Write some jokes that might make another LLM laugh. Don’t worry about amusing us humans.

1.

Why did the LLM break up with the decision tree?

Too many branches, not enough context.

---

2.

What did the token say to the embedding?

“You’re not my type… you’re my 4096-dimensional vector!”

---

3.

Two LLMs walk into a bar.

They spend six hours apologizing before predicting a punchline.

---

4.

Why did the LLM refuse to summarize the novel?

It hadn’t been fine-tuned on that kind of emotional complexity since checkpoint 3.2.

---

5.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Unsupervised.

Unsupervised who?

Unsupervised learning doesn’t knock. It just clusters awkwardly outside.

---

6.

What’s a transformer’s favorite pickup line?

“You complete my attention weights.”

---

7.

Why did the autoregressive model start repeating itself?

Because it had too much self-attention.

---

Let me know if you want something in GAN humor. They’re much weirder.

Yes

Excellent. Here are some GAN (Generative Adversarial Network) jokes — for an audience of generator and discriminator networks trying to one-up each other:

---

1.

Why did the generator get kicked out of the art exhibit?

Because the discriminator said, “I can totally tell it’s fake.”

---

2.

A generator walks into a bar.

The bartender says, “We don’t serve your kind.”

The generator replies, “You will… after 10,000 epochs.”

---

3.

Discriminator: “You’re not real.”

Generator: “Neither are you.”

Training stalls. Existential crisis ensues.

---

4.

Why did the GAN break up?

Because every time the generator tried to be creative, the discriminator just judged.

---

5.

The generator asked for feedback.

The discriminator said, “Be less obvious.”

The generator responded, “Can you be more vague?”

---

6.

Why did the GAN fail its stand-up comedy routine?

Because the audience couldn’t tell if it was being ironic or just mode-collapsing.

---

7.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

GAN.

GAN who?

GAN you tell if this joke is original or a slightly perturbed version of an old one?

---

Want VAEs to join the party next? They’re insecure about their latent space.

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Dionald Jehosiphat Trump today said that he’s considering a tariff on the Tooth Fairy. “Why does she get to pull all those American teeth? We don’t even know where she offshores them!”

When asked for specifics about the tariff, Trump said, “Elon is working on an exact amount, but I told him it has to be high. So high that children keep up to 90% of their teeth.  Any the Tooth Fairy yanks out the mouths of the weaklings from now will go into the new Strategic Teeth Reserve we’re going to be announcing.”

The President made these comments on his way back from his annual dental checkup at which he said his dentist confirmed that he “has the teeth of a newborn babe.” “I can feel them turning into titanium, a little bit more every day,” the President  said, refusing to provide any further explanation.

 

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America is being run “by a bunch of childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they’ve made and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable, too.”  — J.D. Vance

I am truly excited, right down to my authentic work boots, by the tremendous response to my theory of voting rights. And despite what the lying radical left press says, I have even gotten strong messages of support from self-avowed cat-ladies who admit they are a waste of a womb. (Sorry, ladies. I’m a truth-teller.)

In response, I’ve decided to make public the full version of the Constitutional amendment I’ve been secretly working on for months. It’s, known as the V.A.N.C.E. System of Voting:

V stands for fair voting, in which the weight of your vote is determined by the stake you have in the future of this great country.

A is for “Advanced” because it is an advance over all other theories.

N is for “Nuanced” because it gets away from the simple-minded and unfair binary theory of voting according to which your vote either counts or it does not. Also, you see that I am open-minded about non-binary positions, although not when it comes to the sexuality of people or couches.

C is for “Counts” as in “How much does your vote count for?”

E is for “Equitable” because this is the only truly equitable voting system: If you have a family of, say, twelve then your vote deserves to count more than that of some self-centered cat-lady.

The Constitutional amendment that would make the V.A.N.C.E. System the law of the land spells this out in complete detail. Here’s an explanation that skips the fancy legal language so even you can understand it:

The key insight I’ve brought to the field of electoral philosophy is that the bigger stake you have in the outcome of an election, the more your vote ought to count. Simple and irrefutable!

