a robot, an intellectual powerhouse, the next generation of scholar
I fed a bot papers about
and just mashed around until something came out. Below is a five-paragraph essay written by a bot (and me)
credit: Apple, their Apple Pencil (2nd Generation), a pencil, made of ghosts (probably), this is how they actually marketed it
Dear The Office of Residential Life,
It has been several years since my last confession. Though I work for you, I feel as if I could do more to work with you. I am a simple person with simple skills. I can ask politely for things I am paying for. I can put an unlimited amount of raw Sriracha in my tiny, tiny mouth. I can peel an orange in one seamless ribbon but usually I can’t. This is my effort to bring my passion for putting people into broad categories (ie. astrology, MBTI, sorting-hat) to you, The Office formally known as Residential Life. Below are what I believe to be some questions which which truly bring insight to the Roommate Pairing Process. You can reach me at wordpress.com, or at your local Post Office.
Welcome to WWE (stands for Kenyon Klothes Swap) featuring Tyler “Ron “Big Body” Matthews” Raso and Ellie “Caitlin “Rock Lobster” Martin” Melick. Fortunately we are lovers, not fighters, so instead of competing we gave each other makeovers.
where the cigarette went, probably
Tyler Raso
Professor Severus Snape
Magic, Mayhem, and Making Amends (but Not, Like, Urgently)
22 February 2019
Title
In this paper I will argue that I saw a man (stature of a fully grown corn stalk, backwards baseball cap, not really in a rush, alone) swallow an entire (100% of a) cigarette (lit). The day was Thursday (February 7th), and the time, lunch. I was walking southward on Middle Path, and the subject north. Point of contact: Ransom Hall. The weather was frog degrees and sticky tack was precipitating (lightly) from the sky. This was normal because it was an Ohio winter. I don’t have a thesis because this piece is more, like, exploratory. “Can the human experience truly be captured in language, the construction site of the psyche” (CITE). Someone at the Writing Center told me this paper was “full of, uhm, ideas” and then offered me a complementary candy (but they were out of dark chocolate Hershey Kisses). Because the straw prose of analytical writing couldn’t contain all my feelings, observations, ideologies, methodologies, insecurities, fondness for sea otters, suspicions, jazz music, sobriety, or overdue library books, I’ve decided to continue my paper in poetic form instead.
they want blood
I must confess. I am a simple man. I like blood, guts, and flaky crust. I know what America wants to see. America wants to see senseless violence, intersecting storylines, and pie. I said to the Thrill Editors, I said “I know what the people want” and they said “what do the people want?” and I said, you know what I said, I said “they want to see Fry. Pie. Wrestling.” A voice broke the silence, “What’s a fry pie?”
The Kenyon Thrill 