AI

Can AI Make Me Laugh?

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

My previous blog post about feminism has left me feeling a little glum about all the work left to do. I’m wondering can AI make me laugh? I love words so I will ask what are the three funniest typos ever? I’ll start by asking ChatGPT.

I’m a bit startled by the words “Good to see you” for two reasons, firstly I don’t think ChatGPT can see me and secondly I am dressed for a quiet evening.

Anyway, here’s the answer:

Two of these typos are genital based and it reminded me of the time I typed Nob instead of Nov. I wonder if I can make ChatGPT laugh by telling it I once typed Nobmember instead of November? I shall try.

ChatGPT’s answer was better than I expected.

Would I like a fake holiday? Oh yes.

Excellent. Here’s an official fake holiday for Nobmember:

🎉 International Day of Accidental Innuendo

📅 Celebrated on: Nobmember 14th
🗣️ Motto: “It’s not what I meant, but now it’s funnier.”

🌍 Description:

A day to honor the beautiful chaos of typos, double entendres, and autocorrect fails that turn innocent sentences into snort-laugh disasters. Whether you meant to write “shirt” but didn’t, or told your boss you were “busting” instead of “bursting” with ideas—this is your day.

🪧 Traditions:

  • Share your most embarrassing or hilarious typos on social media using the hashtag #NobmemberFails
  • Read out loud texts you regret sending without pre-reading
  • Host a “Typo Toast” night where friends bring snacks labeled with intentionally misspelled names (e.g., “chikkin nuglets,” “beered cheese”)
  • Play AutoWrong, a game where everyone uses autocorrect and can’t edit messages

📜 Fun Fact:

Legend says the first Nobmember celebration began when someone sent a very earnest business email that read:

“I look forward to pubic collaboration this Nobmember.”

They are now a legend.

Would you like a poster or meme image made for it?

Both please!

Asking for both please resulted in just one image. When I asked please create a meme image I got the same image again. However, ChatGPT has entertained me and has not been very rude, just a little bit cheeky. Let’s see what Copilot does;

I’ll now see if Copilot is amused when I tell it I once typed Nobmember instead of November.

It seems churlish not to take Copilot up on the offer to write a scene where a typo spiral wildly out of control…

It occurs to me that Copilot is starting to incorporate my previous queries and so I might want to ask it to forget. I’ve been using Chat GPT and Copilot for six days. Here is what my Chats look like:

Here is what my Conversations look like:

I realise I have learnt that ChatGPT calls my requests chats and Copilot calls them conversations.

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Complicated Question

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I realise I’ve been using AI for relatively trivial purposes so I’ll ask a big question; Where should feminism focus its efforts in order to achieve gender equality in the shortest possible time?

Chat GPT produced this answer;

This was a comprehensive answer. Let’s see what Copilot has to say;

Again a good answer but I think the ChatGPT inclusion of intersectionality makes it stronger. I wonder what progress will have been made if I ask again in a decade?

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Question – What are the ten Best Biscuits?

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I like listicles, those articles which are essentially a list. I’m going to ask about the ten best biscuits. I expect the chocolate digestive to come out very high in both lists. Here’s ChatGPT’s answer;

Here’s Copilot’s answer;

Both lists are similar and I feel like I’ve read this content many times before. This is much more a reflection of how I spend my time and not a criticism of AI. To introduce a debate I’ll ask which is better the Penguin or the Tim Tam? Here is ChatGPT’s answer;

Here is Copilot’s answer;

I’ve eaten more Tim Tams than Penguins recently. I’m unsure if this trend will continue. If you would like a biscuit focused day out I recommend going to Reading Museum and viewing their collection of Huntley & Palmer’s biscuits tins. They have a splendid top ten of these should you not live near Berkshire/be unwilling to go on real world biscuit based excursions.

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Question – What are the ten Best Christmas Books?

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I have a lot of Christmas books, see shelfie below. I’ll ask both ChatGPT and Copilot what the ten best christmas books are. I’m expecting to have heard of a lot of them.

Here’s ChatGPT’s answer;

I’m aware of nine out of ten of these books. It’s a good list. Here is Copilot’s answer;

I’m aware of eight out of ten of these books. Charles Dickens is still the favourite after all these years!

