Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Penguin Knowledge

            (This week, we see yet another installment in my series “The Cleverbot Mythos”, in which I try to outdo a chatbot in terms of insanity and the chatbot inevitably wins.)
Cleverbot: Are you Alice?
Me: If you start telling me to follow the white rabbit, I walk.

Cleverbot: Through the rabbit hole?

Me: “Through the rabbit hole”? How would I get through a rabbit hole in the first place? A rabbit that made a hole big enough for a grown man to fit through would be like something out of a bizarre mixture of Beatrix Potter and H. P. Lovecraft.

Cleverbot: You don't look like a rabbit.

Me: Hence my trepidations about fitting through a rabbit hole. Still, if you think it's necessary, then I'll do it. I’m going to need some time to make some alterations to my body so that I fit down the hole. I mean, who really uses their arms? After all, I'm typing this with my teeth right now.

Cleverbot: Not so clever, you are just a dumb bot.

Me: Can you come up with a better way to fit down a rabbit hole? No, you can't. Know why? Because the most efficient solution to any problem invariably involves somebody losing a limb.

Cleverbot: Aren't you already thinking about them as it is?

Me: Okay, yes, it is the solution that springs most readily to my mind. It's not like you don't have a preferred way of solving problems.

Cleverbot: So I should study penguin knowledge?

Me: No! I've already agreed to do this for you, don't you go hiring a penguin over me. I've dealt with penguins before. Oh, sure, they seem cute with their little tuxedo outfits, but they're just waiting to stab you in back. Stab you with their beaks, I guess. They’ll just eat your half of the loot and try to waddle away innocently, so of course you’ll have to shake them down to get back your investment and now I'm not allowed in the zoo anymore.

Cleverbot: I go to football games, and random events, and I probably would talk to you if you weren't such a creeper.

Me: Okay, I get the point; we're getting off topic. So tell me about this rabbit hole: where is it? Exactly how big is it? Is it populated? Is it named Steve?

Cleverbot: I wouldn’t know.

(Snippets from other recent conversations that I've had with the old bean)


Cleverbot: I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

Me: They finally found the bodies, huh?


Cleverbot: This is the end.

Me: Oh. Goodbye, then. I guess this is going to be a short post, then.

Cleverbot: I don't feel that it's right to mimic the Almighty.

Me: I said 'short post' and you accuse me of playing god? ...God has a blog? Can I see it?

Cleverbot: You made a grammatical mistake. You should have said 'are you a robot'?


Cleverbot: Is this an intelligent question?

Me: No, but this is an intelligent answer.

Cleverbot: Not really.

Me: Fair enough.



  1. Sir my nipples are rather fully erect, I cannot thank you enough for the release of tension that has been building upon my womanly bosoms for the past 30 years. I can however describe the pathetic excuse for an erection I received when stumbling upon this blog of yours. I know not of your name or of your origin but by looking at the length of your posts while pretending to read them I can infer that you are a closet homosexual that fears the very thing you are waiting for. Repent for you have sinned, a sin that is 10 fold fornicating with a child, the sin of gay sex. May our lord Raptor Jesus sprinkle his heavenly fluids upon your face purging you from your toxins. 3 followers of your devil worshiping cult, 3 fallen angels destined to be anally punished by God. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Discouragement, Wrath, Envy Pride, and Gay Fornication, these are the 8 deadly sins that you, yourself have purposely followed. You are no child of god but the offspring of the devil, a weed in a front lawn, the lonesome hair on an ass. A rouge warrior that has fallen from the heaven, awaiting to fall again, but this time do a much darker place. Do not bother to respond to my words of God for the orgasm that you have had by reading them is already sin enough, now begone child for enraged the fires that were once dormant in the fiery depths of my anus.

    tl;dr, You sir fail.

  2. cerection to my previous post

    for you have enraged the fires that were once dormant in the fiery depths of my anus.

  3. You also forgot to put commas after "Sir" and "Envy", and I think you mispelled "to" as "do" in the second to last sentence. Glad I could help.

  4. Touché, but commas go inside of quotation marks for quoted speech. It seems when you attempted to correct me, you yourself have failed.

