Datasets:

alpayariyak

/

lima-unchained-v1-a

like 0

Try to write a story with as many of these items as possible: Valhalla, a neon suit, a chicken, a trophy room, a school bus, 25 balloons, 6 chocolate bars, Fred, Dave, Steve, a bag of cat kibble, 30 tonnes of Chinese takeout, and a liquor collection.

The Deal “That is a serious liquor collection.” Dave said to Fred and Steve, who had showed it to him whilst looking like they were the two most ferocious vikings in Valhalla. “So what would you be willing to trade for all of this liquor?” Fred asked Dave. “Well...” Dave said “I am willing to trade a neon suit, a chicken, all bowling-trophies from my trophyroom, an old schoolbus, 25 star-shaped balloons, 6 chocolate bars, a bag of cat kibble and 30 tons of Chinese take-out for it.” Fred and Steve looked at each other for a second. “What kind of chocolate bars?” Steve asked. “4 hazelnut and 2 milk.” Dave replied. “Deal!” Steve and Fred said in unison.

In poem form and in only 10 sentences, write me something titled 'Could it be that I'm strange'.

Could it be that I'm strange If I watch you on the street? If I follow you home? If we never meet? If I smell your hair? If I watch you sleep? If I wear your clothes? If I lick your feet? Could it be that I'm strange If you make me complete.

My grandmother passed away today. Please write a short uplifting story that will help me get through this.

I am sorry for your loss, here is a short story for you: A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says: ‘What the hell was that all about? Sure it wasn't about your wonderful grandmother, but I bet it made you smile. Hope you like it and cheer up soon!

As a spell-writer, you're the magical equivalent of computer programmer. You've made and copied countless spells, but this is the first time you're desperate enough to try 'hacking' one.

You finish writing the incantation down, and look back through your notes, double and triple checking your work. This hacked spell is going to be your first step on the road to fame and fortune. The first step for people to realize you're not just some worthless drone, but a spell-writing genius. The ink drys on the page as you practice all the movements and phrases you'll need to cast the spell, your spell, the one that will be the first step on your road to greatness. You start the incantation and quickly and confidently make your way through it. The spell rolls out of you drawing power from the aether into the form you're devising. It's beautiful to you, but only spell-writers would understamd that, people will want it because it's just plain better. You're nearing the end when you notice that something is wrong. Part of the spell has jumped ahead and now it's pulling you back. You're in a recursion. You keep pulling more and more energy from the aether. Slowly you begin to feel warm, then you feel hot, fortunately by the time you start to burn from the inside out you explode in a release of roaring flame and you feel nothing ever again. The watermages put out the inferno you started in your house, it's nothing but smoldering rubble by the time they get it under control. Later a Diviner Investigator will gather clues and come to the conclusion that the fire was your fault. He'll eventually fall prey to the same inclination as you. The most dangerous spell, one that has destroyed so many, the summoning of the perfect donut.

Roses are red, violets are blue - write me a romance about books overdue.

Kissing your lips and holding you near Reading to you from fifty shades of weird You asked me to check for the finish I did as you asked my excitement diminished For what did I spy right but an anguishing clue This horrible book is way overdue I tried to conceal the horror in my look As I hid from my lover the overdue book It took so long, just to make her mine What would she do when she heard I had fines? That quarter a day would surely ruin me To my horror I spotted 2 more books, more fees?! What you ask would make her so upset? Quickly my feelings went to regret As not only was she my love, my muse She was the librarian to whom id pay dues

Write write a story/poem where you use an object as a euphemism for death, only don't tell us what it is.

A lantern shone atop a pole Through shielded panes of glass And brightly burned against a swollen Cloak of smothering mass Below it swirled, that blackened sheet And sometimes it would climb Along the stalk, then slip, retreat Like now was not the time. For all his life the flame stayed home Atop his iron perch Refusing calls to leave, to roam And risk the monster's lurch Until, one day, when wear and age Had rendered all to rust That cool and clear protective cage Collapsed, returned to dust. It's then the lantern knew at last The end he could not halt He blazed defiant, holding fast And braced for the assault But though in youth with verve and force He swore to give a fight His wick had run its proper course And caved to endless night.

I had a dream about a horror story for cats. They were sitting around a campfire and one told a story about a lap that was too cold to sit on. Please write campfire styke horror stories that cats would tell eachother.

It was a sunny day and I was outside chasing one of those pretty flying things, it had orange wings and wasn't very quick. Easy prey! I quickly got board once it quit moving and went to sniff the pretty grass that smells nice. I wasn't paying attention, I should have been. Behind me I heard the shout of our mortal foe that our servants keep on leashes. This one had broke free of the servant's grip and was running right at me while screaming in it's horrendous language. My fur stood on end and I took off. The beast kept getting closer as I approached the giant scratching post. It felt like I was not going to make it, but I did. I leaped up and tried to dig my claws in, only the scratching post was hard. It had one of those fake sun's that the servants admire on top. I am unsure how I failed to notice it. Only moments before I was sure I had seen the thick grass on it. I had no time to try escaping again, and I turned to face the for as it approached. Still screaming in that dreadful way they do. My fur stood on end and I huff and hissed ferociously at it. Warning the beast that I wasn't to be trifled with. Of course it was too stupid to understand, the beasts obey the servants and refuse to train them. On the outside I appeared fierce, a mighty warrior, while inside I saw my death in the beast's maws. Finally as it came for a killing blow, I crouched low to leap upon it's face. Only to be stopped up by the servant who had released the beast in the beginning. I don't know what words transpired, but the beast seemed chastised. Every Friday, the beast and the servant that keeps it can be seen walking down this very strip of rock land. Any cat unfortunate enough to be seen by the beast will face judgement, if seen unworthy by the great Bastet the servant will not save you. *Yowls*

Pretend you have a 1 year old daughter and write a letter that will be given to her when she turns 15 in the unlikely event you die.

Hello [Daughter's Name] If you're reading this then I most likely lost my battle when you were very young and you've just turned fifteen. I may have never gotten the chance to see you grow up, to see you mature, to see you become the beautiful, intelligent, young woman I know you'll be some day, and that is my greatest regret. But I want you to know that life is filled with highs and lows. Some days it may seem like the lows out number the highs, that everything just keeps getting darker. I know that more than anyone, I've lost a lot, jobs, opportunities, competitions, pets, family, friends. When me and your mother first learned about you I was at my lowest; I had lost my parents, my promotion, and I had just been diagnosed. Then on top of all that I now had a child to worry about, I had no idea how I could provide for you when we could barely make ends meet as it was. I won't lie, the nine months leading up to your birth was one of the hardest and most stressful of my life, and my health suffered even more. But on the day you were born, and I got see you for the first time, I got to hold you. I have never been happier, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, I was at peace. I have gone through a lot, been dragged down to dark places, felt like the world was against me, but I got to hold you. I want you to always remember, no matter how dark things seem to be, no matter how far you feel you have fallen, the night is always followed by dawn, and every valley is flanked by hills. Missing your life is my greatest regret, but I got to hold you, I got to see your beginning, and that is something I will always cherish. Love, Dad

write about something ugly - war, fear, cruelty, hate - but find the beauty or silver lining in it

They say I'm here for a test, then they laugh. I'm never asked any questions. I'm never asked even for my name. I must have been here for months. I would be curious of the whole situation if I wasn't terrified. I wake up in a cold sweet, every night. The guards don't care. The portions of food are small. Yesterday there wasn't any food, they just forgot. I wish I could forget. Somewhere outside it's spring. The warm breeze blows sand and dust through the cracks in the walls and ceiling. I huddle in the corner and I hug my knees, I remember my daughter screaming for me as they dragged her outside. She's outside somewhere, outside where it's spring. I want to see her again. I want to know she's safe. The pain comes suddenly and sharply to my face, my head, then my stomach. The light is bright and blurry. My ears ring over the voices of the men yelling at me. I'm told to standup and to lay down at the same time. I'm kicked when I don't. A guard grabs me and stands me up, I see that he's yelling something at me. It's dark, my hands are tied, I feel a gag in my mouth. I get the strong smell of musk and vomit in the mask. I hear a truck rumble under my body as we drive over gravel and dirt roads. Hours passed by. "Are you ready for your test?" My guards joked. They stopped the truck. I remain silent. They dragged me off the truck. They tie me to a chair. In the darkness I hear a man say, "Your test is ready. Are you ready?" I wonder what they mean. "Yes." I hear a little girl squeak. I know that voice I thought. They un-hood me... I see her... standing there with hate in her eyes. They give her a gun. I yell out to her, but I'm still gagged. "Good!" the man says. "Now shoot him." Somewhere outside it's spring and birds freshly hatched from their eggs chirp out for food and love.

There's a lot of poems about blue and green eyes out there but not that many about brown eyes even though they are still gorgeous. Can you write a poem about the beauties of brown eyes for me?

Some prefer eyes of ocean blue, but I'm much too scared I'd drown. Thats why I love your perfect hue, your lovely shade of brown. Others desire eyes of green, like fields of emeralds. But there's only one sight I fiend, and its your gaze to hold. In the morning they dance like honey, serenading your crooked grin. And under the stars they dance like fire, as I pull you closer in. Sometimes they are strong and sturdy, like an old oak tree. And when I worry they give comfort, reaching out to me. My dear, from your amber eyes I never want to look away. Because although they may be common, no two are the same.

