User 8bbb616c245b... - AI Fiction in the Wild

Estimated User #217 (2 IP addresses)

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1 fiction conversations over 14 days (Nov 27, 2023 – Dec 12, 2023) 90% prompt uniqueness Texas, United States

Estimated User Group (2 IP addresses)

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An IP address relates to the location of a user's computer or device, and a single person may have multiple IP addresses if they use different locations or networks. These IP addresses are grouped because the average embedding of each IP address's first turns (computed with all-MiniLM-L6-v2 sentence-transformer) has cosine similarity ≥ 0.85 and they share the same state (Texas). Groups are merged transitively—if A matches B and B matches C, all three are grouped even if A and C are below 0.85.

229826d2f222... View as IP →

14 conversations

Sample prompts:

Write a story about the following in the first person from my perspective. I'm a young guy in college. I'm visiting home. My little brother (a douchy high schooler) finds a magic wand and accidentally...

Write a story in the first person from my perspective about the following. I'm a skinny, pale, tall young guy with messy blond hair and an Americana taste in fashion. I want to get into an exclusive g...

Write this story in the first person from my perspective. I'm a young man (out of college) who works at an agency and dresses Americana. My CEO's douchy, rich kid, frat boy son (in college) is visitin...

Write a story about the following. I'm a young man with an Americana aesthetic. I'm skinny, have hair, no facial hair. My friend's chubby, bald, bearded, conservative boyfriend just broke up with her ...

I'm a young male secret agent. Write a story about me on a mission that involves me donning multiple disguises stolen from real people

8bbb616c245b... primary View as IP →

55 conversations

Sample prompts:

Write the following story. I'm an indie guy in college. My chemistry professor is guiding an experiment. He has me come to the front of the class to help him. Something goes wrong and we both pass out...

Write the following story. I'm a guy in college with an indie look. My roommate is a nerd and is working on a class project with his reluctant lab partner, a frat boy. The frat boy doesn't want to be ...

Write the following story. I'm a young man. There's a cowboy movie with a famous actor shooting in my town. I sneak on stage by sneaking on set, stealing a costume and wig and makeup, and getting on s...

Write the following story. I'm a guy in college with a skater aesthetic. My nerdy roommate designs a "normal" ray and accidentally shoots me with it. What happens to me, how do I change, how do I feel...

Write the following story. I'm a teenage boy in high school with a dark skater style. My friend invents a "normal" ray and points it at me and shoots it. What happens to me, how do I change, what is m...

Pairwise cosine similarities (1 pairs)

IP A	IP B	Similarity
`229826d2f222...`	`8bbb616c245b...`	0.926

Activity Timeline ▶

Nov 27, 2023

Dec 12, 2023

All conversations

Conversation Clusters (62)

TF-IDF Sentence ▼

1 conversation in cluster Cluster 19× “Write the following story. I'm a man in college. I'm alt. I ...” over less than a minute (Dec 5, 2023 – Dec 5, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Dec 5, 2023 at 10:29 PM CST — 2 turns United States, Texas fiction View full conversation

USER: Write the following story. I'm a man in college. I'm alt. I get dragged to a frat party by some friends. There i get separated from them and cornered by frat boys who prank me by transforming me into a frat boy. They glue a blonde permed wig to my head, dress me in a polo, 5 inch chino shorts, white socks, and grey new balance, and they give me a spray tan. I return to my friends but they think I'm just a frat boy messing with them. They leave in frustration abandoning me at the fraternity. I pass out and awaken the next morning. The frat boys assign me a new name and room in the house. I'm unable to remove the wig or tan and can't find my old clothes anywhere.