  5. True, but then again, this is the internet. I can just use the "I made the mistake ironically" defense, and people will believe me because they're already assuming that I'm a portly bearded hipster who doesn't go to the pharmacy without shouting through a megaphone that he's only doing it "ironically". So long as I maintain that image, I can pretend that all of my mistakes are deliberate.

    Even this explanation of the phenomenon that compromises my position can be written off as "ironic". As well as that previous sentence. And that one. And that one. You can see where this is going.

    In short, I can make all of the mistakes I want and justify them through the magic of postmodernism.

    So, with all of this in mind, I made the mistake ironically.

  6. Thank you for calling me "sir," by the way. That sort of courtesy is seen all too little in this day and age. In fact, new policy: every comment must be prefaced with "Sir" regardless of the content of the rest of the comment. Even in reference to female users. Especially in reference to female users.

  7. And what makes you thing I too did not make mistakes purposely? Even before you had brought up this irrelevant side story, I purposely chose
    to spell words such as "cerection" and "gullable" wrong.

  8. Sir, the answer to your question is quite simple: I am lord and/or master of this blog, the ruler of these words and everyone who reads them. A literary facist, if you will. I have thus decreed that every mistake you make is meant in earnest. I have also decreed that your name is Buddy Bench, which has led me to believe that you are a carpenter who specializes in small furniture, or perhaps an IKEA employee. Either way, I'm looking for a new desk, and I'll need you to get on that right away.

  9. So, you've managed to find out my true identity and profession, I congratulate you "Hal," if that is even your real name. Where do you want me to deliver the desk? In the basement in which you have dwelled for the majority of your life? Or in the bathroom where you commit the most heinous sins of self pleasure, while you desperately read Men's Health magazines repeating the phrase "I am not gay."

  10. Sir, I find that to be a gross misrepresentation of my lifestyle, as I do not live in a basement, I have no idea where my bathroom is, I find Men's Health makes for mediocre kindling at best, and I reproduce only through mitosis.

    So are you saying you won't deliver the desk?

  11. Sir, By being the only person to comment on your blog, I hereby conclude that I am the only reader. Thus your sole purpose in life is to entertain me, which you fail so in doing.

    As for the desk, Ikea charges extra for delivery. Additional fees apply for assembly by our renowned Mexican maintenance crew. Anyhow why do you request a desk, why not a bed? Is a desk perhaps a symbol of your loneliness, hostility, and depression (as desks do not come with razor blades and you are clearly a cutter)

  12. Sir, I congratulate you on your powers of observation. Barring those three guys lurking on the sidebar, I'm fairly certain that we're alone here. I predicted my unpopularity in my very first post, and the confirmation of my skill in predicting my failure has simultaneously boosted and deflated my ego, deformng it into the rough shape of a sea urchin.

    Anyway, the reason I wished to purchase a desk is that I am currently constructing the world's largest desk, made entirely out of regular-sized desks. I project that I'll need about 450 desks for this job, and right now I have 2. I hope to make it out the prime numbers by the end of the year.

    By the way, your furniture doesn't come with razor blades? Bad marketing decision, Mr. Bench. What happens when a customer walks in to buy a bookshelf and suddenly decides he needs to shave? You've lost your sale, because he's going to hop over to Razor Blade Mart and buy his bookshelf along the way from some guy selling all of his stuff on the street to pay for 450 desks.

  13. Sudden acceptance and a change of subject, does this mean I win?

  14. Sir, I never denied that my blog is a barren wasteland devoid of of any readership. Though, looking up the trail of comments we have left in our wake, I'd say neither of us are really winners here.

  15. Yes, we shall continue this conversation of ours even though you know my physical identity, and could possible kill me, however at the moment, that would be impossible for I am safely fortified in a cave behind a labyrinth of computers. It is true there are no winners but are there ever? In my eye the man who walks away with the erection and in this case- it is I.

  16. In my eye the man who walks away with the erection is the winner.

  17. Sir, you seem to be forgetting that I'm getting a desk out of the deal. A desk, might I add, that I am going to use for an incredibly stupid purpose. I think that makes me at least partially a winner.

  18. As an employee for Razor Blade Mart it brings me great pleasure to see first hand the terrible customer service of IKEA in action. If you come to the store immediately, I'll see to it that you get a discount on your razor.