo.)
 
Last one. A pitch for a new show...

TV Show Pitch: "Bass, Beats & Brolly Tactics"
Title: "McClaren’s Drill Academy"
(Tagline: “From the dugout to the drop… he’s here for the bass, not the brace.”)

Format:
A 6-part mockumentary/comedy series where Steve McClaren—the eternally earnest, occasionally memeable ex-England manager—is tasked with “understanding youth culture” by shadowing the UK Drill music scene. Think Louis Theroux meets The Office, but with more tracksuits, grimey beats, and accidental diss tracks.

Premise:
After a viral clip of McClaren misidentifying a drill beat as “posh dubstep,” the BBC sends him on a redemption arc: embed himself in the underground UK Drill world to prove he’s “down with the kids.” Armed with a notebook, a shaky grasp of slang, and his infamous umbrella, Steve navigates gritty recording studios, tense rooftop cyphers, and morally dubious chicken shops, all while trying to convince drill artists he’s not an undercover cop.

Episode Highlights:

  • “Pied Piper of Ends” (London): Steve shadows a drill collective in Peckham, mistakes “OP” (Opposition) for “overpaid players,” and accidentally starts a feud by offering tactical advice on “breaking down defensive blocks.”
  • Beat Battle Royale (Birmingham): McClaren tries producing a drill track using football chants (“Who’s that team they call the Boro?/We’ll shank your nan outside the Spar, yo”). Spoiler: It charts in Moldova.
  • Mandem vs. Manager (Leeds): Steve mediates a studio clash between rival crews by diagramming their beef as a 4-4-2 formation. Someone throws a sausage roll.
  • “The Gaffer’s Gig” (Manchester): He organizes a charity drill/classical crossover concert (“Mozart x M1llionz”) to “bridge communities.” The headliner? A 12-year-old MC named Lil’ Brexit.
Why It Works:

  • Fish-Out-of-Water Gold: McClaren’s dad-joke energy collides with drill’s icy authenticity. Picture him asking, “Is ‘skeng’ a new type of wingback?” while a producer facepalms.
  • Unexpected Heart: Steve’s genuine (if cringe) attempts to connect humanize both him and the artists. A scene where he bonds with a rapper over “pressure from the media” could go viral.
  • Social Commentary Lite: Explores drill’s roots in austerity-era Britain, but through Steve’s baffled lens (“Back in my day, we just robbed apples!”).
Guest Stars:

  • Ian Wright as Steve’s “hype man” during a disastrous radio takeover.
  • Stormzy cameos as a stern life coach who tells Steve to “stop trying so hard, bruv.”
  • David Moyes pops up in a post-credits scene, asking, “Is this where the grime thing is?”
Trailer Soundtrack:
A drill remix of “Three Lions” with Steve muttering, “It’s all about the low block… and the high hats?”

Bonus:
The finale sees Steve drop a semi-legit diss track (“Brolly Boy (Ice Cold Remix)”) responding to 20 years of memes. It gets 2/10 from The Guardian and 10/10 from drunk uncles everywhere.

This show’s a cross between cringe comedy and cultural anthropology—a love letter to UK Drill’s raw creativity and Steve’s unkillable optimism. Plus, imagine him in a bucket hat. Sold. 🎤⚽
 
I know I said it was the last one, but I have to share this. I noticed it said Steve McClaren was "memeable" so I asked it who else was memeable. It came up with a great list.

1. Jacob Rees-Mogg​

Why he’s memeable: The Tory MP who looks like he time-traveled from the 19th century. His poshness is so extreme it loops back into absurdity.
Meme fodder:
  • Lying across parliamentary benches like a Victorian ghost.
  • Naming his kids Sixtus Dominic Boniface Christopher and Alfred Wulfric Leyson Pius.
  • Referring to himself as the “Minister for the 18th Century.”

4. Nadine Dorries​

Why she’s memeable: The former Culture Secretary who didn’t understand culture. A masterclass in delusional confidence.
Meme fodder:
  • Tweeting about Naked Attraction at 3am.
  • Writing romance novels with titles like The Four Streets (featuring “tropical temperatures in Liverpool”).
  • Her 11-hour TV marathon to prove the BBC isn’t biased (spoiler: she fell asleep).

8. Laurence Fox​

Why he’s memeable: Actor-turned-“anti-woke” crusader who melts down on Twitter daily.
Meme fodder:
  • “What’s a woke?” (asks man who won’t stop talking about it).
  • Losing a libel case for calling people “paedophiles.”
  • His music career (yes, really).
And a bonus Tommy Robinson description that is amazing:
  • Tommy Robinson: The far-right grifter who looks like a sentient can of Monster Energy.
 
I finally found a good use for ChatGPT, specifically, at work. I don't know why CGPT seems to be better at it than Gemini, et.al. but I've given it all of my technical documentation and asked it to re-write it "in the style of Douglas Adams". Something as simple as getting a new SSL certificate can now be padded out to eleven pages.

Ah, yes. The rather charming task of generating the certificate signing record. One might imagine it as a small, unassuming document with aspirations far beyond its humble form, a record so elegantly conceived it could one day stand proudly in the hallowed halls of digital bureaucracy.

“Generate the certificate signing record,” you say, and with a mere flick of your wrist (and possibly several minutes of intense concentration), the record will be forged into existence. This record, a thing of data and purpose, will then be uploaded to the registrar, which—let’s be perfectly honest—sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to do in a universe where paperwork is the only thing that truly keeps everything from falling apart.

Now, the registrar. Ah, the registrar! It is not so much a place as it is a concept—a sort of bureaucratic black hole where certificates come to be verified, validated, and ultimately turned into something more official than any real-world bureaucrat could ever hope to be. And so, in the grand tradition of doing something important yet utterly mundane, you shall upload this record. And once it's uploaded, it will travel through the vast, mysterious depths of cyberspace—no doubt accompanied by the faintest whisper of electrons—before arriving at its intended destination, where it will be approved, possibly acknowledged, and definitely filed away in some obscure corner of the digital cosmos.

And so, with that, your work is done. Except, of course, for the part where you check to make sure everything’s gone through without any catastrophic failures. But that’s really a minor detail, isn’t it?
 
This is an amazing development. A professor at the University of Chicago who cares passionately about protecting artists' rights not to have their content stolen has created tools for poisoning the entire AI well. Basically, you if train your AI on a dataset that contains protected images, the AI will get very powerful messages that the images it is looking at are things that they are not.

Freakonomics podcast about it:



Website:

 
kabbes said:
This is an amazing development. A professor at the University of Chicago who cares passionately about protecting artists' rights not to have their content stolen has created tools for poisoning the entire AI well. Basically, you if train your AI on a dataset that contains protected images, the AI will get very powerful messages that the images it is looking at are things that they are not.

Freakonomics podcast about it:



Website:

Click to expand...

An old development I'm afraid - this time last year. It doesn't really work unless you crank the intensity up to very noticeable levels, and is compute-heavy to apply (it uses ML methods itself). It's also easily defeated by pre-processing during training.
 
Crispy said:
An old development I'm afraid - this time last year. It doesn't really work unless you crank the intensity up to very noticeable levels, and is compute-heavy to apply (it uses ML methods itself). It's also easily defeated by pre-processing during training.
Click to expand...
That's a shame. I did think it sounded too good to be true.
 
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