CHATBOT: Title: The Unintended Pledge I'd always prided myself on being decidedly alternative. My sense of self, expressed through dark clothing, eclectic accessories, and a circle of similarly-inclined college friends, was a fortress of individuality amidst the conformist sea of campus life. But friendships, often woven with threads of compromise, can lead one down unexpected paths. And thus, coaxed and cajoled by those friends, I found myself on the threshold of a place I'd sworn to avoid: a frat house, pulsing with the beat of popular music and crowded with my polar opposites. The party within was a hurricane of red cups and raucous laughter--a cacophony that swallowed every facet of my reluctance. My friends mingled, adapted, but I remained a shadow at the edges until, through the capricious whims of chance, I was separated from my lifelines and found myself the focus of a group of frat boys whose grins spoke of mischief. They surrounded me, their laughter a discordant symphony to my growing unease. Before I could protest, the transformation began--a cruel alchemy turning the unique into the ubiquitous. They pressed a blonde, permed wig upon my head with adhesive so strong it might have been forged by Hephaestus himself and clad me in a uniform completely alien to my being: a crisp polo shirt, 5-inch chino shorts, white socks pulled high, and grey New Balance sneakers--an ensemble so stereotypically 'frat' it bordered on caricature. A spray tan completed the metamorphosis--my skin now donned a shade that it had never, and would never, willingly embrace. When I stumbled to find my friends amidst the sea of indistinguishable faces, their eyes flickered over me with disinterest and annoyance--seeing not their alt friend but some frat boy engaging in boorish jest. My calls went unheeded, my protests were dismissed, and in a cocktail of frustration and disbelief, they departed, leaving me stranded in foreign territory. The night's festivities took their toll, and in an exhaustion that could rival the depths of Morpheus' embrace, I succumbed to a blanketed void. Dawn's light crept over me with a new reality as I awoke, forgotten in some dim corner of the house. The jesters of yestereve now claimed me as one of their own. They, having stripped me of my outward identity with no recourse to my protestations, awarded me a new moniker--a badge I was loathe to wear. Efforts to peel the wig from my scalp proved futile, the tan would not wash off, and my old clothes... vanis...

USER: What is the name they assign me. How do I have to dress now. I finally get the wig off but decide to just shave my head underneath and glue the wig on again. I've gotten used to styling it into an ice cream cut like the other boys.

CHATBOT: The name they assigned me was a generic tag, echoing with cliched undertones of frat culture--'Chadster.' A moniker meant to encapsulate every trope of frat boy stereotypes and to, perhaps unknowingly, chisel away at the uniqueness of my real identity. With my new name came a prescribed dress code, one that was anathema to my previous aesthetic. Each day I was expected to don the unofficial uniform of the fraternity--a pastel array of polo shirts with the collar popped, the ever-present chino shorts, no matter the weather, high white socks, and those grey New Balance sneakers that I'd come to know all too well. Added to this were the accessories--a wrist full of brightly colored, rubber bracelets and perhaps a pair of wayfarer sunglasses dangling from the neckline of my polo. As the days stretched on, the wig, my crown of conformity, became a constant reminder of my lost individuality. The moment eventually arrived when I managed to wrestle it from my scalp, revealing the unfamiliar sight of my own hair, matted and distressed from its entrapment. Instead of rejoicing at this semblance of freedom, I found myself at a crossroads of identity and adaptation. I gazed into the mirror, the shears quivering in my grip. With a flurry of cuts, I shaved what was left of my authentic hair, revealing a scalp untouched by the sun's kiss that the rest of my body had unwillingly borne. The collegiate echo chamber around me had reshaped my perspective, blurring the lines between irony and assimilation. I reapplied the wig, as if it were now a part of me--a paradox of my reality. I had become adept at styling it into the prevalent 'ice cream cut,' a coiffure favored by my peers, where the curls lay scooped atop the head like a Dairy Queen soft serve. There was an odd comfort in blending in, a solace found in the rhythm of fraternity life. The Chadster persona, originally my prison, began to transform, becoming a strange safe haven--a buffer against the stark contrast of my inner turmoil and the world beyond the frat house walls. Yet underneath it all, beneath the tan, the wig, the polos, and the chinos, the essence of who I had always been--a unique individual with eclectic tastes and a rich inner world--continued to blaze quietly like the embers of a campfire waiting for a breath of wind to erupt into flame once more. In this uncanny existence, I lived a dual life, balancing on the edge between fraternity conformity and the persistent pulse of my true self, wondering if th...

Cluster 19