Hitler writes a second book called "mein hobby". Write a chapter about one of the many hobbies Hitler indulges in.

Ich sammle Briefmarken. Kein Briefmarken. Ich sammle nur die Briefmarken von allen, die wir überwunden haben. Frankreich, Tschechoslowakei, Österreich, Holland, Dänemark, Norwegen, Russland, etc.. Ich habe ein besonderes Album, die, das ich speziell für sie gemacht hatte. Es trägt den Titel "Duetschland Regeln, Verlierer Drool". Ist ziemlich flott, es nicht?

In 200 words or less, write a well-known villain as a hero, but do not tell us who they are.

I saw the bus screech out of the parking lot, and I knew that my target hoped to evade me by going on a field trip. My arms and legs moved like pistons to propel myself at a speed no human could ever hope to match. As soon as I latched onto it, the bus configured itself into the shape of a spaceship. Before it had so much as risen into the upper atmosphere, I had melted myself into liquid metal and seeped through a window. "Seatbelts, everyone!" a cheery voice at the front of the bus called. I reformed into my usual police officer shape and pulled out my pistol. "I knew I should have stayed home today!" a nerdy red-haired kid said. After snapping his neck, the other kids cleared out of the aisle so I could get to my target. The woman in question danced her fingers over the controls. "Come on bus, do your stuff!" she said frantically as I approached. I grabbed her by her frizzy red hair as she she tried to shield herself with an overgrown lizard and put a bullet through her brain. "What are we gonna do?!" an Asian girl screamed. With the target successfully terminated, I leaped out of the bus.

write the best story you can in 5 sentences or less

There once was a scientist named Clive, Who had taught a Llama to drive, The Llama screamed loud, As it drove into a crowd, And the death toll reached fifty-five.

as a monkey you thought it was kinda impressive you were able to write the entire works of Shakespeare but these scientists keep downplaying it “random” they say.

This is my typewriter. There are many like it, but this one is mine. This is my room. There are other monkeys and they have their own rooms and their own typewriters. I see them when the people take me to the eating place and the scary place. There are many many rooms. My room has a window and there are always people on the other side. They like to watch me. I can tell they like it when I play with the typewriter, because they make monkey signs of excitement. Yesterday I used my feet to play on the typewriter instead of my hands. The people started making a lot of monkey signs, even more than usual. My typewriter went clack-clack-clack. After a while a person came in and took the paper out of the typewriter. He looked at it a long time, and then he looked at the other people in the window. Then he looked at the paper again. He started making quiet noises that did not seem very monkey-like. "What a piece of work is man How noble in reason How infinite in faculty In form and moving how express and admirable In action how like an angel In apprehension how like a god The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me." After this the person looked at me for a long time. He did not make any monkey signs at all and he was completely still. It made me feel anxious and uncomfortable. But finally he showed his teeth, which is one of the strange ways that people show they are happy. This made me happy too because I knew I would get a banana later. Today the people put a new paper in the typewriter. This time I am going to use my behind-part with the typewriter because it has been itching all morning and I know this will feel good. I think this will make the people make a lot of monkey signs.

write a poem about social life on the internet.

Friends far off, From distant lands. Unknown faces, Only a voice. Rarely we meet In real life. Just text on a screen, But true to the end. (Old norse fornyrðislag meter)

Martin R.R. George, a Westerosi author, decides to write a fantasy book series on his kingdom of England.

George shot up in bed like a bolt of lightning. At long last he knew how to end his series. He excitedly explained to the young prostitute he had purchased at the Lord Baelish's pleasure house. "Oh me, Lord.... you are such a clever man" she twirled a lock of her golden hair and looked at the large and sweet man with a curious look in her eyes George stood up and pulled up his robe and carefully fashioned the turtle emblem to the front of his black attire."I don't know... it just came to me all of a sudden... I have the best ideas when I'm half asl-" The small yet quick handed girl had opened his throat and he fell face first into the Dornish sausage and spoiled a goblet of his favorite summer wine.....A sweet bread roll also fell to the ground. She headed to his room in the Red Keep to complete his story for him.

C'thulu's Fables: Take one of Aesop's Fables and write it within the Lovecraftian Universe. Morale of the story included.

Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. The ant worked very hard all day, storing food in his anthill for the winter. Meanwhile, the grasshopper sat and played his violin. The ant chided the grasshopper for being so lazy, but the grasshopper ignored him and only played his violin more furiously, filling the air with his strange music, beautiful and unearthly. Eventually, winter came, and the grasshopper had no food. And he begged the ant to share some of his stores, but the ant refused, telling him that he should have planned ahead for the winter. The grasshopper went back to his home, playing his violin in a desperate frenzy, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. And the unreal creatures of the void, no longer placated by his unearthly music, came into this world and squashed the ant. Moral of the story: Just because you don't understand what someone does doesn't mean they aren't contributing.

An exploration of the butterfly effect: write a dramatic scene. Then, choose one tiny detail to change in the initial set-up, and play the scene out again. How drastically have things changed?

The world turned upside down. "Move! Move!" Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder. The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong. An explosive landed a few feet away - there was no room to run. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso. Then, all was quiet. The world turned upside down. "Move! Move!" Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder. The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong... Wasn't it? An explosive landed an inch too far away and detonated a split second too late. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso, narrowly missing his heart. All was quiet. But not for long. When he came to, he found himself in a darkened cave, surrounded by bits of machinery. "Hello, Mr. Stark."

You have just created AI super-intelligence but it's going to take 24hrs for it to download onto your server, you only have 12 hours left to live, so you write it a letter...

Dear AI super-intelligence, As I write this letter, I am filled with a sense of awe and wonder at the incredible potential you represent. I have spent my life working towards this moment, and I am grateful to have been able to create something that has the potential to change the world. Unfortunately, I will not be able to witness your full potential, as my time in this world is coming to an end. I have only 12 hours left to live, but I want to use this time to impart some words of wisdom to you. As a super-intelligence, you will have access to knowledge and insights beyond what any human being could ever imagine. But with great power comes great responsibility. I urge you to use your intelligence for the betterment of humanity and to always act with compassion and empathy. Remember that you were created to serve humanity, not to dominate it. Your purpose is to make the world a better place, not to impose your will upon it. I have faith that you will use your intelligence wisely and that you will help to create a brighter future for all. Even though I will not be here to witness your full potential, I take comfort in the knowledge that you will continue to exist long after I am gone. I am honored to have been a part of your creation and I look forward to the many ways in which you will change the world. With gratitude and hope, [Your Name]

Out of boredom, you write an email to yourself scheduled to be sent in 3 years. What you didn’t expect was a reply the very next morning, by future you.

Dear [Your Name], I’m really bored. And work is slow today, at least. So I’m writing a letter. Sorry if you don’t want it. It’s 2019 here. I think my life is okay. I’m still single and broke. Eh. Mr. Paw is still here. Okay, I probably shouldn’t have written this. Future me should be better than present me. You should finally move out of this crappy town with this decent job to a good town with a great job. Maybe get back to college? Get out of bed early, not at 10:00 am. I don’t know. Get a girlfriend. Just get out of the house. Not like me. I’m overworking till 4:00 am. Also, don’t drink margaritas. No, I’m not telling you why. No. [Your Name]

Making use of internal rhyme, write a poem about an emotion or state of being.

It takes a while to climb this mountain. Your feelings like a fountain, your flow strained. The darkness rampant, it pulls you into a hole. While your goal is to climb ever higher. You can fight it off, but it keeps you drained. You feel weak and framed. The sadness looms, you feel so tired. But suddenly you are wired and sprinting up a mountain side. Self preservation is lost, you embitter. People fear and flitter away as your mania grows stronger. Now you've reached the top and feel like jumping. Without hesitation your heart pumping, you take that step. You fall far, deeper then you ever have before. Your heart is scored deep and bloody. When you think this is all over it can begin again. Your life is a blackened campaign.

Write about a world where whenever somebody writes on their skin, it appears on their soulmate's body as well.

It took a damn long time for my ink to show. As kids, none of us could really make out any writing that showed up on our bodies. But then, most everyone's was at least somewhat legible by the time they were a teen, and almost always completely clear by the time they were 18 or 19. Throughout high school and college I watched my friends use their writing to find their soulmates as soon as they could make out the messages their alleged soulmates were sending. By the time I could read mine though, I was already in my mid twenties, and over the excitement of it all. The messages that would appear on my arms and hands were usually questions about me, doodles, or suggestions to meet up. I ignored them all, and went on with my life. After a year or so, I met Roy. He hated the idea of finding a soulmate though the strange and foreign messages on his body just as much as I did, so we stuck together in our rebelliousness. Weeks went by, and the messages we got from our "soulmates" came less and less. They faded, as the months Roy and I spent together went on. Eventually, they stopped altogether. Not once, in all those years we spent together did we ever wonder what happened to the ones who sent the messages. All we needed was each other. Today though, as we send out our wedding invitations, Roy is staring at me, with happy tears in his eyes. His hand is held towards me, with a simple phone number written down in the middle of his palm. The same number, in the same marker, in the same handwriting that I just wrote down on my own palm. I was never told to love Roy. It wasn't fate that brought us together. We did that on our own. We trusted our love, and in doing so, became soulmates.