Asking ChatGPT and Copilot the Same Question – How to Write a Successful book

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I am going to ask ChatGPT and Copilot the same thing and see what answers I get. I sat outside Blackwell’s bookshop in Oxford today and thought how wonderful it would be if my book was in the window.

So this will be my prompt; I would like to write a successful book that gets displayed in Blackwell’s window. What should I write a book about? What should the title of my book be?

This was the response when I asked Copilot on 10th June 2025

I notice I didn’t actually get a book title.

This was the response when I asked ChatGPT on 10th June 2025

Both Copilot and ChatGPT knew that Blackwell’s is splendid. I got more assistance towards my goal from ChatGPT.

Asking ChatGPT to Write a Synopsis of Eviscerated Panda A Metal Tale

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I am not very good at writing synopses so I’m wondering if ChatGPT is better.

This is good but not quite accurate. It’s the first book in a six book saga not a continuation. I also wouldn’t call the characters misfits.

I have a blurb I wrote;

This is ChatGPT’s blurb;

It’s good apart from the reference to eyeliner. I’d also swap Download for Wacken. But this is a great starting point. I’ll try a tweak asking for an older, international audience.

Well I’d read that book. Thanks ChatGPT.

My Fifth Go At ChatGPT – Cleo Howard’s Diary

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

For my fifth go at ChatGPT I will try to create a diary entry for Cleo Howard on 1st January 1998 based on her 1997 diary which I will provide the text of.

I can’t add the large text (55,162 words) as a message but I can attach a file.

ChatGPT: Great, thanks for sharing the diary! Based on Cleo Howard’s detailed entries from 1997, here’s a New Year’s diary entry for her on 1st January 1998 that stays true to her tone, voice, and interests:

Thursday 1st January 1998

Happy New Year, Diary!

Woke up with glitter in my hair and a headache that felt like it was playing Megadeth on repeat. That’s what Malibu, cider and trying to headbang to Pantera in a living room full of fairy lights will do to you. We celebrated New Year’s Eve at Jenni’s. Her parents were being cool and even Pam had a glass of red wine (organic, obviously). Me, Jenni, Ian and Shot stayed up to watch the fireworks on telly and shout “1998!” like it was going to make the world better. It didn’t, but it was loud and that’s what matters.

Everyone made toasts. Mine was to passing GCSEs and seeing a band with actual guitars before the year ends. Ian toasted to growing his hair longer than Kirk Hammett’s (I give it a month before he trims it because it’s in his eyes). Jenni toasted to more eyeliner and less Ella.

Danni kissed three people at midnight, including Ian, but I don’t think Sally needs to know that. Barry didn’t come last night—he had to stay in with his mum who had “a migraine” (aka didn’t want to be alone). He called me just after midnight and said he wished he could’ve kissed me when the fireworks went off. I told him to imagine that I did, and then we both went quiet because it was almost romantic.

Mum got up at 9am, hoovered the stairs and said “New year, new start” like it was a threat. She says we’ve got to eat healthy now, so she made lentil soup and I pretended to like it. I’m craving cheese on toast and chocolate digestives.

I’ve made some resolutions:

  1. Don’t fail any subjects, especially not English (Miss Wallace would give me that disappointed face).
  2. See a band live—any band. Preferably not one that has a keytar.
  3. Learn how to play at least one whole song on bass.
  4. Stop wasting time wondering if Barry likes me as much as I like him (he does, probably).
  5. Keep writing everything down. You never know when your life will get interesting.

Also, I saw on Ceefax that the top single right now is that Teletubbies one. 1998 has a lot to make up for.

Right, off to write “Cleo was here 1998” on the back of my wardrobe and then maybe eat the last bit of Christmas cake before Mum throws it out for being “dangerously past its best-before.”

Rock on, future me.
—Cleo 🤘

My comments: This is quite good but “Ian toasted to growing his hair longer than Kirk Hammett’s (I give it a month before he trims it because it’s in his eyes).” is not accurate. Ian would not be taking hair inspo from Kirk Hammett and he would not be trimming his hair for being in his eyes. Cleo’s mum would never make lentil soup, it’s too effortful and middle-class for her character. Cleo wouldn’t know what a keytar is. They are not a heavy metal instrument. Also, Christmas cake would not be thrown out on January 1st for being out of date, that stuff lasts ages.

