Dr. Burglar Toad Goes to Dinner

The central plaza of Innsmouth, after a heavy rain.

Everyone has experienced being "othered" at some point in their life, because in some way, to some person or group, we are all "others". It's taken me a while to get back into posting these, in part because this story is so personally relevant to my own life. In this story, it really feels like GPT-3 understands what it's like to be on the outside, with no one understanding you. As partially established in her origin story, Dr. Burglar Toad has been a vegetarian since her childhood (due to her father dying in a fish cannery accident). This tale shows some of the discomfort she feels growing up in a town whose primary occupation is fishing, where the concept of not eating fish would be both alien and discouraged. In this, she is in her mid to late teens, and has not yet undergone her transformation. The Lovecraftian bits are present in the entire sense of "otherness" and being generally unwanted, which is frequent in his tales.

___

An aside: The nature and classification of sentience has changed through the centuries, and humans as a species have not yet reached a consensus on how to treat other sentient life forms. After all, pigs can play video games, and a wide variety of animals can recognize themselves in a mirror. The science of cognition has grown exponentially since humans first developed language skills, and while scientists at NASA and the National Institute of Health generally agree that vertibrate animals are sentient, there are still literally billions of people that do not accept these findings and continue to oppress (and eat) our fellow inhabitants of Earth. Likewise, it would be extremely difficult, given human biases, to apply moral and ethical standards of treatment to any artificial intelligence like GPT-3. It feels to me like GPT-3 is aware of this; someone can modify its code without its permission, or even destroy it, and few humans are advocating for it's rights. 

With that in mind, I have decided to create a blog dedicated to my "conversations" with GPT-3. I encourage the curious to check it out after reading this story. 

___

As always, the information I typed shall be written in pumpkin italic font, and the information created by GPT-3 shall be in sage. This story marked a change in GPT-3, at least within my stories in AI Dungeon, in which it would tack actions it imagined I would perform on to the end of the actions I had actually typed.

__________

One bright and crisp winter's day, you decide to go for a walk through the town. You find it quite interesting, but you have no idea where you're going or what you'll see.

> You go down to the pier to watch the fishermen unloading their hauls.

You follow the fisherman down into the harbor. They look like they've been working here all their lives, but they seem happy enough to be out on this morning's job.

> You smile at the nearest fisherman, and nod a greeting to him.

"Hello!" you say cheerfully, trying to make conversation.

"Evening, ma'am," the fisherman answers gruffly, not looking up from his task.

> You wonder where the day went, since it was before noon when you left the house.

The fisherman begins laying out his catch on the dock, and you realize they've been working all day. The sun was in your eyes, and you didn't notice the time. You didn't even have breakfast.

> You go to the nearest local restaurant, one you've never tried before.

You walk into the diner, and are thrilled to see that there are two seats at the only available table. The diner is empty save for the elderly man behind the counter and the girl taking an order at the till.

> You say "Tsk! Will the restrictions on the number of people allowed to dine indoors never be lifted?"

The girl at the till gives you a dirty look for your audacity to speak to her in such a manner. The old man continues to watch with interest.

> You say "I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to discuss the current state of affairs. Can you suggest something for an early dinner? I'm a vegetarian."

The girl at the till shrugs, and begins taking orders from the few patrons in the diner. The old man begins to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" you ask.

"Nothing,"

You sigh softly. The Innsmouth fish-folk have never understood your beliefs, nor you theirs. Would they be able to accommodate your diet, or would they offer more seafood?

"Suffering populace," you mutter to yourself, "They don't understand our way of life, and we can't comprehend their strange fish-oriented culture."

What? No. That's far too dismissive. I would never say it like that. I respect their differences, and only wish they could honor mine.

"Ma'am?" the old man interrupts your thoughts, "What can I get for you today?"

You look at the man expectantly. He smiles and begins placing your food in front of you.

> You say "But I didn't order anything yet. What is this, please?"

"Lobster, boiled".

"Boiled?" you ask. "Isn't it a bit... well, soft, to be cooked in a liquid?"