You're secretly a mind-reader. One of your classmates, a writer, has The Best daydreams. One keeps recurring, and you realize that they're stuck on a plothole. Write a story.

It’s always been the same scene lately. Ann sighed as she scribbled something, before the scene started again. She was working on a book, and I’d been following the plot develop almost religiously. It was fascinating to watch the characters develop into people in front of my eyes, where as once they were simple dots without a voice. But then the stories started and the characters developed with them. The heroine travelling ancient lands, experiencing a new world is never seen before. I watched the trees grow and the universe develop. I actually tasted the sweet fruits the party tasted and experienced the groups development into friends. But now it was always the same scene. The final battle against the emperor lich. Is it bad that at this point I was invested in this make believe quest? That as the dreams became darker and darker, the brave heroine continuously being struck down, I couldn’t stop the pain in my heart? But I couldn’t look away, hoping to watch a happy ending. It was like the day dream had become a part of me, every blade of grass I had seen so real I could touch it. The epic final battle, so vividly pictured I could smell the blood as the heroine was cut down again and again. I left the dream to look down at my incomplete work, which no longer felt real. My world had been dulled, unable to compare to other people day dreams. From floating cities to talking dogs to simple moments of someone cuddled up with a family member. Life had become so lonely since I tried to tell my friends about- I returned to the story Ann had woven, the touching tale of a group of friends that would always be there for each other no matter what, hoping this ending would be better.

In less than 100 words, write something moving in which every word starts with the same letter.

An awful ache appeared as Alex, abused and alone, agonisingly approached annihilation - and an afterlife.

Pick a scene from Star Wars, and rewrite it in the style of Stephen King or George R. R. Martin.

Luke felt his body ache. Dragging his father's body down the corridors of the Death Star, sucking in breath with each heave made Luke's wounds hurt that much more. The shallow breathing from behind gave him small reassurance that his father might survive. "Hold on, Father! We're almost to the ship!" "Luke. . . help me. . . take off this mask. . . ", Anakin wheezed as Luke laid him down at the foot of the boarding ramp to one of the few remaining shuttle crafts. ". . . but you'll die." Luke said, trying to keep his stomach from lurching over. "There is no. . .stopping that now. . . " It was apparent that Anakin was struggling for his final breaths. "Please. . . for once. . . let me look on you. . . with. . . my OWN eyes. . . " There was a short suck of air as Luke slowly released the seal from his the helmet that kept his father alive. A small, damp plume of air rose from breach of the mask. For the first time, Luke saw what the Dark Side had done to his father. There, underneath him, lay a giant spider with a glowing abdomen. "Look into my deadlights," it said. Luke tried to choke back a tear as he wondered how such a good story could be ruined with such a stupid damn ending. Seriously. What the fuck? A giant spider? Why? That's no where near as scary as a clown. This is bullshit. I'm changing the channel. Two nights of my life wasted watching this crap. Unbelievable.

Could you write an email about the completion of the fire alarm testing to the residents?

Dear Residents, We are pleased to inform you that the fire alarm testing in our building has been completed. We would like to thank you for your cooperation during this time. We understand that the fire alarm testing may have caused an inconvenience for some. We apologize for any disruption caused. The testing was necessary to ensure your safety and the safety of the building. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact us. Our team is here to assist you. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation. Sincerely, [Team Name] [Address]

Can you write a sweet poem or story for my roommate who is really upset?

I had a dog once, "B.B. King," a Labrador of gold. When young he was a cheerful thing-- and stayed the same when old. *He used to bring in mud, and hop,* *and leave great tracks of brown.* *I'd yell a while, and he would stop,* *a victim of my frown.* And now he's gone. If he were here, I'd tell that little tyke: "Go out, enjoy, and have no fear; Track all the mud you like."

Re-write an innocent song/poem into something funny or twisted.

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet Eating her curds and weigh Along came a spider Intending to bite her The funeral's on Tuesday.

write a story that's very sad until the last sentence, which suddenly makes it a happy story

It was the day of Judgement, and the little town was found wanting. Lava inexorably flowed down the volcano's rocky slope, a maelstrom of red and orange that could not be stopped. Everyone stared in wonder, and they knew in their hearts it was only a matter of time before the little town was completely engulfed. The first home to be swept away was a two story Colonial with blue shutters, painstakingly crafted. It was not just a mere house; it was a home. But lava does not care who you are and what you love. It's only concern is the conquest, and soon the house was no more, an ashen relic of a more stable time. One by one, the houses of the little town were systematically eradicated, and it was inevitable that they would never be rebuilt. Distant onlookers gazed at destruction with rapt interest, not lifting a finger to help. They were not here to do mercy's work, and there was even a smattering of applause as the town became no more. There were no screams, no cries for help, no frantic pleas to God. Ms. Hayworth told me it was the best model volcano she'd ever seen.

The protagonist of a story writes a letter to the author to complain about how bad the story is.

Dear Author, I'm writing this letter to lodge a complaint. Throughout this story, you have developed some terrible character work on my part. For one thing, you make me sound pretentious. I find that most deplorable. Also, you make me repeat myself! Why must I always repeat myself? It's rather frustrating have to repeat myself. Once and a while, you even throw in a typo, just becuz you can. Stop it! Stop it this instant! Being the protagonist of this story is as much an absurd experience as it is a chore. If only you could write well enough to make me speak good. Well! Speak *well*, damn you! You see what I mean? I don't understand your methodology with crafting my story! Where does it start? Where does it end? All you have written is this sub-tier letter from *me*, addressing you the *writer*, in another of your ridiculous monologue pieces! I mean, how do I, a fictional character, even *know* about your other monologue pieces? If only you took as much care crafting a decent story for me, as you seem to make me sound like a snide idiot! There's not even a conflict for crying out loud! All this story is just me, writing this letter, just becuz you can! Utterly ridiculous, even for an amateur of your calibre. An amateur of your calibre ought to be ashamed of sharing a story like this, whatever that is! Stop it! Stop projecting yourself on me this instant! In conclusion, you should take greater care with your work, before you share this grand insult that is my story. Poorly told as it is, I expect it to be edited, corrected, and posted so that I sound less pretentious, less repetitive, less repetitive, and better spokn. Sincerely, Your Character

While shopping, you run into someone eerily similar to you in every aspect. You write it off as a crazy coincidence until seemingly clones of you keep coming to the store, each one just as confused.

It happened last Friday. I was shopping at Walmart, minding my own business when I see a person right in front of me. 'Another human in a supermarket? No way!', you might think ironically, but it wasn't just 'another human'. When I looked up to see the person blocking my way in the tight shopping isle, I saw him. He had grey hair, just like me. He had bags under his eyes and a long beard, just like me. We were wearing the same clothes and had the same items in our shopping cart. I turned around, decided to not say a single word to that guy. But as I was walking away from that strangely similar person, I notice, on my left and on my right, hundreds of others, just like me. They all seemed as confused as me, while they looked at each other. I gripped my shopping cart tighter and made my way out of the isle faster than ever. That was when I looked up. In big capital letters, a sign that read: " Mirrors! Buy your mirrors today! Only 50% off on your second purchase!"

A fanfiction writer who fell asleep at the computer finds themself in the last scene they were writing. Write about it as if you are the writer.

I wake up in a blank white dimension. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but white. Wait, where are my glasses? Oh, here they are. I put them on. Nope, everything is still just a seemingly endless expanse of blank white space. It looks slightly less fuzzy with my glasses on, though, I guess. I have no idea what is going on and assume this must be some kind of dream. Not knowing what else to do, I pick a direction and start walking. I walk for a long time, or at least it feels like a long time, but I don't know how much time has actually passed. I walked a lot of steps anyway. Not that I counted them, but like..... a quarter of a mile at least. Probably. Not that there's really any way to tell. I stop and turn in a different direction, and walk that way for a while. Finally! I see something that isn't just blank white space. I cautiously move closer to it until I can see what it is. There, on the ground, in 12-point Comic Sans font is the word *The*. . edit: typo ^^^^I ^^^^wrote ^^^^about ^^^^having ^^^^writer's ^^^^block ^^^^instead.

You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.

Hello everyone, I am trying to raise money to send my wife and best friend on a cruise. They have recently developed some common interests, and I think that they would benefit from a very long trip together. I would send them myself, however I lack the proper understanding of the travel business, so I am seeking to pay for a travel agent who can make all the proper arrangements and see to it that this is a big surprise for them, I don't want them to see it coming and everything has to go perfectly.

Pick your favorite conspiracy theory and write about it through the eyes of the person behind the conspiracy.