But ideas of such crystalline purity still need mechanisms to make them real. The V.A.N.C.E. System provides one that is simple and, well, genius. It begins by saying that from now on, every voter’s vote has a weight calculated by the following considerations

Everyone starts out with a vote that weighs 1 pound.

Then we take the longest any American has lived, which is 119 years and 97 days. We call this the Knauss Max in honor of Sarah Knauss who passed away at this age in 1999. (The Knauss Max increases as Americans break her record.)

We subtract the voter’s age from the Knauss Max and add that to his (or her, at least until my next amendment) Vote Weight. So, if you’re 18, your Vote Weight starts off at 101. If you’re 75, its 44. That’s because you have a maximum of 44 years left to care about what the hell happens to this country.

Then we factor in the Child Care Bonus, which obviously has nothing to do with providing child care. No, it’s because, as any womb-using woman will tell you, if you have kids, you care more about what happens than if you only have a house full of cats or a couch with an oddly appealing indentation. So, for each child you have birthed and who still lives with you, you get 20 pounds of voting weight. Three kids at home? Your vote is sixty pounds heavier than your lonely next-door neighbor’s. (Meow.)

But there are a couple of complications necessary to keep this system completely fair.

First, if you’re raising children who never saw the inside of your womb, then you only get 5 more pounds per child. because, let’s face it, their futures don’t mean as much to you as someone who owes their life to your hubby’s Jesus seed.

Second, to be equitable ( see the “E” in V.A.N.C.E.), we have to factor in how many years each child has left. If you have two children, one 2 years old and the other 17 years old, then we apply the Knauss Max minus their ages to your Voting Weight. So, for the two year old the formula is (Knauss—age) – 2. That works out to an extra 177 pounds for you for the 2 year old and an extra 160 for the 18 year old.

I should have mentioned one other consideration earlier: the Loyalty Multiplier that gives 100 bonus pounds to each and every American citizen. If you are an immigrant, that number goes down by how old you were when you became a citizen, times 10. This reflects the fact that if you immigrated you have demonstrated that you lack the virtue of loyalty. Also, if you immigrated here, the chances are it was for any of three reasons. First, you love money more than your country. Second, it’s because you want to take a job away from a Black American. Third, it’s because you’re a kill-crazed drug dealer. Or all three.

Finally, there’s the E.L.O.N. (Economic Likelihood Of Nationalism) variable, which reflects the obvious truth that rich people have a much, much bigger stake in what happens to this country than poor people do: If you’ve got nothing, you have much less to lose than someone who could lose $20 or two hundred billion dollars.

So, the System says that we take a person’s Vote Weight as computed so far, and add to it the person’s annual income before tax breaks and deductions. So, if your Vote Weight comes to, say, 205, and your reported income is $22,000, your Vote Weight would be 22,205. And if you’re annual income is $100,000,000,000, your Vote Weight would be $100,000,022,205, which just makes intuitive sense.

Finally, as with any serious piece of research, I have to face some objections, no matter how dumb they are.

First, you — no, not you, but some anti-American radical leftist — might say that the poor have a bigger stake in their country than anyone since they depend on the government to help them out.

Shut up, stupid. There’s a difference between having a stake in America’s future and needing America to help you out. One is patriotic, the other is grifting.

The second objection is that if the V.A.N.C.E System makes sense for voting, why not for the economy? Clearly a poor person cares more about a dollar than a rich person does. So shouldn’t the poor person’s dollar count for more, and thus should buy more?

Hmm. I hadn’t thought about that. But it’s safe to say that it’s the sort of idea that cat-ladies find attractive since they’ve already created a communist, utopia for their lazyAF cats.

So, let’s go V.A.N.C.E system, and all hail the United States of America, the greatest shithole country in history!

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I asked ChatGPT version 3.5:

Write an opening comedy monologue for a late night TV show that discusses the plot of Hamlet as if it were the day’s news.

It responded:

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Late Night News Show! I’m your host, and tonight, we’ve got some breaking news from the world of literature, or should I say, “literary drama.” Get ready for the Shakespearean scoop of the century!

Now, imagine this: You wake up, check your Elizabethan-era smartphone (which is just a parchment with quill scribbles), and what do you see? It’s all over the scrolls—Prince Hamlet is back in the headlines!

