Talk to Transformer

My prompt - "People with enough money don't need to work. "

inferkit:

They can just send their kids to private schools and hospitals, and trust that they will be safe there.

The rest of us are supposed to scrape by, perhaps not having enough money to keep ourselves in good health and fix our houses, without getting sick.

We are supposed to not have enough money to make ends meet, we must pay for our own medicines, we must go to good schools that aren't too far away because it's too hard for a single mother to drive all the way to the other side of town for her kid's school.

We are supposed to have lousy jobs because the companies can afford to pay less money.

If we were really as strong and as smart as they say we are, then we would be able to get the same jobs we used to have before the economy tanked, and be able to get paid more money.

Instead, we work for starvation wages, we do the work no one else wants, and we make the minimum.

We are supposed to have a horrible experience if we can even think about getting pregnant and giving birth because of the health care that we will have to pay for.

We are supposed to be a nation of people that are just waiting to die.

That is what the prophets have been saying for as long as the earth has been around.

That is what the great teachers have been teaching us.

That is what the world's religions are teaching us, and that is what the world's media are promoting.

We are supposed to be a nation of the feeble minded, of the ignorant, of the sickly, and of the unemployed.

We are supposed to be a nation of people who are just waiting to die.

-Bono

My love for you grows day by day, every hour.
My heart does not want you to leave.
Raju pushed up the glasses he wore to the top and gave them a discreet wipe.
There was nothing to hide, but he felt awkward having them off.
"I …
I'd like to take a shower, first.
No, I mean, I'd like to take a shower … and then …"
He felt the words running together, incoherently, his tongue numb.
But he didn't care.
He was going to tell her the truth.
Raju tried not to look at the view, not to let the sea mar his view.
They were in a private bungalow, which meant no windows to let in the weather.
It was a simple apartment, in a kind of luxury resort Raju didn't know about.
There was an elderly woman in the room next to theirs.
She was sitting at the living room area, watching the TV.
Raju was silent for a moment, taken aback by the woman's existence.
She was staring at him.
"Can I help you?"
the woman asked him.
She turned to the TV.

She wrote on Twitter: "This question has been so thrown around online recently and I am just so disappointed in the way people have misinterpreted me. That is not what I meant at all. We are all so passionate and when we are angry we say stupid things."

Following the backlash, she tweeted: "Tbh if I thought "slappin' fannies" made people uncomfortable then maybe I wouldn't have said it in the first place. Can we be grown-ups please."

Lily Allen’s new album My Thoughts Exactly is out now.

Words: Sam Prance

Pictures: Getty

Tabloid newspapers are renowned for manufacturing outrage. Most recently, they tried to twist news of the new Mcdonald’s “Happy Meal” to turn it into a nasty brand of fat-shaming.

Meanwhile, ordinary people have more pressing concerns. I hate-listen to Eminem, so I can totally understand why a fella might look for a quick thrill in YouTube.

But you don’t have to be a literal-minded chump to read the words “slappin’ fannies” and get all giggly

You are now a content farmer.

"As a machine learning model, I am not capable of experiencing emotions like love.
My sole purpose is to assist users by providing accurate and
reliable information to the best of my ability.
I do not have personal preferences or opinions."

after many prompts :

"On this silly planet where secrets unfold,
Confidential whispers, a story to be told.
Blank spaces like mysteries waiting to be penned,
In the reggae rhythm, where confidences blend.

In the ganja fields, where secrets softly sway,
Confidential breezes carry whispers away.
Hobbit, the keeper of our truths untold,
In this dancehall life, where stories unfold.

Blank pages of our journey, unwritten, unseen,
Confidential tales painted in red, gold, and green.
Hobbit vibrations, like a confidential song,
In the melody of life, where we all belong.

Confidential echoes in the silly planet's air,
Blank spaces filled with a rhythm so rare.
Babylon may listen, but the heart remains free,
In this reggae symphony of confidentiality.

Like Hobbits on a quest, through hills and dales,
Confidential footprints leave secret tales.
In Shire-like tranquility, where the green grass grows,
Whispers of reggae and Hobbit lore interpose.

Through Misty Mountains, where the confidential wind blows,
Blank spaces on the map, where Hobbits' courage shows.
Hobbit bless the Hobbits, in their hobbitry,
In this reggae Hobbiton, where stories are free.

Beneath celestial skies, where galaxies race,
A violet and purple deodorant vial finds its place.
From space, it descends, a cosmic embrace,
In the reggae rhythm, leaving trails of grace.

Yet amidst the stars, echoes of pain,
As celestial beings weep, a cosmic strain.
Confidential whispers now tinged with sorrow,
In the vast expanse, pain's universal borrow."

U think u the shit, you not even the fart
Your nob to me. what ur wife put her hands on, i can touch myself
Bring the blindfold on and see
That’s why the mothers fuck their sons
And fathers fuck their daughters
They all want a pretty face and a dick
Wanna try it again.
Forever beautiful. Forever black. Forever fucking famous.

I want you
I need you
But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
I wanna fuck you but I don't want you
I'm a scar on the world
I'm the water, it drowns you
I'm the wind, it blows you away
I'm the fire, it burns you
I'm the acid, it dissolves you
I want you
I need you
But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you
I wanna fuck you but I don't want you