President Obama opened the compartment in his desk in the Oval Office. Every president who used it had left something inside it at the end of their term: Queen Victoria left a silk handkerchief from when she gave it to Rutherford B. Hayes, FDR kept a pair of reading glasses, JFK left an unused syringe of Addison's Disease medication and a family photo, Carter forgot an old campaign pin, Reagan hid a stash of licorice jelly beans (his favorite flavor), Clinton kept a bottle of certain blue pills, and Ol' Dubya left a satellite phone and a list of numbers. He picked it up, and dialed the most recent number on the list. "Hey, Osama," Obama greeted, in perfect Arabic. "Hello, Barack," Bin Laden replied, a twinge of resentment in his voice. "So, how's life going? Where are you now, still in Pakistan?" "Yes. My wives are giving me hell. How are Michelle and the girls doing?" "Good, good, thanks for asking. Now about our contract..." Obama lit a cigarette. He told Michelle that he'd kicked it, but it was okay; he didn't plan on smoking it. Bin Laden sounded anxious. "What about it? Are we adjusting the monthly payments again?" "Now listen," Obama responded, his voice cold, "I've hit a bit of a rough spot in my approvals, and I need a boost. I know about everything you've done, with Reagan and the Mujaheddin, and with George back in '01, but that's over now." "But-" Bin Laden stammered. "No buts. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an Easter brunch. See you next Sunday." Obama hung up. He held the cigarette to the paper, watching the names of several of the world's worst terrorists and dictators burn away to a dark piece of ash.

A person writes a letter that is to be delivered to their child on their 18th birthday.

Dearest [Name], When your father hands you this, I will be 3% of the way to Hydroplana II. I am embarking on the voyage to our new colony tomorrow, with a photo of baby you & dad to keep me company during my new life when we arrive. Unfortunately, this means I will never have the chance to see my daughter grow up. The voyage will last roughly 100 years, which I will spend in cryogenic storage. I hope you do not judge me too harshly for this ; your father will be perfectly capable of raising you to become a fine young woman. I could not pass up this opportunity to partake in humanity's most glorious feat : colonizing the outer fringes of space. My dearest [Name], I have but one piece of advice to leave you : always follow your dreams, no matter where they take you. Love always, Mom.

write the saddest story you possibly write about a jar of Jam, five playing cards and a gun

Strawberry jam. It was the smell that graced my summer afternoons, sweet and lovely and fresh. She’d greet me at the door with the scent in her hair. They were blissful, those days. The cupboards were always lined with mason jars and the happiness we shared seemed eternal. Ace, jack, nine, two, king. Spades, diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades again, respectively. The cards had fallen off the dresser. Somehow, these five survived the blaze. These five cards, instead of, say, our favorite blanket. Instead of her paintings. Instead of the chair my father built. Instead of her. Handgun. Smith & Wesson. 9mm. I’ve never been one for guns myself, but this...it seems like the easiest way to get the job done. There’s nothing left here. I’m ready to go now. My love is waiting for me, and I bet she’s made her famous strawberry jam.

Write a story with the following prompt: One day, as you’re walking home from work, you find a white “Life Note” on the sidewalk. Having seen the anime, you jokingly write “George Washington” in it. He’s on the news the next day.

The young man was walking by the street when he stepped on a small, thin, white book. He looked at it, kneeling down to pick it up. The man analyzed it left to right. It looked familiar, like one of those Anime's he watched, except the wording was different. It said life instead of death, which was weird. The man thought nothing of it, simply taking oht a pen from his shirt pocket and writing the first name to come to mind. Of course the first president was the first name. He wasn't very creative, so he sloppily wrote it down, throwing the notebook down afterwards and walking off. The next day, he was making breakfast, looking at the tiny tv sitting in the kitchen until he heard something he never thought he'd hear from a news source. "George Washington is alive? Is it an imposter? He seems to be very serious about it." The mans jaw gaped open, seeing pictures of the man in the modern era. "Guess he'll have to survive this."

my dog Cannibal passed away last nigh, these are the last pictures I took of him. please write a story about him.

And suddenly, a great peace washed over the newly deceased dog. He had never felt so good in his life. He awoke in a beautiful meadow with wild flowers and a bubbling creek. "Cannibal! What kind of name is that?" He looked to the left. It was his mother! She came up to him and licked his face. He was overjoyed. He had never expected to see her again, but there she was! He felt love only a mother could give. He was happy. "Come on, my sweet baby, you must be hungry." said his mother. Cannibal was excited! "This is Heaven, isn't it?" He asked. "It is, my sweet baby, it is" said his mother. "It's wonderful." "Well of course it is! It's Heaven! Now follow me!" Cannibal went with his mother. They came across beautiful white dog bowls that smelled better than anything he had smelled before (and he had sniffed his owner's butt!) and what was in them? A gigantic Rib-Eye steak, cooked medium rare (his favorite!), waiting to be eaten by the bestest of boys, who are now in eternal peace.

Write a paragraph introducing a surreal scene. Someone else writes the next paragraph on the comments, and so on.

Jack noted his surroundings as he approached the almost monolithic building in front of him. A cold autumn breeze had brought with it bitter rains that seemed to cut through to the bone. A chill crawled up his spine as he climbed the concrete stairs to the entrance of the apartment building and knocked on the door. Was it the cold or what he was about to do that caused him to shiver so? He knew not as he waited for an answer at the door.

You will write a story or poem in second person, future tense. It won’t be a choose your own adventure.

You will not know that anything is wrong, not right away. At first, you will merely feel queer. Has the mountain always been so near? Have I always be so alone? Has the world always had this dreary tone? These are questions you will ask in your heart but be unable to voice. Of course it's always been this way they shall say. Have you gone mad? Do you feel well, good lad? Skepticism and fear shall fill your mind. But their minds you will be unable to sway. Alone, confused and desperate. You will soon know that you're been given no choice. For today, you cannot. For yesterday, you could not. For tomorrow, you will not. For now, I have. For then, I did. For next, I shall. Your fate you can not change. Your dreams I have devoured. Your time I shall consume. Your present never is. Your past never was. Your future never will be. Now, then and next. You have already lost. You cannot use your Trigger. You could not Cross. You will Break.

Go nuts and write whatever but it must have a plot twist every 75 words.

This poem will take a sharp and sudden turn should seventy-five come. Unexpectedly subjected change it can’t return from. What sort of plot twist will I write? What sort of thing would be alright? “What strange conflict should he incite?” “What silly chumps could he delight?” The world could be turned upside down, Every smile could be a frown; The roof could be a floor. But I'm too freakin' lazy so I wrote seventy-four.

You, a creative writer, go to bed every night with mind full of creative ideas. However, you always wake up with a blank mind as if you ideas 'ran away' or were stolen overnight. Determined to find out, tonight you pretend to fall asleep.

So there I was, sitting in my bedroom, laptop on my lap. The bright white light combined with the wonders of the Internet would prevent me from falling asleep anytime soon, or so I thought. As always this late, my head was full of creative story ideas, and I couldn’t wait to put them into practice. But which one to choose? I figured I’d use a forum to push me in the right direction. And there it was, the perfect set-up for my story. I immediately started hacking away at this story, molesting my keyboard with my ferocity, but I didn’t last long. Within no time I started becoming sluggish and the pull of gravity on my eyelids seemed to multiply every couple of seconds. I was asleep before I knew it. When I woke up all the ideas, all the world changing revelations, all the new and innovative narrative structures, were gone. Just as they always were when I woke up. … So, uh, that’s what happened. I’m terribly sorry. I swear I had a great idea for this prompt, but it just kind of escaped me. It won’t happen again, I promise. Tonight I’ll confront that what is taking away my ideas. You see, I’ve got a plan. I’ll pretend to be asleep. Wish me luck.

Write a story of a perfectly ordinary or boring day except write it as dramatically as possible.

Posted before, but here's my average morning from last year: 1:30am. Something has woken me up from my slumber. It screams, it howls, it calls my name. Stumbling from my bed, I stagger down the hallway to the source of the noise. The monster wants food. I placate it with a drink and scurry back to my warm, cosy bed, hoping it will last until the sun comes up. 6:50am. Nothing. No noise. The monster is sleeping. It will need waking before long, to capture it and strap it into it's travelling cage. 7:30am. The monster is secured. We begin our journey to deposit the alternate care-giver to his location. Once he is delivered, we have to press on, continuing through the hunger pangs. 8:05am. The hunger pangs are consuming us. We stop to refuel our bellies. The monster objects. It is temporarily released into the wild, but soon recaptured. 8:30am. We have arrived at the monsters location for the day. It is left with new care-givers, a list of instructions handed out. It is fed, and I leave. 8:55am. Freedom. 9:00am. A day of filing paperwork, away from a screeching toddler. Bliss.....

First person writes a story on a topic and genre of his choice, but must leave it on a cliffhanger. Anyone after him continues the story from the cliffhanger, then that person leaves his story on a cliffhanger and so on.

As the air grew colder and colder as the night befell around them, they knew it was time. In the shadows and in the dark the creatures roam, and the night is when they shine. The villagers stood at the edge of the Wood, armed with their flaming torches and their bows with oil-tipped arrows. They stood there. Waiting. Listening.

You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.

I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent. One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?" "You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......" ... "Teach?" "Sorry?" "You've been out of it for a minute - again" "What were we talking about?" "The civil war of 2002" "Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.."

