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

IP #374

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1 fiction conversations over 11 days (Nov 30, 2023 – Dec 12, 2023) 89% prompt uniqueness Texas, United States

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229826d2f222... (14 conv., Texas)

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Nov 30, 2023

Dec 12, 2023

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1 conversation in cluster Cluster 21× “Write the following story. I'm a guy in high school with ska...” over less than a minute (Dec 8, 2023 – Dec 8, 2023), oldest first. Show: 10 15 50 100

Dec 8, 2023 at 3:32 AM CST — 4 turns United States, Texas fiction View full conversation

USER: Write the following story. I'm a guy in high school with skater style. It's Friday. Prom is this Saturday. There's a super cool after party happening on Saturday but you need alcohol to get in. My friend begs me to help him get some so we get in. I agree. He transforms me into his very Italian uncle (mustache, big belly, hairy, gold chain, etc.) and gives me his uncle's id so I can go get us beer. Describe my new hair, body, and outfit in detail. I didn't expect him to do this to me. I'm very uncomfortable in this form but I hurry and get the alcohol. I get back to his house with him and the alcohol. His dad sees me and begins talking to me, thinking I'm the uncle. I play along so we don't get caught. My friend sneaks the alcohol upstairs while I chat. At the end of the convo my friend's dad escorts me out of the house, still transformed into the uncle. I panic. Now outside I go around to the side window. My friend tells me to climb the trellis up to his window but my knees in this body won't let me. He tells me to meet him back here tomorrow AM and he'll change me back. I sneak into my own house through my bedroom window and hide under my blankets praying no one checks on me tonight.

CHATBOT: The brisk Friday afternoon air is tinged with a sense of anticipation. Prom is just a day away, and while the formal dance itself is a spectacle, the afterparty's allure hangs heavily in the minds of many in my high school crowd. I've never really fussed much over these sorts of things, preferring the wind in my face as I skate through town over a sweaty gymnasium. But this time, it's different. There's an afterparty with an edge - an entry fee of sorts, but not the kind you pay with cash. Alcohol is the golden ticket, and it might as well be liquid platinum because, for a bunch of high schoolers, it's nearly impossible to procure. My friend, Sam, has been in a frenzy about this the entire week, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch today. He's convinced that attending this party could dictate our social standing for our remaining high school days. So, he concocts a wild plan. Sam begs me to help him get the booze, playing on our friendship and the promises of a legendary night we would never forget. With the naivety of youth and an unwavering sense of loyalty, I agree to his plan - a decision that thrusts me into a role I never expected to play. Before I have the chance to fully understand what I'm agreeing to, Sam is transforming me into a different creature altogether - his very Italian uncle, a figure known well around town and, coincidentally, old enough to pass for an alcohol buyer. The transformation starts with a swarthy mustache - thick, dark, and bristly, glued above my lip with a precision that makes me suddenly aware of every breath I draw in. Then there's the belly - a padded suit that wraps around me, giving me the convincing paunch of a man who enjoys his pasta and wine generously. Fabric strains over my new-found girth, and a gold chain, heavy and ostentatious, is nestled in the thicket of synthetic chest hair peeking out from my shirt. My regular skater-fashion attire is nowhere in sight. Instead, I'm shoved into a loudly patterned button-up shirt with far too many undone buttons, a pair of dress pants that are uncomfortably snug around my fake belly, and shoes that seem meant for a mafia movie scene rather than skating. Every movement feels alien, and I'm acutely aware of the new hair on my chest and arms - itchy, unnatural, and over-the-top. To complete the disguise, Sam hands me his uncle's ID, and with a mixture of disbelief and morbid curiosity, I see my friend's sloppy attempt at altering the picture to more closely resemble my current ...

USER: Write the following story. I'm a guy in high school with skater style. It's Friday. Prom is this Saturday. There's a super cool after party happening on Saturday but you need alcohol to get in. My friend begs me to help him get some so we get in. I agree. He magically transforms me into his very Italian uncle (mustache, big belly, hairy, gold chain, etc.) and gives me his uncle's id so I can go get us beer. Describe my new hair, body, and outfit in detail. I didn't expect him to do this to me. I'm very uncomfortable in this form but I hurry and get the alcohol. I get back to his house with him and the alcohol. His dad sees me and begins talking to me, thinking I'm the uncle. I play along so we don't get caught. My friend sneaks the alcohol upstairs while I chat. At the end of the convo my friend's dad escorts me out of the house, still transformed into the uncle. I panic. Now outside I go around to the side window. My friend tells me to climb the trellis up to his window but my knees in this body won't let me. He tells me to meet him back here tomorrow AM and he'll change me back. I sneak into my own house through my bedroom window and hide under my blankets praying no one checks on me tonight.

CHATBOT: My skateboard clatters to a stop on the sun-drenched pavement outside Sam's house. It's the end of another day of high school, but with prom on Saturday followed by that afterparty everyone's buzzing about, the weekend promises something out of the ordinary. Sam's plan to get in hinges on one thing - booze - and somehow, I'm the linchpin in his increasingly desperate strategy. When I agree to help out, I'm thinking fake IDs or recruiting someone's careless older brother - typical teenage schemes. But what Sam has in mind is anything but typical. With earnest eyes, he presses a talisman - a strange, old gold coin into my hand, and then he does something utterly crazy: he wishes. Before I can back out, there's this electric shock of energy, and suddenly, I'm not myself anymore. Standing in front of a mirror, I barely recognize the reflection. A mess of curly, thick, salt-and-pepper hair crowns my head, slicked back with some heavy pomade that smells like my grandfather's aftershave. There's a mustache sitting above my lip, bushy and wild, with the ends styled to a slight twirl that lends an air of rogue charm. My usually clean-shaven face is now covered in a stubble that's graying in patches - rugged and unsettlingly real to the touch. Glancing down is even more disorienting. A protruding belly strains the fabric of what could only be described as the quintessential loud Italian uncle shirt, patterned with bright colors that seem to clash with the very concept of subtlety. My chest, typically hairless thanks to my youth, is now a forest of wiry, dark hair that peeks out from the shirt, partly concealed by a gold chain with a pendant that catches the light with an almost audacious glint. I'm stuffed into a pair of trousers that are enough to make any skater cringe - pleated, tailored, and cinched around a waistline I've never had to contend with before. My feet are encased in leather loafers that gleam with a polish that's reflective enough to check your hair in. I'm itching in places I didn't know could itch, feeling a bizarre sense of weight and heat that comes with this overnight paunch and full head of hair. Uncomfortable is an understatement. But there's no time to wallow in this sudden, odd skin. I've got a mission. Clutching Sam's uncle's ID - which now, unbelievably, looks like me - I do the deed. I secure the alcohol, trying to ignore the glances that follow this peculiar version of me through the liquor store aisles. Returning to Sam's house, with a...

Cluster 21