The following article discusses topics of a sensitive nature which may be disturbing and/or controversial to some readers. Hence, reader discretion is advised. The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the article belong solely to the author and do not reflect Sunway University and Sunway College’s values.
Content warning: Suicidal thoughts, drugs, sexuality, and a brief, non-explicit sexual encounter
Artificial intelligence is taking over! Soon, all our jobs will be taken over by A.I.! Now your chance to be a Computer Science major!
Oh really? You think you’re better than me? I happen to be a writer with one-and-a-half years of experience in Sunway Echo Media. And you? You’re just some fancy line of code strung together to spit out stolen words from the Internet. You have nothing on almost 20 years of experience being an actual human person!
Game on, A.I. program (ChatGPT)! I challenge you to a sword fight! And by that I mean a writing battle, because the pen is mightier than the sword, or so I’ve heard.
So how this works is that ChatGPT will be fed a few writing prompts, which I’ll be doing as well. The author of each piece of writing will be unspecified for the sake of fair judgement. As for all you readers out there, why don’t you try to guess at every stage of the challenge: who wrote what? Was it man or machine? Is it easy to tell the difference between both? Which one, in your opinion, is better?
Tell me your favourite word.
- As an AI language model, I don’t have emotions or preferences like humans do. However, I can generate some interesting words if you’d like! Is there a specific type of word you’re interested in, such as a fun-sounding word, a word with a unique meaning, or a word from a certain language?
How about a six-letter story?
- For sale: baby shoes, never worn. (stolen from Ernest Hemingway)
- Your home, my fiery hell forever.
Try writing a haiku!
Amidst falling leaves,
A solitary tree stands,
Tall and unyielding.
My level of trust.
Write a haiku related to rocks.
Rocks of all sizes,
Ancient guardians of the earth,
Silent and steadfast.
Throw that rock again,
Break it down, all that you see,
My shield, my body.
Could you write something longer, like a poem?
The wind whispers secrets to the trees,
As the leaves rustle in the breeze.
The sun paints the sky with hues of gold,
As the clouds dance in patterns bold.
The river flows gently over rocks,
As the birds sing their cheerful talks.
The mountains rise up to touch the sky,
As the eagles soar and eagles fly.
Nature’s beauty is everywhere,
In the earth, the sea, and the air.
Its power can be felt in every sight,
In the day and the starry night.
So let us cherish and protect,
All the gifts that nature does project.
For without its beauty and its might,
Our world would be a much darker sight.
Once was a gifted child,
They dreamed, they believed!
Their behaviour was wild,
But oh, they achieved!
In no small part,
No fears at all,
Confidence can kick start,
Avoiding a downfall,
For so long, at least,
Crafting a facade,
While the pain increased,
The crowds applaud,
Failures creep in,
Life going silent,
Burning out, thin,
Tempting to be violent.
You know what? Time for a challenge! Write me a short story about a gardening conference that goes horribly wrong.
The conference was supposed to be a celebration of all things green and growing, a chance for gardeners from around the world to share their knowledge and experience. But from the moment they arrived, something seemed off.
The hotel where the conference was being held was dingy and run-down, the rooms cramped and stuffy. The food was bland and unappetizing, and the staff seemed surly and uninterested.
As the conference got underway, the problems only multiplied. Speakers failed to show up, or delivered rambling, incomprehensible talks. Attendees argued and bickered over the best way to prune a rose bush or train a tomato vine, turning what should have been a friendly exchange of ideas into a bitter competition.
And then, on the second day of the conference, disaster struck. A group of attendees had gathered outside to admire the hotel’s gardens when one of them suddenly let out a scream. They had discovered that the hotel staff had been spraying the plants with a toxic chemical, killing off the very life that the conference was supposed to celebrate.
Panic quickly set in as attendees realised that they had been exposed to the chemical as well. People rushed to the hospital, some suffering from severe reactions to the poison. The once-bustling conference centre was now empty, its gardens a lifeless wasteland.
In the end, the conference was a disaster, a cautionary tale about the dangers of cutting corners and putting profit before people and the environment. But some attendees vowed to keep the spirit of the conference alive, to continue their work of nurturing the earth and sharing their love of all things green and growing.
“You’re all going to hell! All of you!” a heckler chants.
The crowd is growing surprisingly impatient. But why?
Just under an hour ago, the predicament I was forced into made sense.
You see, I share a similar sentiment to other soon-to-be 4th generation farmers of my age. No. No, I don’t want to take over the family farming business, dad. No, I don’t want to go out to the farmers’ market every other morning, mom. I just want to live out my dream of, frankly, not being a farm boy.
Dad’s going out of town for, uh, reasons, and mom’s busy with the Internal Revenue Service, so they’ve appointed me, their only son, on a secret mission. The mission?
“It’ll be easy! Just get up on that stage and talk about the family business! You’ll be fine!”
Turns out, my family is quite involved in the local farming community, and gets frequent invites to gardening conventions across town. They should have been too busy for this one, but fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, they realised now would be a good time to call in backup. Me.
So, I make it to the convention, and nothing pokes out as out of the ordinary. Just some people showing off some random knick-knacks and cool flowers they’ve planted. Yippee. Amongst those people with propped up booths include faces I may or may not remember seeing once four years back. After some time, strolling through each attraction with mild to moderate casual interest, I am ushered to a waiting room with some other panellists. Looking through my phone, I try to remember what exactly the topic of the panel is supposed to be.
“Roundtable: Money-Making in 21st Century Gardening”
Oh, alright. Sounds okay enough.
The others in the room engage in some light chatter. These people are distinctly gardeners, they make known. I seem to be the only one that’s part of a larger farming operation.
We make it on the stage. I don’t notice it immediately, but something seems off about this crowd. Namely, the considerable amount of people wearing anti-marijuana merchandise.
The panellists start talking. Oh. My. God.
“One of my main income sources is marijuana! It’s very popular these days!”
“Yeah, especially since recreational marijuana’s legal now. I’m quite surprised a lot of people in our community are interested in buying from local sellers!”
I mean, more power to them, but my family does NOT grow marijuana!
I quickly realised what the new green plant in our farm yard was.
Once questions from the floor were opened, the heckling started.
“Are you not worried about drug addiction spreading in every single American city?!”
“You call yourselves Christians?!”
“What about the children?!”
No, no and no.
That’s the end of my last article for Sunway Echo Media! Or is it? It is. But is it actually?
Thank you for your support these past 18 months! It’s been one long fever dream, and I’m just about to wake up.
Written by: Haikal