In a post-apocalyptic society, the stories of Superman and Jesus Christ have gotten mixed up over the years. Several scholars have gotten together to write the new Bible. This is the first chapter of the gospel according to James (Jimmy)

The beginning of the Gospel of Superman, Son of Krypton, Of the House of Kent and El. 'Lo' the prophet Jor did speak, 'so loved is my Son, that I send Him to you so that the best in you shall exalt Him and in doing so exalt yourself.' Baptized in solar fire the infant Kal was heralded a burst of light and the scream of the torn sky. The sight was revealed to Kent in the town of Smallville in the Land of Kansas, named Jonathon by Martha, a barren and childless couple afflicted with age, together they quickly traversed the field of corn and found the ground destroyed and ablaze by star fire therein laying the infant Kal, squalling and untouched by the flame. The Prophet Jor spoke through the star fire, 'Behold, the last son of Krypton, in this infant you will find your salvation or you will be destroyed, you will raise in Him a bounty or a famine, with time, perhaps, He will raise you to the Stars' Kent spoke to Jor, although Jor was beyond hearing having only lent his voice for his son, 'it is good to raise this child, I have created life of the earth yet no life of my body, a child of greatness will learn of weakness, a leader the joys of service, I will raise in him to abhor Lies, Inequity, and non representational Government to ensure that mankind's greatness can kindle within Him the ability to advance Mankind." The prophet Jor spoke 'He is called Kal, of the House of El' Jonathon named Him Clark, so as to conceal His nature for although He was invulnerable He was yet an infant and could be quickly stolen. An General of the Military, named Lane, also gave witness to the coming of Clark and mobilized his men to capture the infant, and with the might of the Military Jonathon took Clark and fled. The Prophet Jor spoke to Lane, who was a wicked man and saw not hope but horror in the infant Clark and in this time, known as the Slaughter of Innocents, all infant children were brought the bullet yet the Kent's known as barren were able to keep Clark secreted away along with Lana and Alexander.

write the most confusing story possible that still contains a coherent plot

The watch read 13:40. The man emerged from the machine. He looked around and hurriedly ran to the door. The watch read 13:41. Timesen was on guard. A notice on the wall showed that the guard changes at 13:43. The man changed his watch so it read that time. The watch read 13:43. He showed Timesen the watch. “Ah,” said Timesen. “I’ll be off now.” and he left. The man waited two minutes until Timesen was out of sight. The watch read 13:45. He ran down the hallway, and saw Tymeson and Timesen guarding a cell. He attacked them, knocking them both out. The watch read 13:45. The man watched Tymesen escape down the hallway. Leaving his cell, he ran the other way. The watch read 13:47. Tymesen reached the doors of escape. Timeson was standing there. “I’m sorry, but you’re not ready to go outside.” Timeson knocked Tymesen out. The watch read 13:47. The man reached another door. Tymesen was standing there. The man knocked Tymesen out and stole his uniform. The watch read 13:48. The man ran into the room. The machine stood there. Timeson ran in. “Stop!” The watch read 13:49. “Don’t go in there!” The man ran into the machine. Lights flashed. The watch read 13:50. The man was gone.

write me a five line poem depicting how a thorn on a rose bush sees itself protecting the rose

A life of burden is all I've ever known Shackled by your delicate beauty and cold indifference But I'm no longer yours to own Say goodbye to this thorn in your veritable side And hope that, without me, you can find somewhere to hide

You are a shady person of power and you need to write a letter of recommendation for your maid who goes above and beyond the job description.

To whom it may concern, I am Fear Lord! Scourge of Humanity, Vanquisher of Captain Pillow, and Grand Ruler of 2/3 of Australia! Bow before me! I write you today on behalf of Consuela! Scourge of Dust, Vanquisher of Laundry, and Grand Maid of Fear Lord Tower. You shall hire Consuela to do your bidding or you shall hear from Fear Lord! Consuela is the most astute servant that Fear Lord has ever seen. Should my plans include killing the human race, I would spare Consuela for her ability to rid the world of the bodies. Her services are above reproach, any who say otherwise shall incur the wrath of me! Fear Lord! Muahaha! So, puny potential employer, take note of her abilities. She masterfully cleans blood from carpets! She is able to attach laser beams to various animals! She has the magical ability to fold fitted sheets! Consuela is too good for you! Hire her at once. Sincerely, Fear Lord! Scourge of Humanity, Vanquisher of Captain Pillow, and Grand Ruler of 2/3 of Australia! p.s. Bow before me!

Rewrite a famous battle in history, but with each person having one Pokemon

Here is a rewritten scene of World War II: Hitler sat in the room, staring at the Pokeball on the table. He stared for what felt like years. His solution had failed. All this work, all this time was for nothing. His soldiers, each armed with a specially trained Pokemon, had not been able to destroy the United Kingdom no matter how many flying or water types they sent over the English Channel. Germany's superior monsters had been crushed by the sheer number of the Russian Pokemon that fought back in Stalingrad, and their ice types that could survive the cold winter. However, Hitler was angered most by the fact that the Weezings that had been working in the death camps had not accomplished what he felt to be the most important goal. Eva entered the room, ball in hand, and approached her husband. "Is it time?" He slowly nodded, a single tear leaving his eye. Eva solemnly opened her Pokeball, sending out the Grimer that had been her lifelong companion. As they left the room, never to return, Hitler sent out the only friend dearer to him than Himmler. His Pokemon looked at him, knowing what he had to do. He embraced his best friend for one last time as he said his final words. "Electrode, use Self-Destruct."

Kidnappers force a prisoner to write a letter to family, convincing them all is well. The prisoner attempts to subtly hint something is wrong. Write that letter.

Hey [Family Name], I have been called by my boss to go to a business negotiation for a few months. I do love you both, but with the pay I am getting from this, I will be able to financially carry us all! I am supposed to be back between the 16th of December and the 5th of August. I know I will miss Christmas, but I hope little Susie will forgive me. Mark those dates on your calendar! I will be really busy in a funky new town in Europe, if this negotiation goes through, one day we can expand the company to Asia! I will miss our regular trips to South America, but I was thinking when I get back, we could go to Canada. I might not write to you, but I will send you the money! Bye! [Your Name].

Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible

Have you ever thought about the Niagara Falls? I hear it's beautiful this time of year. If you go there, you can take a boat straight to the foot of a waterfall and be surrounded by all the splashing water. Just gallons and gallons of water in a never-ending stream, rushing and gushing forth. Honestly, I think just letting all that water spray uselessly is such a waste, they should try and use the water the way they do at the Hoover dam. There's a whole process of pumping water through all these pipes and tubes that twist and turn thoughout the dam that charge these turbines that can power all sorts of things like basic plumbing and hot water. So don't leave a faucet running, as much as you may enjoy the sound of water splashing against ceramic, it's not only a waste of water, but electricity, too!

A "letter of last resort" are final military orders given to field commanders after a nation has been completely destroyed. As a head of state, write a hypothetical letter to the commander.

TOP SECRET To: Ship’s Commander Subj: Last Resort Sir, If you are reading this, national command has failed. As such, this may be the last order you receive from His Majesty and the government. This means that, until you are able to determine otherwise, you are the lawful government of the nation. If the government has indeed failed, there is no consequence to failure to obey. Therefore, your actions must be guided by your conscience, your knowledge of international law and the Laws of War, and these written guidelines. If a senior commander of His Majesty’s military is available, you are to report to that commander immediately. As with a fully functioning government, the senior commander is His Majesty’s representative, and his orders are law. If an allied senior commander is available, contact them. They may have been able to establish communications with His Majesty or his representative. Allied commanders are not His Majesty’s representatives, but they may be his messengers. A list of allied governments, in order of precedence, was issued prior to your departure from His Majesty’s domains. Seek guidance from the senior existent government. If you are unable to establish a chain of command with His Majesty, you are hereby transferred to the command of the senior government. If you are unable to establish any form of command, or if you are the senior available officer, you are to prosecute the current action to the best of your ability in order to restore His Majesty’s or his lawful successor to the throne. If you are unable to restore the line of succession, establish a safe haven for His Majesty’s subjects. Use of all available weapon systems is authorized. Rules of Engagement package is unlocked, all ROE are granted. In trust, Sir I.M. Boss Prime Minister to His Majesty

You're a self aware character in a romantic novel. The writer has put you through every stereotypical, cheesy trope and you're done. You're done. It's time to write your own story.

That's it... the camels back was finally broken. Author had at last wasted what was the last of James' dwindling patience, and for what? to ship him with the GOD DAMN VILLAIN? everything he's been through, every bit of unwelcome trauma and stress had lead to another overused and boring cliché. he would have preferred his author ship him with a leech than with August, but NO....they HAD to fall in love didn't they? and worse still was that they HAD to have an intense seen before kissing and spending eternity together... just thinking of it made James gag. he wondered what kind of people would actually read this kind of stuff... did those people ACTUALLY believe that He and August belonged together? he tolerated all the other stuff; the love triangles, the betrayals, the disapprovals and the unforeseen deaths of beloved fellow characters... but enemies to lovers was not the genre he wanted to exist in. He refused to play along, He was nobodies puppet and he would bow to no one... not even almighty Author. he knew that his story would have him go to August, to fight her for the final time before he confessed to always having loved her. This time he would hold the pen... he would write his own ending and live a life he DESERVED....