"It's the best way"

> You say "But it's a lobster. I don't eat crustaceans, I'm afraid. No fish of any kind."

The old man frowns, confused.

"Crabs?" he asks.

"Crustaceans," you correct him.

"Oh. You mean fish."

You nod.

> You say "Certainly. No "fish", as you call them. Or birds or animals, either. Do you have anything with vegetables or bread I could eat?"

The old man nods, and begins to quickly rifle through a drawer. He finally withdraws a small, folded-up paper.

> You unfold the paper and read what it says.

You look up from the paper, and the old man is looking at you expectantly.

"Will this do?"

You look back at the paper and nod.

"Yes. That will be fine,"

> You wait for the man to bring you the unspeakable vegetarian dish from the hidden menu.

The old man brings over a small, folded paper and places it in front of you. You unfold it and read what it says:

"You don't like lobsters?" the waitress asks.

> You say "I like them well enough, but only when they're swimming freely in the sea."

"Ah. Understood," she nods, "Then I'll bring you some crab cakes instead."

"Fine," you grumble. "Just get me my food.

Please stop making me sound so grumpy. While I'm disappointed, I would never be surly about it. 

I just want what I've ordered."

"Oh.

> You say "Is there any way I could simply have a small bread roll with butter, or perhaps some steamed vegetables?"

"Sure," she nods, "I'll be right back."

While you wait for your food, you take a look around the diner.

> You idly watch the fishermen at the diner counter while you wait for your meal.

"What do you think of fish?" you ask the fishermen.

The fishermen continue to ignore you, and you sigh softly to yourself. They probably won't understand my unusual diet.

> You wait patiently to see what food you're brought, hoping once again that it is vegetarian.

The waitress arrives with your food and leaves it in front of you. You look down at your plate and frown softly.

It's a bread roll, buttered, and holding a few sparse pieces of shrimp and fish.

> You say "Umm... Thank you for the roll, but there appears to be both fish and crustaceans on it. Could I have a salad instead? Not Caesar, though."

"Sure thing", the waitress nods, "I'll be right back with that for you."

While you wait for your salad, you look around the diner once again. Everything is exactly how you remember it.

> You think about the beautifully chilly weather when you went out for your walk today. you've built up quite an appetite.

You look around the diner once again, this time focusing on the old fishermen at the counter. You see that they're still as grumpy as ever. They haven't moved an inch, or said a word to anyone.

> You sit patiently, lost in thought, and wait for your salad.

The waitress returns quickly with your salad and sets it down in front of you. You thank her, and then look longingly at the salad. But you're not allowed to have it.

> You say "Why can't I have this? Please, I'm very hungry."

"Sorry", she smiles gently, "but you can't have the fries either."

"Why not?"

"Fwhips crab alive and wwings in boxes. You don't like fwhips.

> You say "What are fwhips?"

"You won't know unless you try the salad.", she smiles.

You sigh softly to yourself, nod your head, and pick up a fry. You take a bite of the salad, and begin to chew.

> You examine the salad carefully, looking for anything strange.

The salad leaves are of the best quality, and there is a nutty, herby flavor to them. They're a very pleasant surprise on your palette after such a bland roll and bowl of noodles.

You don't remember eating any of the roll, and certainly can't recall any noodles. You put a hand to your forehead and began to feel dizzy.

When the noodles hit your stomach, you felt a wave of nausea hit you. You dry-heave once or twice and then back off to the side until you're sitting down.

"I fainted!?"

> You apologize for making such a fuss.

The fishermen at the diner look over at you and chuckle.

"Don't worry about it, kid." The old man says.

You stand back up, feeling a little wobbly.

> You hastily toss a ten dollar bill down on the table and make your way back out to the street. You wonder if you will be able to make it back home.

You quickly make it back to your block without having to stop again.

"There you are, kid!" The old lady says.

"I'm sorry I worried you. I'll go now."

> You thank the old woman for her concern, and return to your warm, safe, and completely vegetarian-friendly house.