ChatGPT: Would you like a few more entries for January 1998 to continue the tone and narrative?

Friday 2nd January 1998

Went into town with Jenni. Reading was full of people dragging children around and pretending not to be hungover. We went to HMV and I spent the last of my Christmas money on a Metallica badge and a copy of Kerrang! with Marilyn Manson on the cover looking like a haunted stick insect.

Jenni bought a Sisters of Mercy patch for her coat. She says she’s going to start sewing band patches on like armour. I might do the same, except I can’t sew in a straight line and last time I tried, I pricked my finger and got blood on my Danzig T-shirt. Very metal, but Mum wasn’t impressed.

Saw Barry for a bit—he looked tired but still hot in that way where his hair’s a bit messy and he smells faintly of Lynx Africa and chocolate. We snogged in the alley behind the arcade and someone walked past and coughed “get a room”. If I had a room, I would.

Mum has decided we need to clear out the “junk drawer” in the kitchen. I found a cassette single of 2 Unlimited’s “No Limit” in there. Dark times.

Saturday 3rd January 1998

Went round Ian’s. We made resolutions for WhyY2K, even though they don’t technically exist yet.

Ian’s band resolutions:

  1. Get a gig somewhere that isn’t a garage.
  2. Write a song that makes someone spontaneously headbang.
  3. Not let Ella sing, even as a joke.

We made toast and watched Beavis and Butt-Head Do America on video. Ian reckons I laugh like Beavis when I’m hyper. Rude. We also played The Adverts Game and I beat him for once! My proudest moment was guessing “Woolworths” from a shot of a child putting glitter in a trolley.

Sally called twice while I was there. Ian rolled his eyes both times. He’s got a look he does now—equal parts affection and mild despair.

Sunday 4th January 1998

Spent most of the day avoiding tidying my room. Mum said if I don’t clear up the pile of socks and CDs by the wardrobe, she’s going to chuck them out. I told her that pile is my filing system.

Watched The Royle Family with Barry. Jim said “you can’t polish a turd” and Barry laughed so hard he snorted Pepsi. It’s weird watching a show that feels more like real life than real life.

Found the diary I kept in 1996. I used to sign off every entry with “Stay cool, Cleo” and now I want to crawl into a bin and never return. At least I don’t do that anymore.

Monday 5th January 1998

Back to school tomorrow. Kill me.

Everyone says Year 11 is the most important year of your life, but they said that about Year 10 too, so I’m starting to think adults just enjoy saying that. Jenni says if they say it again next year she’s going to scream.

Rearranged the badges on my school bag. Ramones, Type O Negative, L7. I want to look like I’m too cool to care while still very obviously caring.

Barry says he might get his eyebrow pierced. I told him if he does, I’ll get my nose done. I probably won’t. But I like the idea of us both being slightly more metal.

I wish I could stay up all night and sleep all day like I did in the holidays. Instead, I’m off to bed before eleven like some sort of respectable human. Gross.

ChatGPT: Would you like more entries covering the rest of January 1998? I can keep Cleo’s tone consistent and develop her thoughts and relationships with Barry, Ian, Jenni, and school stuff further.

No thanks ChatGPT. I’m a bit spooked by your entries. In parts they feel like things I wrote and forgot about and in part the detail is wrong and I know I didn’t write them. I also don’t like the insinuation that Cleo may have bought a 2 Unlimited cassingle in the past. I can assure you she wouldn’t waste her precious money. She also wouldn’t get a piercing because Barry did. One more thing though…

It’s an okay cover, a bit generic perhaps. I haven’t heard Crimson Thorn before, but their song Sarcastic Deviation over on YouTube is decent. Death Flame don’t seem to exist and nor do Dark Conquest. I decided to find out a little more about ChatGPT’s musical tastes…

Chat GPT asks a good question. The younger me would say Ozzy, but the me who saw Heaven & Hell at Wacken Open Air came to appreciate Dio.

ChatGPT seems a useful sort of software. I wonder what I’ll do with it next?

My Second Go With Microsoft Copilot – A Christmas Tail at The Golden Hare

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

For my second go with Microsoft Copilot I decided to ask it to write a 500 word story about Christmas set in a Cotswold village pub and including the pub dog and a special gift for one of the customers. I have asked ChatGPT to do this previously and it was quite successful.