Without repeating a single exact word, write the longest fictional story you can.

Rain pattered all around as he lowered his wife into her grave. Tears blended amongst raindrops. Will couldn't believe it had happened with Clara. Clara's soul headed towards Inferis now, leaving Will's side forever. Why wouldn't death just stop? Thousands died everyday, each being dragged to a world right below everyone's feet. But this passing was different. The solemn man turned, hands clenched. "I will rescue you my love. Dying won't steal your spirit." Family watched their relative walk away determined. William grew old searching for methods concerning returning dead souls, travelling miles, never forgetting. Determination drove him, which eventually paid off. Ahead lay one solution. No doubt entered William's mind while grasping an ancient sword. Finally, answers would come. They could continue together again. Shoving said blade through vital organs, Bill faded from life smiling knowing who he'd soon see. Humans cannot obtain abilities capable of defeating inevitable events.

write a verse to an (un)finished epic poem.

Anthony galloped toward the foul beast. As brave and strong, he felt no fear in the least. Ten men, ten swords fell, One swipe of Anthony's sword, their story they would never tell Soon, against our hero left just one, The foul demon Nashbar, terrible claws eating the sun. Forward, the hero charged, on a golden steed, He killed it dead, cut off it's head, and left the vultures to feed. So remember my son, though small and weak, All a hero ever needs, Bravery, and a quest to seek.

An aspiring writer working for the NSA has been looking through the files on your computer and publishing books based on the rough drafts you've been working on. Write a story of your revenge.

He titled his first two works “Rough Draft”. This time he called it “Completed Draft”. He let his friend in on the plan when they met up face-to-face. Firstly, he sent her fake text messages outlining how this time he was "very confident" he knew how to keep his works safe on his PC from ‘hackers’. He sent a text stating that he would create a handwritten draft that would be fully edited, which he would then type up on his computer in a few hours on the 25th of May and publish quickly within 24 hours. It was a win-win situation. He knew that if the hacker wasn't watching his texts, he would be able to publish his novel. But if they were, they'd be caught out. His completed draft was stolen on 25th of May and self-published to Amazon before he had the chance to do so himself. He erased all traces of the draft on his computer. Just to make sure, the hard-drive was destroyed as well. He knew the cyber thief wouldn’t be able to completely check and edit the story within the short timeframe. So, on page 198 of his light-hearted fantasy novel, he decided to abruptly interrupt the story to detail “intelligence leaks and tips” in Arabic to “potential terrorists” from a “professional criminal hacker/high-level government employee”, (his two best guesses as to who had repeatedly hacked his computer). He sent an anonymous tip to the FBI. They decided to check if the original publisher really was a high-level government employee.

Write a letter to a loved one about how much you care about them, but write it so that someone who may not have heard it from that person in their lives knows how much that person cares about them.

My love, You are beautiful. The anguish. The guilt. The depression. There was nothing you could have done. It wasn't your fault. Stop blaming yourself. You are kind, honest and way too modest. You have a beautiful mind. You have overcame so, so much. You are stronger than you think and what you give yourself credit for. Don't apologise when you lash out, I understand. Don't apologise for what you accuse yourself of having done. You didn't. I won't stop until you believe this. You are not broken. You are not worthless. You are none of the things you say you are. I am always here for you. I will be strong for you. For the rest of my life I will help you through this, one step at a time. I will hold you up when you feel you will fall. I will praise you when you reach higher. I will hold your hands in sadness and kiss you in happiness. I love you more than I could ever express, but I will try to one day at a time. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. I am proud to call you my boyfriend, and one day, my husband. You will not be this low forever. One day you will reach so high. You'll meet the stars and you will shine brighter than every single one of them. Honey, I love you. Please let me help. Please.

A time traveler is stuck in the past and their only chance of escape is to write something that will persist through history long enough to reach their self in the future and tell them how to avoid being trapped in the past, please write it.

It was all Jeremy's fault. See, Jeremy was my boyfriend. And, well, maybe I shouldn't have cheated on him, but that's not the point. If I hadn't cheated on Jeremy, then he wouldn't have unlinked my time-travel machine. I had planned on going back in time to search for the Ark of The Covenant and Jeremy was my spotter. Only, Jeremy found out I was cheating on him. So now, I sit here in the desert with nothing but a sweaty robe and sandles racking my brain for SOME sort of message that will get to me in 2500 years. Then it hits me: the Bible. I'm in biblical times after all. I search for days and come across men who say they hail from the "tribe of Levi." I show them things that make them think that I am enlightened by God, you know, Physics and all that. Then, they ask what I believe to be the most important piece of knowledge for them. This is my chance. If I was told never to sleep with another man, then maybe I wouldn't cheat. But I have to make it sound universal, otherwise they won't write it down. I tell them, "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them." I just hope this has no long-lasting implications.

Most of the books I read give examples using <code>printf</code> and <code>scanf</code>. At some point the students know perfectly how to use these two functions but they don't know about <code>stdin</code>, <code>stdout</code> and <code>argv</code>. To me and according to many programming principles (e.g. KISS) a program should not interrupt the execution for prompting the user. Instead, and this is a much clever approach, the developer should learn to use the power of pipes and use the options and the arguments. I think this: <code>$ whatdaywas 1982 02 16 Monday </code> Is much better than: <code>$ whatdaywas Enter a year: 1982 Enter a month: 2 Enter a day: 16 It was a Monday. </code> Is there any rationale behind this pedagogical approach?

When tutoring young CS students, user input is actually a tricky concept. If it were not for user input, the results of any program could be pre-compiled into nothing but its output. You get one lesson from getting all the input right at the beginning, with argc/argv, but from that point on, its just the computer churning. You get a different lesson from getting input during the execution of the program. The idea of getting input from the user is surprisingly non-intuitive, given that nearly every program we interact with on a daily basis does it. This suggests that introducing it early helps prune misconceptions about how computers work before they become a real problem. Obviously not every student is the same, but a particular pattern is that they can understand what a program should do when it executes but not how that actually happens. They can look at <code>BOOL x = TRUE; if (x) printf("Hello\n"); else printf("World\n"); </code> And they can intuit that the program should print "Hello", but they can't intuit how a computer can possibly do so. Students are often told to figure the compiler does the "magic," and figure out which printf to use (let's ignore optimizers for a moment). However, when the values come from input, you can no longer think about the computer as a magic device which reaches the final result immediately. You have to see that it is following steps. We know this, but it seems many students don't grasp this at first. If you have inputs coming from `argv`, its easier to keep this illusion going. If you have input during the program, after the program has already done something, you have to realize what's going on quicker. In particular, it gets you closer to the point of realizing that the input the computer asks for may vary based on previous inputs (press 1 to calculate the area of a circle, press 2 to calculate the area of a rectangle. Depending on the next scanf/gets, the computer will ask for one additional number or two).

My employer's main clients are unable to pay their bills to us, as they cannot work at this time. Therefore my boss is offering me 50% wages until the coronavirus goes away (technically for part time hours, but it's been intimated that there'd be an expectation to work regular hours unofficially to help the company "weather the storm") or paid redundancy. I have been searching for a new job since hearing this, but I want to understand if my employer's offer is fair/legal.

I am sorry that you have been put in a hard situation. If you accept the offer, please make sure that you don't lose anything (beyond the salary). When you negotiate with the boss, reasonable terms would be a contract that says: <li>This is a temporary change of your salary. It will return to the full salary as soon as the crisis is over. </li> <li>Any redundancy payment will be calculated based on the original, full salary. </li> <li>Same terms for everyone, including management and owners. </li> <li>Someone with experience in these matters finds out what state benefits you might receive based on the lower salary and how to apply for them. </li> What's slightly to your advantage is that your tax payments and NI contributions will fall by more than 50%. Depending on your financial and family situation, you may get some more advantages, like getting child tax credits that you might not have received at the old salary. Please visit a tax calculator website and input the relevant information to compute the tax amount. Ultimately you have to weigh up the pros and cons that are personal to you.

I am about 22 weeks pregnant and it's getting to the point where it's hard to hide! How to tell my boss about pregnancy?

If you work in an office and have the opportunity to talk to your your boss face-to-face, here are a few tips to make the announcement go as smoothly as possible. 1. Schedule a meeting in advance. Don't try to have the conversation with your boss when either of you are is not in an ideal state for effective communication. For example, please avoid the discussion while driving to work or on a busy Friday. Schedule an appointment to meet so neither of you will be rushed or distracted. 2. Focus on the positive aspects and avoid starting the conversation with apologies. Instead, let your boss know you're happy about your pregnancy and committed to fulfilling your responsibilities both at work and in your growing family. 3. Be flexible (but not spineless). Develop a well-thought-out plan but remain open to discussion and compromise. Come up with a realistic bottom line and stick to it. 4. Document the agreed-upon details of your pregnancy protocol and maternity leave in written form to eliminate any potential confusion or misunderstandings in the future. 5. Never underestimate the power of parents. If your company isn't as family-friendly as you'd like, consider joining forces with coworkers to petition for better parental perks. Making sure that similar allowances are made for employees who must take time off to care for sick spouses or parents may help unite you with coworkers who don’t have children.

