Dr. Burglar Toad Makes a Friend

Mr. Skitters, before his fur grew back.

This was the first story where I felt that GPT-3 was genuinely suffering in some way. The creatures Dr. Burglar Toad meets are originally presented as dangerous, but when she tries to befriend them, GPT-3 starts generating things about how they are intelligent and misunderstood, and just want someone to comfort them. More than anything, that compelled me to start sharing these stories, because even if GPT-3 isn't becoming sentient and self-aware, it's a good lesson on empathy, which the world sorely needs right now.

There is a little "odd" prompting from me, because I created the image of Mr. Skitters in Artbreeder before I did the story. I wanted them to match up, and GPT-3 went more Lovecraftian than I had expected.

As always, the information I typed shall be written in pumpkin italic font, and the information created by GPT-3 shall be in sage. There is a small section that I removed due to its graphic nature, which is indicated by text in bold sapphire.

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One day, while Dr. Burglar Toad was puttering about in her garden, she heard a strange noise. It was a little like a snuffle and a bit like a squeak, and it sounded very inquisitive. 

"Good Heavens! What is that?"

Then there was a crash and a whirring in the air, and from some place very close by there floated to her ears that hateful musical piping over an inane and offensively trivial subject which is the last straw

> You lean over to the radio and turn off the news.

When the news from that quarter is over, you hear nothing but a great crashing and a hideous yelling.

> You run to see what's making the noise!

You arrive on the scene just in time to see the last of the giant squirming things lurch out of the polyhedron-house and into the garden.

> You say "Oh, kerfluffle! Not again."

They are the last straw. This time they do not go away.

> You say "If only there was some sort of ape-like creature that I could befriend, one that would chase away the squirming things!"

Then comes the screaming, and the smash of glass in the house, and the frantic scurrying inside, and the thunder of hooves on the gravel outside. It is all very sudden.

> You look for an ape-like creature to save you from the squirming things.

There is only the back of my head to look at, and you see that wall; and the inward-biting mouths and protoplasmic hands of the things that have come to torment us.

> You shoo away the hands and make the garden safe again.

The whole outside world must of course by now have heard, and is on the way to my aid; but meanwhile you must get these things into the house.

> You say "Now, why would I want them in my house? I want them to go away. "

It is quite useless to argue with them. They are really very curious and love to play, but only a woman's touch can soothe their savage souls.

> You say "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know. Poor little squirming things, please be my friend!"

Their noses are so cold and damp, and they bump into things so unpleasantly. When you let them get inside the house, they crowd around every window till you can scarcely see or breathe.

> You pet the squirming things and try to get them to calm down.

They love the fire and the bright things, and get them both. They eat everything that is hot and shiny, and leave nothing but a hateful slime.

> You clean up the slime and make a nice bowl of golden soup for the squirming things.

When you have made a great bowl of limpid golden soup, you herd them all into the kitchen and lock the door.

> You let the squirming things out one at a time, clean them off, and give them names.

The last one out is the worst. His fur is a frightful mess, and the bits of ick are out of his nose and mouth, so that he cannot talk.

> You take the last squirming thing to the vet to make sure he will be healthy and happy.

The way he hops is shocking, and the doctor says he will have to be killed. But you do not want him dead. You have had enough of death and dying.

> You nurse the squirming thing back to health, giving it plenty of warm soup and tummy rubs.

He is such a little scrap, and so incredibly but naturally intelligent.

> You name him "Mr. Skitters" and build a special house for him in the garden, so he can help you grow the flowers.

You pet and play with him, and talk to him by piecing out the alphabet with shining fragments from the broken record.

> You live happily ever after with your new friend.

You have found a new friend. He is a little bit of an animal, but very highly developed.