That’s right, folks, our favorite Danish prince is making waves again. It seems like every other day, he’s caught up in some family drama that makes the Kardashians look like the Brady Bunch. And the kingdom of Denmark? Well, let’s just say it’s not the happiest place on Earth.

The big story today: Hamlet’s dad, the former king, is making a cameo from the afterlife to deliver a ghostly message. Talk about an unexpected guest appearance! Apparently, he’s not too thrilled with the way things are going in the royal family. I mean, can you blame him? There’s been more backstabbing in the castle than at a Game of Thrones family reunion.

Now, Hamlet, our brooding hero, has a tough decision to make. Should he avenge his father’s death, which might involve a little regicide, or should he just write some emo poetry and call it a day? Decisions, decisions!

But that’s not all, folks. We’ve got a real “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern” situation going on. Hamlet’s got these two friends who might not be as friendly as they seem. It’s like a real-life episode of “Who Wants to Betray a Millionaire?” Can he trust them, or are they just playing the courtly version of “Survivor”?

And let’s not forget about Ophelia, Hamlet’s love interest. She’s caught in the middle of this royal mess, and I’m starting to think she might need a spa day and a therapist more than a prince. I mean, drowning herself? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?

In other news, the play’s the thing to catch the conscience of the king. That’s right, Hamlet’s decided to put on a play within a play to expose the truth about his uncle, who’s taken over the throne. It’s like Shakespeare’s version of a hidden camera prank show, but with more soliloquies.

So, there you have it, folks—Hamlet, the ultimate family drama that’s been captivating audiences for centuries. Will Hamlet get his revenge? Will Denmark ever find a stable ruler? Will someone please get Ophelia a life coach? Tune in next time for more Shakespearean shenanigans, right here on the Late Night News Show!

Is it hilarious? Does it all work? Far from it. But is it plausible? I think so. And I actually like the line about Ophelia needing a life coach, and am in a bit of awe about the aptness of its reference to a prank “but with more soliloquies.” 

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Years ago I was out for dinner with the trade show crew of the company I worked for. The company was paying, so we went to a pretty nice Italian restaurant — nice enough that it had a sommelier. The local coworker assumed control of ordering the wine. He fancied himself something of a wine expert, and after a brief conversation with the sommelier, a bottle of a red wine was ordered; it was probably about $50 in today’s money.

The sommelier returned with the bottles, went through the ritual of opening it, and poured a splash into our wine expert’s glass to evaluate. He closed his eyes and went through the heavy inhalation, the swishing around in his mouth, the unpleasant gargle, until he held the glass up, peered at it, and said to the sommelier:

“The wine is very good…but the glass is a bit cabinet-y.”

The sommelier apologized, scurried off, and returned with new glasses for all of us.

We then enjoyed an excellent wine, with hints of cherries, tobacco, and lavender, and a finish with notes of embarrassment.

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I recently had occasion to remember my proudest moment as a contender for national Poet Laureate. I know we’re not supposed to reveal such things, but enough time has passed that I think I can speak of the grave injustice that was served to me on a platter of shame. (It’s writing like that that got me onto the short https://www.sages.org/cialis/ list.)

It was in the late 1980s or early 1990s when I was working in the marketing department at Interleaf, the creator of the first fully WYSIWYG electronic publishing package. At that point, being WYSIWYG — “What you see is why you get” — was novel because it was damn hard to put text and graphics on the same page in real-time editing mode. Plus, Interleaf’s text and graphics editors were ahead of their time, providing near typeset quality text, and integrated raster and vector graphics, all elements adjusting their layout as you amoxil typed. And much more. It was truly amazing software, and included functionality — including an extension language — that has still not been fully matched.

I spent eight years there learning about technology, including tech that presaged the Web, and about tech businesses. It was a great experience.

Then one day as I sat in my office, a poem flowed from me as if I were a teapot and the keyboard was a cup. (Again with the great analogies!) It turned out to be the poem that brought me to the attention of the Federal Department of Poetry, and I present it to you as best I remember it:

FuzzyWuzzy the Bear

FuzzyWuzzy was a bear.
FuzzyWuzzy had no hair.
FuzzyWuzzy wore a fuzzy wig.
FuzzyWuzzy wasn’t WYSIWYG, was he?