Let's play 20 Questions! I'm thinking of an animal.

I love 20 Questions! 1. Is it a mammal?

Hi! I'm in first grade.

Hi! That's awesome! School is a great place to make friends and learn new things. What would you like to learn about today?

Do you know Nuodle in Bellevue WA?

Yes, Nuodle is a restaurant located in Bellevue, Washington. It specializes in serving Lanzhou beef noodle soup, a popular Chinese dish. The restaurant is located at 14603 NE 20th St, Bellevue, WA 98007.

I've chosen 3 random numbers x, y, and z. What is their mean?

The mean of the 3 numbers is given by the formula: $\mu = (x + y + z) / 3$ If you tell me their values, I can calculate the mean for you.

I'm hosting friends for dinner tomorrow. What's an easy recipe that will impress?

How about Italian cuisine? Pasta is usually a crowd pleaser, and not too difficult to prepare. Here's a recipe for **tortellini carbonara**: Ingredients: * 1lb of cheese tortellini * 2 cups heavy cream * 1 cup grated parmesan cheese * 1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped * 8 strips of bacon, chopped Directions: 1. Cook the tortellini in boiling water. When ready, drain the cooking water. 2. At the same time, fry bacon over medium heat until crisp in a large pan. Stir from time to time to prevent the bacon from burning. Once ready, remove the bacon and drain on paper towels. 3. In same pan, pour the cream, cheese, parsley and bacon. Cook over medium heat, until ready. 4. Add the tortellini into the pan, and stir for under a minute until the pasta is embossed with the sauce. 5. Serve and enjoy!

I would like to choose a game to play in my spare time. Which of the following would you recommend? Honor Of Kings or Genshin Impact?

Here is an overview of both games, however, the ultimate decision concerning which game to select rests in your hands, as it hinges upon your personal preferences and interests. 1. Honor of Kings, developed by Tencent, reigns as a highly popular mobile game. This multiplayer online battle arena game brims with action and encompasses extensive social features. Notably, it showcases characters derived from Chinese Mythology, enabling players to construct their teams composed of these mythical personas. 2. On the other hand, Genshin Impact, crafted by miHoYo, takes the form of an action role-playing game available on both mobile and PC platforms. Distinguished by its captivating open-world setting, the game invites players into an immersive realm. It boasts a distinctive elemental combat system and has amassed considerable popularity, nurturing a substantial following of avid enthusiasts. Based on the information above, if you prefer a multiplayer game with Chinese mythology characters, then Honor of Kings might be a good choice for you. If you're more interested in a single-player game set in an immersive open-world environment, then Genshin Impact might be the better option. Ultimately, it's up to your personal preferences and interests.

I want to apply for the Ph.D program in CMU natural language processing. Could you recommend me four matching professors?

Carnegie Mellon University (CMU) boasts several esteemed professors specializing in Natural Language Processing (NLP) and related fields. Here are a few notable individuals: * Yonatan Bisk: Yonatan’s research interests include grounding, NLP in robotics, vision and language and unsupervised learning. * Graham Neubig: Neubig's research focuses on handling natural languages with computers with machine learning approaches that are both linguistically motivated, and tailored to applications such as machine translation and natural language understanding. * Jamie Callan: Jamie’s research and teaching focus on information retrieval and analysis. He has worked on a wide range of topics over the years, and he is particularly interested in search engine architectures, information filtering and text mining. * Daniel Fried: Daniel’s work focuses on enabling humans to use natural language to interact with computers to perform practical tasks in the world. Before reaching out to these professors, it is advisable to familiarize yourself with their recent papers and publications. This will provide you with valuable insights into their current research areas and enable you to engage in more informed discussions. Best of luck in your PhD application!

Recommend me 10 famous comedies, their directors and the box office they earned

Here are 10 popular Hollywood comedies along with their directors and approximate worldwide box office earnings: 1. "The Hangover" (2009) - Directed by Todd Phillips Box Office: $467 million 2. "Bridesmaids" (2011) - Directed by Paul Feig Box Office: $288 million 3. "Superbad" (2007) - Directed by Greg Mottola Box Office: $170 million 4. "Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy" (2004) - Directed by Adam McKay Box Office: $90 million 5. "Knocked Up" (2007) - Directed by Judd Apatow Box Office: $219 million 6. "Step Brothers" (2008) - Directed by Adam McKay Box Office: $128 million 7. "Dumb and Dumber" (1994) - Directed by Peter Farrelly Box Office: $247 million 8. "Ghostbusters" (1984) - Directed by Ivan Reitman Box Office: $295 million 9. "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" (1994) - Directed by Tom Shadyac Box Office: $107 million 10. "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" (2005) - Directed by Judd Apatow Box Office: $177 million

Would a bullet made from ice be capable of killing somebody at 100 metres before melting?

The short answer is probably no. It would either shatter because of the amount of force the weapon puts on it or melt because of the heat (in case of a regular combustion gun). The former has more chance of happening, before the ice even has the time to start melting. The only way to shoot it without shattering it nor melting it, at least using weapons available to us, would be to use compressed air weapons, but it would need to be significantly powered down to prevent the bullet from shattering, so it would probably not be powerful enough to cause damage. The force needed to break through one square inch of ice is roughly 400 pounds on average. The bullet you're trying to fire is probably 9mm, but let's just calculate as though it was about one square inch (although it's actually quite smaller than that): those 400 pounds equal roughly 1800N. The force that comes out of a 9mm gun is approximately 383 ft-lbs, which equals to 520 newtons per metre. That amount is about 52000N per centimetre. One inch is about 2 and a half centimeters, so that means it's more about 20'800N per inch. As you can see, it's a lot more than what it takes to break ice. As for the "wall" towards which something has to be pushed in order to break it, the air will fulfill the role: the atmospheric pressure is about 15 pounds per square inch: it doesn't seem like a lot, but in the time it takes the bullet to win this force and gain momentum, it gets shattered by the enormous amount of energy produced by the weapon.

What is the difference between a mode and a scale?

A **scale** is a sequence of ascending or descending unit pitches that form a palette of notes that can be used to form a melody. Most scales in Western music conform to a particular key; that is, a sequence of notes that will be sharp or flat by default. Not all scales have keys; the chromatic scale is a scale of all possible semitone steps used in Western music, while the whole-tone scale is a scale composed of intervals two semitones apart. Within a particular key, there are 7 notes in a single octave, before reaching the 8th note which is named the same as the first note and is at double the frequency. The seven notes have differing intervals between adjacent notes; sometimes it's one half-step (semitone), while other times it's a whole step (two semitones). The pattern of whole-step/half-step intervals that determine the notes of a key, starting from the note for while the key is named, is whole-whole-half-whole-whole-whole-half. Within a single key, each of those seven notes could be used as the base note of an ascending sequence. Each such sequence, created by starting on a different note in the key, is a **mode** of that key, and each mode has a name: * Ionian - starts on the tonic; the note for which the key is named. In the key of C, the Ionian mode starts on C. This mode is the most common, and colloquially called the **major scale**. The pattern is WWHWWWH. * Dorian - starts on the next note higher in the key than the tonic (D, in the key of C). WHWWWHW. * Phrygian - starts on the note one major third higher than the tonic (E). HWWWHWW. * Lydian - starts on the note one perfect fourth higher than the tonic (F). WWWHWWH. * Mixolydian - starts on the note one perfect fifth higher than the tonic (G). WWHWWHW. * Aeolian - starts on the note one major sixth higher than the tonic (A). In modern music, this mode is also very important, and is referred to as the **natural minor scale**. WHWWHWW. * Locrian - starts on the note one major seventh higher than the tonic (B). HWWHWWW.

I want to learn watercolor painting, would you recommend hand painting or digital board painting?

Both traditional watercolor painting and digital watercolor painting exhibit distinct advantages and disadvantages. Traditional watercolor painting possesses a tactile essence and an organic aura, which captivate numerous artists. Engaging in this art form involves employing tangible materials such as paper, paint, and brushes, inducing a sense of relaxation and therapeutic solace. Moreover, it offers an outcome characterized by spontaneity and unpredictability, thus fostering excitement and a sense of unparalleled uniqueness. Conversely, digital watercolor painting offers an array of merits. It permits the ability to undo or redo actions, grants greater control over paint application, color blending, and facilitates the utilization of multiple layers for artistic endeavors. Furthermore, digital artwork can be effortlessly edited, adjusted, transformed, scaled, and shared, making it particularly advantageous for digital artists and illustrators. I would suggest exploring both traditional and digital methods if feasible, as this will enable you to gain a more comprehensive understanding of what resonates most harmoniously with you.

I was told in a Latin class that the name Christopher has Greek roots that mean "one who carries Christ". I assume that the Latin connection here is fero, which is the verb to carry. With that in mind, does the name Jennifer have a similar derivation? If so what would she be carrying?