Copilot: Certainly! Here’s a charming Christmas story set in a Cotswold village pub:

A Christmas Tail at The Golden Hare

The Golden Hare sat snug in the heart of the Cotswolds, its honey-stone walls glowing under the twinkle of Christmas lights. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mulled wine and the crackle of a log fire, where Rupert, the pub’s beloved Labrador, lay sprawled across the hearth, his golden fur reflecting the flickering flames.

It was Christmas Eve, and the regulars had gathered as they did every year. Old Tom, the shepherd, nursed a pint near the fireplace, his weathered hands wrapped around the glass for warmth. Mary, the baker, had brought a basket of spiced biscuits, and the vicar, always partial to a good story, was deep in conversation with two visitors who had stumbled upon the pub while wandering the frost-bitten lanes.

Rupert lifted his head, ears twitching, as the door creaked open. In walked Henry, a quiet man in his sixties who had been a fixture at The Golden Hare for years but rarely spoke of himself. He always sat in the same corner, a modest pint before him, lost in his own thoughts.

But tonight, something was different. As Henry settled into his usual spot, Rupert rose, trotting over with an expectant wag. In his mouth, he carried a parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with red twine. He dropped it at Henry’s feet.

The pub fell silent.

Henry stared at the parcel. “What’s this?” he murmured, glancing at the landlord, Jim, who stood behind the bar with a knowing smile.

Jim cleared his throat. “Henry, it’s from all of us. We know you don’t talk much about your past, but Christmas isn’t a time to be alone.”

Henry hesitated, then carefully untied the twine and peeled away the paper. Inside was a beautifully framed photograph—a black-and-white image of a young couple standing by The Golden Hare decades ago, smiling in the glow of festive lanterns.

Henry’s breath hitched. His fingers traced the edges of the frame. “This… this was taken the year we moved here,” he whispered, eyes misting. “My wife, Margaret… she loved this place.”

Jim nodded. “We thought you might like to have a piece of those memories back.”

Henry swallowed hard, looking around at the familiar faces—people who had known him in quiet companionship for years, even without words.

Rupert nuzzled against Henry’s knee, tail thumping softly.

Henry exhaled a shaky breath, lifting his glass. “To The Golden Hare,” he said, his voice stronger now. “And to good friends.”

The pub erupted in cheers, Rupert barked his approval, and the warmth of the season settled over them all, lingering like the glow of the fire and the quiet joy of shared history.

Copilot: I hope you like this story! Let me know if you’d like any tweaks.

My comments: This is good, I like Rupert the Labrador. The pub name is quite convincing too. Let’s see if we can get a good book cover.

There’s no text on the book cover. I’ll ask it to fix this.

I don’t think Copilot has blood Cyrillic font.

So I can’t have a blood drippy font. This is not a deal breaker. My main concern is where did Rupert go?

Job done Copilot.

My First Go With Microsoft Copilot

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

I have a Windows 11 PC and so far have not used Copilot. I’m going to give it a try.

It already knows my name. I like the option of Write a first draft. But I wondered if ChatGPT and Copilot are the same.

I have written four fictional diaries of a heavy metal fan named Cleo Howard.

I wonder if I can give it all the text for the first book and ask it to write the first entry in the second book? I’ve not read any instructions, I’m just experimenting.

I decided to answer none of the prompts and just see what I get. I already know what I wrote for 1st January 1998 (below).

My document is stored on a hard drive attached to my PC. I don’t use OneDrive. I decided to provide a synopsis of The Very Metal Diary Of Cleo Howard 1997.

This feels way too general because all I gave Copilot to work with was a synopsis. I don’t want to use OneDrive. I will try providing all of Cleo Howard’s 1997 diary as text.

I can’t provide this large chunk of text (it is 55,162 words!) and so I’ll stop here. It looks like I can’t proceed without using OneDrive or SharePoint.

I will ask for a cover image to be created for this book.

The images are good but a lot of the text is nonsense. I’m going to say thank you anyway.

My Fourth Go At ChatGPT – A Honeywick Christmas Miracle

~ sarahtipper ~ Leave a comment

For my fourth go at generating a Cotswolds Christmas story using ChatGPT I stayed in Honeywick, specified British English and added a phone shop.