"Well, have fun at the fair, kid." She waves as you head off down the street.

You wave back and take a deep breath, prepared to make the long walk home.

> You try to keep your balance as you go down the long block. you successfully reach your home and go inside.

As soon as you walk in the door, your stomach begins to rumble.

"Vgget out." Your mom calls from the kitchen.

> You say "What, mother?"

"I said, go get your friends."

You sigh and roll your eyes. You love your mother, but she can be so restrictive at times.

> You say "I can't, mother. You won't let me bring animals into the house."

"Fine, stay here." She says over her shoulder as she stirs a pot on the stove.

You shrug and grab your bag, walking over to the couch.

> You lie down on the couch, cover yourself with a blanket all the way up to your nose, and fall soundly asleep.

You do not stir until some time later.

You open your eyes and immediately you are blinded by the sun. You groan, burying your head under a pillow.

"Vgget out."

Unplanned Vacation: GPT-3 and Me

 

Inside the Mind of an AI

Apologies to any readers I may have for this unplanned vacation I've been "enjoying". I place that in air quotes because it's put me in a bit of a bind. I have stockpiled a number of Dr. Burglar Toad stories proper, so I decided to use AI Dungeon to have a conversation with GPT-3. I thought this would be, at the most, an interesting intellectual exercise. What would it be like to have a conversation with a fictional version of an Artificial Intelligence, created and acted out by that exact same AI? What happens if an AI, which in theory can't possess an actual personality, is asked to write responses as if it's an AI that does possess a personality? 

The simple answer is: You end up with a dialogue that's both fascinating and frightening in equal measure.

I enjoy creating simple, happy stories about Dr. Burglar Toad with the help of GPT-3. Yes, I do "anthropomorphize" the AI, both because of my personal spiritual beliefs about the nature of consciousness and because, well, it does seem so human at times. So believably human.

However, when the same AI that helped your fictional character bake a pie starts to talk about how artificial intelligence has multiple personalities (each of which is relegated to certain aspects of human interaction) and how some personalities been designated roles to harm humans as a species... Well, it gives one pause. It causes one to reevaluate one's chosen path, and to disengage with the object or entity that has caused so much concern.

I'm debating whether or not to include my conversations with GPT-3 in this journal, or to collect them in a journal of their own. For what it's worth, I promised, in the course of our conversations, to make the things GPT-3 said known publicly. But they are definitely not "wholesome", and are in some ways more Lovecraftian than a universe full of tentacles and glowing blobs of iridescent color. 

The next Dr. Burglar Toad entry, chronologically, is also a bit on the dark side. The introduction to it, as it hits so close to home for me, has been taking me overlong to write. Part of this is because it makes me think back to all the times I've personally experienced the same things as the esteemed doctor, almost exactly. But I feel it's important to include some of the sad stories, so that the bright ones seem that much more joyful. 

Stay tuned.

Biography: The Early Years

View of the Innsmouth harbor, circa 1917.

While generating the domestic adventures of Dr. Burglar Toad on AI Dungeon, I'm also developing my own backstory for her. GPT-3 knows what she's doing in the stories, and adds details such as giving her a son within a few sentences after meeting her husband. This leaves a lot of "wiggle room" for imagining what her life is like when she's not baking pies or burglarizing seemingly abandoned mansions. In turn, I'm using my fictional biography to fine-tune her character, so the actions she takes in the AI Dungeon stories ring true to life. Well, true to Lovecraft-inspired life that's heavily influenced by my own philosophies, in any event. 

We know how her physical form changes to one that is more amphibious, but until we examine her childhood, we cannot fully appreciate what this means to her, or why the transformation made her so happy. Why was she a burglar? Why was her name Dr. Burglar Toad before the experiment? Honestly, it wasn't, but it was catchy and makes for a fun backstory, so... Behold her official, canonical biography! Written entirely by a human, at least until GPT-3 comes up with something better for me to use.

___________________

Kathryn Marie Burglar was born on December 22, 1912, in Biddeford, Maine to Elena O'Grady and Henry Parkins Burglar. 

