Robots, despite our best efforts, are still not all that hot. Far from the science-fiction fantasies of artificial beings nearly indistinguishable from humans, 21st century AI mostly consists of off-kilter video game smut designed as jokes and the corpse-like fuckhusks created by modern Dr. Frankensteins with engineering degrees and dangerously persistent boners.
This, as the discovery by @Fred_Delicious of a process to automatically generate bot erotica makes clear, is not changing anytime soon.
A tweet references the incredible robot porn made possible when “a really dirty first line” is fed to Talk To Transformer, a website that generates a few paragraphs of neural network-generated text from a user-entered sample sentence.
The results, as Twitter has shown, are exceptional.
Prompted with a sentence like “The handsome man got off his bike, and Helen noticed his bulging muscles,” the bot completes the introduction with a pulse-pounding story of a woman whose “nice red dress…only covered her white belly” and a man who had hoped that “red dress would cover my balls.” Provided the line, “Eating ice cream gives me pleasure,” the nasty ol’ bot spins a tale that includes masterful erotic poetry like, “When I am a guy that needs to masturbate, I really enjoy this kind of ice cream.” To see just how blue the bots can really get, there’s also a tour de force generated from “Garth stuck a whole cantaloupe up his ass” that seems like an excerpt from some upcoming, bot-written Naked Lunch sequel.
The bots obviously have a ways to go if they want to make a living selling dirty eBooks for a living, but they definitely have a unique style that’s sure to win a few fans. If nothing else, the website sure does do a bang-up job writing customizable, weirdo erotica for the most specific of audiences. Our prompt, oddly, led us to a place of near-Lynchian horror, even when we gave it the cheesiest of opening lines.
The AV Club took off its shirt and admired its sweaty abs in the mirror.
But the real revelation occurred about three meters away. A young man—a man not wearing anything beneath a suit—was standing near a pile of trash and garbage, looking at it with a curiousness I have not seen since I graduated from high school. His hands were raised, though his arms were not. He was looking at me, but he also seemed to be looking at myself.
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This man was actually wearing a suit, but his eyes were looking very different from the eyes that would be used by a man wearing a suit. These eyes were not interested in the garbage, but were focused on whatever I was doing.
This was an unusual gaze. It was also very different in tone from the stare I was used to. So I was reminded of the old joke about a couple who met at a casino in a casino where the ladies wore suits and the men wore T-shirts—the one who never made it home was always in a sweatpants and a T-shirt from the floor.
When I was first assigned
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