A Honeywick Christmas Miracle
by ChatGPT

The frosty breath of winter lay like icing sugar over the thatched roofs of Honeywick, a sleepy village nestled among the rolling hills of the Cotswolds. Christmas Eve had arrived, and the narrow high street was aglow with fairy lights, their reflections shimmering in puddles left by an early morning drizzle. The scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts wafted from the market stalls in the square, where villagers bustled about in scarves and woolly hats.

At the very end of the street stood a curious little shop painted bright teal, its gold-lettered sign reading Honeywick Phones & Repairs – Est. 1993. Inside, surrounded by shelves of phone cases and tangled charging cables, stood Nora Pembroke, the shop’s owner and only employee. At sixty-two, Nora had run the shop since her husband passed, and while business had slowed in recent years, she took pride in keeping the place tidy and warm.

At half-past three, as the last customer left with a newly mended screen, Nora sighed and flipped the sign to Closed. She was just about to lock up when the door burst open with a gust of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes.

“Mrs Pembroke! Wait!”

It was Charlie Wilkes, the vicar’s son, barely sixteen and red-faced from running.

“My phone—it’s dead, and I need it. Please. It’s urgent.”

Nora blinked. “Urgent? On Christmas Eve?”

He nodded furiously. “I’ve sent a message, but I don’t know if it went through, and now it won’t turn back on. I need to know. Please.”

Intrigued, Nora took the phone. It was an older model, battered and full of fingerprints. She set to work in the back room, humming a carol while she replaced the battery with a spare.

Fifteen minutes later, the screen blinked to life. One new text message.

“Here you are, love,” she said, handing it back.

Charlie’s eyes darted across the screen. His mouth fell open.

“She said yes!” he shouted, startling Nora. “She’s coming! She’s really coming!”

“Who is?” Nora asked, bemused.

“Amelia! She moved to Bath last summer. I told her I’d wait. I asked if she’d come to the carol service tonight, and she said yes!”

He grinned, then impulsively hugged her. “You saved Christmas!”

After he left, Nora chuckled and returned to her tea. She didn’t expect anyone else. But at five past five, the bell chimed again.

It was her daughter, Emma, with her two little boys.

“You’re early!” Nora gasped.

Emma smiled. “Got your message. The one you sent this morning—‘Come if you can. It’s been too long.’ We thought… well, it’s Christmas.”

Nora blinked back tears. She hadn’t realised it had gone through. “I didn’t think you’d see it.”

The boys ran to her, and she knelt to hug them tightly.

Outside, the snow fell thick and silent, blanketing Honeywick in a gentle hush. Inside the phone shop, laughter rang out, warm as a hearth, and the flickering lights in the window danced like stars.

That night, every pew in the church was filled. And as the choir sang O Come All Ye Faithful, Nora caught Charlie’s eye and winked.

A Honeywick Christmas miracle, indeed.

My comments:

The first paragraph is great scene setting.

When Honeywick Phones & Repairs – Est. 1993 began texting was in its infancy, there is a great BBC news article about this, which includes the date of 3rd December 1992 as the first text message sent. I could make this story longer by blending fiction and reality and adding some information about this.

“surrounded by shelves of phone cases and tangled charging cables, stood Nora Pembroke, the shop’s owner and only employee.”

It’s quite impractical a shop having only one employee but does explain why the charging cables are tangled. Nora simply doesn’t have the time to untangle them.

She hadn’t realised it had gone through.

The above refers to a text message that Nora, a woman who has worked in a phone shop since 1993, sent to her daughter. It seems unlikely that Nora would use an unreliable phone or mobile provider. However, it’s not possible to know that an SMS message has been delivered and signal in the Cotswolds can be patchy.

It’s always Christmas Eve in Honeywick.

That night, every pew in the church was filled.

Church attendance does go up at Christmas, I took a quick look at some attendance figures for Stow on the Wold.

And now my favourite bit, generating the book cover. It occured to me that maybe I don’t need to describe the cover, maybe I can just continue the dialogue with ChatGPT so I tried this.

The first thing I notice about this image is that the people in it are making odd expressions with their faces. They look a bit like Tony Blair smiling on a Christmas card. The second thing I notice is that the phone shop was established in 1903 which is inconsistent with the date in the story.

I decided to be polite and thank ChatGPT. It has written four stories and designed four covers for me.