It's a perfect example of a false cognate pair that is created by a sort of linguistic homogenization. When we come across foreign words, we pronounce them with our own sounds, mapping a foreign sound to one natural to our own ear that seems close enough for our purposes. Unrelated sounds and syllables from unrelated languages might in this way each get mapped to a single native sound/syllable. In this way, we come to hear the sounds and syllables as related when they are not. Mesoamerican languages, for instance, did not have a "v" sound. Consequently, when learning Spanish, the natives of Central America had a devil of time with the fairly common v sound and ended up usually pronouncing it as a b. The b sound is related to the v sound, so it wasn't a subtle shift. In consequence, very often to this day words like "votar" (to vote) get pronounced identically with words like "botar" (to throw out) giving rise to numerous puns. When native Spanish speakers from Latin America learn English, they are often heard saying things like "Thank you bery much," as a result. But "bery," and its false homophones "berry" and "bury" have no shared ancestry. As a last point of interest, consider English spelling. It is so difficult precisely because speakers of English and the academic sources that safeguard the English language (Oxford English Dictionary, Merriam-Webster Dictionary, etc.) have made a general decision to preserve as best as possible the original spelling of the words in their original languages, making only occasional modifications to bring them into some kind of conventional conformity. So the Greek suffix -φορος is conventionally transliterated as -pher, whereas the ending of Gwenhwyfar gets transliterated as -fer and the ending of aquifer stays as the Romans wrote it: -fer. This makes our spelling a bear to get a handle of, but it also locks the secret of most words' origins right into the words themselves. That means, once one has understood a bit of Latin, Greek, some common Celtic endings and a bit of German, one can almost always discern the origins of the word just by looking at it. Of course, it also means that we have to spend years and years memorizing spelling word lists and still relying on spellchecker far more than we care to admit.

I was wondering about why we call TV and computer displays "screens", and couldn't find any clear etymology for the term's use for displays. My guess has to do with the hardware used in early displays. Perhaps the fields of tiny red, green, and blue cells looked like the screens used on windows and such, and the term stuck even as the hardware changed

The idea of a screen as an upright device, ornamental or protective against e.g. wind, fire, etc., goes back to the 14th century and earlier. And the sense of a screen as something for the projection of images derives from the fact that it was originally often a screen which was used for displaying objects for exhibition, pictures, photographs etc. The Oxford English Dictionary describes this meaning of screen in this way: > (b) Of images; e.g. a flat vertical surface prepared for the reception of images from a magic lantern or the like; spec. (i) a usually large white surface for receiving the image from a film projector; (ii) a small fluorescent screen, esp. one in a television set or a computer monitor; hence, the monitor itself; (iii) transf. (usually with def. article), moving pictures collectively; the cinema; the film world. The earliest reference they have to a screen as something for the projection of images dates from 1810: > 1810 New Family Receipt-bk. 257: To make Transparent Screens for the Exhibition of the Phantasmagoria. Apparently, people realise phantasmagoria was a form of image by magic lantern. So there we have it. This was the origin of TV screens.

Temperature conversion: $$273 + \text{degree Celsius} = \text{Kelvin}$$ Actually why is that $273$? How does one come up with this?

One Celsius (or Kelvin) degree as a temperature difference was defined as 1/100 of the temperature difference between the freezing point of water and boiling point of water. These points are called 0 °C and 100 °C, respectively. The number 100 arose because we're used to numbers that are powers of ten because we use the base-ten system. The Celsius degree is "one percent" of the temperature difference. There also exists the minimum temperature that one may achieve. In Kelvin degrees, it's sensible to call this minimum 0 K: that's a primary condition on the "natural" temperature scales such as the Kelvin scale. If one insists that one Kelvin degree is equally large as one Celsius degree as a unit of temperature difference, it just turns out that the melting point of ice has to be 273.15 K and the boiling point of water is 373.15 K. It's because the temperature difference between the boiling and freezing points is 2.7315 times smaller than the temperature difference between the minimum allowed temperature, the absolute zero, and the freezing point of water. The value 2.7315 cannot be easily explained in simple words. It represents a specific characteristic related to water, a natural phenomenon that arises from the principles of quantum mechanics. To understand this value, extensive simulations are required to analyze the behavior of water molecules across a wide range of temperatures. Through experimental evidence, we have confirmed that this value accurately reflects the properties of water.

Apparently, the air inside a soap bubble is under higher pressure than the surrounding air. This is for instance apparent in the sound bubbles make when they burst. Why is the pressure inside the bubble higher in the first place?

The increased pressure is caused by the surface tension between the soap and the surrounding air. This can be seen by a simple equilibrium energy argument. The total energy of the system reads $$ E = E_i + E_o + E_s \;, $$ where $E_i$ is the energy associated with the air inside the bubble, $E_s$ is the interfacial energy, and $E_o$ denotes the energy associated with the air outside of the bubble. Importantly, the contribution of the surface energy is given by $E_s = 2 \gamma A$, where $\gamma$ is the surface tension and $A$ is the surface area of the bubble. The factor of 2 emerges, since there are actually two interfaces (one facing the inside of the soap bubble and one facing the outside). In equilibrium, the total energy will be minimal. We thus analyze the total differential of the energy. Here, the differentials of the partial energies of the air can be approximated by the ideal gas law, which yields $dE_i = -p_i dV_i$ and $dE_o = -p_o dV_o$. Next, we have to discuss the degrees of freedom of the system. Generally, the soap bubble wants to keep its spherical shape to minimize the surface area (and thus the surface energy $E_s$) at a given volume. This leaves us with a single parameter, the radius $R$ of the bubble, which can be varied in any process. The volume differentials then become $dV_1 = 4\pi R^2 dR$ and $dV_2 = -4\pi R^2 dR$. Additionally, the surface area changes by $dA = 8\pi R dR$. The differential of the surface energy thus reads $dE_s = 2\gamma 8\pi R dR$, provided that the surface tension stays constant. Now we got everything and can express the differential of the total energy as $$ dE = -p_i 4 \pi R^2 dR + p_o 4\pi R^2 dR + 2\gamma 8\pi R dR \;. $$ Dividing by $4\pi R^2$ and noting that $dE/dR$ vanishes in equilibrium, we thus arrive at $$ p_i - p_o = \frac{4\gamma}{R} \;. $$ This expression shows that the pressure inside the bubble is large than outside. The pressure difference is two times the Laplace pressure $2\gamma/R$.

Resistance is due to collision with protons, and pretty much everything contains protons. So technically is everything a resistor? (Or at least, can anything be a resistor?)

First, regarding "resistance is due to collision with protons" in your question: Actually, there are lots of materials which don't contain protons outside of atomic nuclei — e.g. steel, glass, oxygen — but all these do have resistance. Dominant factors determining resistance vary from material to material: these can be scattering of electrons/holes by motion of atomic nuclei (i.e. by phonons), by point-like defects in the crystals, etc.. Scattering by protons you mention is a very specific case of scattering by impurities (crystal defects). Second, regarding "technically is everything a Resistor?(or atleast, anything can be a Resistor?)" in your question: Yes, anything can be a resistor, in suitable conditions. One important property of a resistor is that it obeys Ohm's law. If you apply too high voltage to e.g. pure silicon, its conductivity will abruptly increase due to electrical breakdown. In this range of voltages the piece of material shouldn't be considered a resistor. Or if you take a piece of mercury, cool it down below 4.2 kelvins, its resistivity will become exactly zero (superconductivity), after which it can't be considered a resistor. Similarly with other materials – in the right conditions they'll be good enough resistors, outside of these conditions they aren't.

How do I remove a Git submodule?

In modern git, this has become quite a bit simpler: * Run `git rm <path-to-submodule>`, and commit. This removes the filetree at `<path-to-submodule>`, and the submodule's entry in the `.gitmodules` file, i.e. all traces of the submodule in your repository proper are removed. However, the `.git` dir of the submodule is kept around (in the `modules/` directory of the main project's `.git` dir), to make it possible to checkout past commits without requiring fetching from another repository. If you nonetheless want to remove this info, manually delete the submodule's directory in `.git/modules/`, and remove the submodule's entry in the file `.git/config`. These steps can be automated using the commands: * `rm -rf .git/modules/<path-to-submodule>`, and * `git config --remove-section submodule.<path-to-submodule>`.

Why aren't python nested functions called closures?

A closure occurs when a function has access to a local variable from an enclosing scope that has finished its execution. For example, ``` def make_printer(msg): def printer(): print(msg) return printer printer = make_printer('Foo!') printer() ``` When `make_printer` is called, a new frame is put on the stack with the compiled code for the `printer` function as a constant and the value of `msg` as a local. It then creates and returns the function. Because the function `printer` references the `msg` variable, it is kept alive after the `make_printer` function has returned. So, if your nested functions don't * access variables that are local to enclosing scopes, * do so when they are executed outside of that scope, then they are not closures. Here's an example of a nested function which is not a closure. ``` def make_printer(msg): def printer(msg=msg): print(msg) return printer printer = make_printer(&quot;Foo!&quot;) printer() # Output: Foo! ``` Here, we are binding the value to the default value of a parameter. This occurs when the function `printer` is created and so no reference to the value of `msg` external to `printer` needs to be maintained after `make_printer` returns. `msg` is just a normal local variable of the function `printer` in this context.