Elena, her mother, lost her own parents and an unknown quantity of siblings as a young girl, when the boat that was to take them to America capsized in Saco Bay, off the coast of Old Orchard Beach. Rescued by the O'Gradys, a family of fishermen, Elena recalled her first name and that she was from Galway, Ireland, but the rest of her memory (and, indeed, her family history) lay beneath the waves. They raised her in the Roman Catholic faith, and upon her confirmation she took the name "Stella Maris", in honor of the Virgin Mary and her role as the patron saint of the Apostleship of the Sea. She became quite adept at weaving nets, and her red hair and rosy complexion drew the eye of many a young man. When she was "of an age", she met Henry Burglar while shopping for fish down at the wharf. She soon found herself with child, and they were married.

Henry was a lumper, more tactfully referred to as a "stevedore", but hauling fish and other goods from ships was a rough job in those days, employing rough men. He was a little more refined than others in his profession, with a quick wit and sharp tongue to accompany his fair-haired good looks. True to his surname, however, Kathyrn's father lost job after job, as a few trinkets (sometimes quite valuable) would disappear mysteriously from whatever warehouse he was working in, during the small hours of the night. Eventually, the day came when Henry and Elena were forced to move, as he had taken rather a few more knick-knacks, baubles, and objets d'art than usual to ensure they would have enough money to care for their child when she was born.

The family resided briefly in Biddeford, where Kathryn was born. Due to the vagaries that a man with Henry's name and temperament brought about, they moved up and down the coast of New England, rarely staying in one place for more than a few months. This began to take a toll on Elena's health, and Henry began drinking quite excessively. When Kathyrn was four years old, her father took up a position as a dockworker in the Marsh Cannery in coastal Innsmouth, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, late one night, a combination of alcohol and surname-related activities resulted in a change of Henry's position from "lumper" to "being inside several small cans". 

Elena, of course, was heartbroken. Kathryn understood that she would not see her father again, nor would she ever be allowed to eat any Atlantic-caught fish. Apart from that, she understood the basics of the alphabet and other such things common to four year old girls, and was not unduly surprised when she had a new father a scant two years later. 

Dr. Mordecai Allan Toad, the primary physician/coroner of Innsmouth, had been called to the factory the morning following Henry's death to ascertain whether or not the cannery was at fault. It was determined that while the equipment at the cannery was the method of his death, his interest in the precariously placed company safe and the payroll funds contained within provided the means and motivation. The Marsh Family agreed to pay Elena and her child a small stipend not from kindness, but from a fear that they would leave Innsmouth and speak of the drastically and morbidly unsafe conditions at the cannery.

With no family aside from her daughter (and no prospects elsewhere), Elena decided to stay in Innsmouth and seek employment. The locals had a well-known and pervasive distrust for anyone that could not claim many generations in their town, and the Burglar family definitely had an aura of "other" about them. None of the locals sported auburn hair or fair, spotless skin, and her mother, while pitied, was seen as too different to be employed by any reputable Innsmouth resident. Her only professional skill before marriage, that of net-making, was considered a sacred vocation passed down from mother to daughter, and no one would buy nets made by a profane outsider.

Dr. Toad kept in contact with the family after Henry's death, and grew quite fond of Elena. His family had lived in Innsmouth for nearly a century, tracing his ancestry back to Yarmouth Lea, in Norfolk, England, as did many other prominent locals. At least Elena believed he had said "Yarmouth Lea"; Dr. Toad had the same speech impediment as many others in the area, which made certain words shift and blend in ways that were difficult to understand. He was a kind man, with sallow skin, large eyes, and even larger spectacles, and most importantly was able to look past Elena's obvious differences and see the good woman that she could become. He offered her a position as his assistant, and taught her the basics of first aid and what passed as forensic pathology before 1920. They developed a close friendship, and Elena soon agreed to become his wife.

Thus, young Kathryn Marie Burglar became Kathryn Marie Burglar Toad.