Dr. Burglar Toad Bakes a Pie

Artbreeder is not good at baking pies.

This was an attempt to create a recipe using AI Dungeon. I'd seen other people online generate bizarre grocery lists using GPT-3, and thought it seemed like a fun idea to collaborate on a dish with something that doesn't have the ability to eat. In this case, GPT-3 seemed to be in a good mood and thought food was something that can be used to make people happy. It's not wrong!

As always, the information I typed shall be written in pumpkin italic font, and the information created by GPT-3 shall be in sage. 

____________

You are a giant humanoid toad with a medical degree. You plan on baking a pie for your family this evening, and need to go to the grocery store to buy ingredients. But we're in the middle of a coronavirus lock-down, and your mask doesn't fit your toad face properly. You get out of your car and try to walk through the crowds, but they won't even glance at you. None of them will even look at your shoes or clothing, or pay any attention to any strange things in your pockets or on your person.

> You enter the grocery store and start looking for flour.

You have to hire a boy to help carry some heavy sacks, while the smell of your unwieldy flesh gets on everybody's nerves.

> You say "Sorry, everyone. Sorry."

It is just as well that you enter no house. The shopkeepers turn away from you, and the boys run away screaming.

> You sigh.

So at last you hire a room in a boarding house on Federal Hill, and set some space between yourself and the clammy, malodorous poison-fountain in the courtyard.

> You say "Oh! I forgot the butter and sugar!"

It is very handy to have a room to yourself—but then, most of the boarders are out during the day, and you can hear them snoring when you are all alone.

Dr.

> You return to the grocery store to buy butter, sugar, and some apples for the pie filling.

You buy your supplies and carry them home, and while you are there you let the water out of that horrible sink in the cellar.

> You say "Good! Now I can use that sink again."

By the time everything is in order you are truly glad that you are not a toad. You have a real drug store in your room, and all sorts of queer paraphernalia.

> You remember that you are, in fact, at least part toad.

The things you bought are not needed for the pie-making—for you have a wholesome and normal family, made of flesh instead of of toad-flesh.

> You start making the pie crust.

But then comes the day of the party at the Lefferts. You are so excited, so proud to give that rare and wonderful thing a home, that you make the most of everything you have.

> You say "My pie really is rare and wonderful!"

When at last you bring it home and give it to the children you are almost afraid of their judging, so full of are they. But they eat it all, and even the smallest boy likes it very much.

> You say "Thank you, smallest boy, for enjoying my pie."

Yes, indeed, it is very wonderful to have a child—and then to have two more. But do not dare say that they are not yours.

> You realize you have leftover ingredients, and forgot to make the pie filling. You bake another apple pie.

You have the extra apples from the tree in the front yard, and use them to make a second pie. You hope the neighbors do not mind the smell of burning flesh and heterogeneous bubbling.

> You bring the pie over to the neighbors, and hand it to them, smiling proudly.

They do not mind at all, and praise you heartily for having the right kind of pie.

> You say "It's a pleasure to bake for you! I'm glad you enjoyed it."

The party was a great success—the children were all so clever and pretty—and the boy who came for the pie was quite frankly lost without it.

> You pat the boy on the head, promise to bake him his very own pie, and return home.

You gave him a very pleasant time, and when he has gone you dance and sing till you are half-choked.

> You go to bed, thinking about the wonderful day you had and all those delicious pies.

You sleep well—but in the morning you feel very queer. You do not know whether you will ever be the same again.