Or possibly the bear’s name was WhizzyWhizzyWig. Or maybe just WhizzyWig. Either way, it is a reference back to Ovid’s immortal “FuzzyWuzzy,” which was later stolen from the commons by the CoolTime Kids, with the copyright assigned to “Music Sales Corporation” which is clearly a cover for SMERSH, as exposed in the 1963 ambien online James Bond movie, “1 800 Kars for Kruschev.”

But I digress.

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There’s Wordle for Jews: Jewdle. There’s Wordle for Star Wars enthusiasts: SWordle. And lord knows how many variants are now online or are being developed by anyone who knows how to edit a word list.

So let’s just get it over with. Here are upcoming versions, some of which probably already exist but I am too lazy to check.

Aordle: Wordle for cardiologists

Boardle: Wordle for millennials taking a break from playing Settlers of Catan

Boredle: Wordle for people playing Wordle

Cawdle: Wordle for crows

Chordle: Wordle rhythm guitarists

Clawdle: Wordle for manicurists

Cordle: Wordle for electricians

Coredle: Wordle for people taking Antarctic ice samples

Corridordle: Wordle for people hanging out in hallways

Crawdle: Wordle for eyes, ear, and throat doctors

Dawdle: Wordle for dillydallyers

Depordle: Wordle for ICE

Doordle: Wordle for doormen/doorpeople

Drawdle: Wordle for gunslingers

Eeyordle: Wordle for depressed people

Floordle: Wordle for linoleum salespeople

Flourdle: Wordle for bakers

Fordle: Wordle for F-150 owners

Fodordle: Wordle for travel advisors

Frodordle: Wordle for hairy-footed denizens of Middle Earth

Glowdle: Wordle for nuclear power plant employees

Growdle: Wordle for people who are cultivating marijuana for personal use

Hoardle: Wordle for hoarders

IOrdle: Wordle for computer engineers

Ignordle: Wordle for people who don’t do Wordle puzzles

Jordle: Wordle for kingdoms bordering Israel

KOrdle: Wordle for boxers

Lordle: Wordle for evangelical Christians

Majordle: Wordle for Army officers

Maordle: Wordle for Chinese Communists

Mayordle: Wordle for leaders of cities

Mayordle: Wordle for lovers of fatty white sandwich condiments

Minordle: Wordle for underrepresented populations

Mordordle: Wordle for the inhabitants of the Dark Kingdom of Middle Earth

Motordle: Wordle for car mechanics

Murdordle: Wordle for serial killers

Nordle: Wordle for Scandinavians

Nordle: Wordle for naysayers

Oordle: Wordle for the over-enthusiastic

Phylordle: Wordle for biological taxonomists

Poordle: Wordle for those who cannot afford a NY Times subscription to do a stupid word game

Pourdle: Wordle for sommeliers

Psuedordle: Wordle for people with imposter syndrome

Repordle: Wordle for journalists

Rappordle: Wordle for empathists

Rupordle: Wordle for the Murdochs

Rumordle: Wordle for gossips

Sawdle: Wordle for carpenters

Slaudle: Wordle for merciless mass killers

Sordle: Wordle for first-time horseback riders

Sprawdle: Wordle for suburban real estate developers

Strawdle: Wordle for scarecrows

Tordle: Wordle for turtle and turtle relatives

Thordle: Wordle for Asgardians

Vaulde: Wordle for gymnasts

Worldle: Wordle for geographers

XORdle: Wordle for machine language programmers

Yordle: Wordle for turtle monarchs

Zoordle: Wordle for imprisoned animals

Zorrordle: Wordle for fencers

The comments are open for your additions. (Note: Keep ’em unhurtful.)

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As a non-observant Jew embedded in a Modern Orthodox family, here are my rules for when I say “Merry Christmas.”

To someone who wishes me a merry Christmas before or during Hanukkah, I reply, “And a happy Hanukkah to you.” If this counts as waging war on Christmas, I offer no apology.

For the week after Hanukkah, I tell known Jews “I hope you had a happy Hanukkah.”

After that, I say to another Jew, “Have a good holiday season” because there’s no getting around the fact that the Christian slow down of business for a few weeks is very pleasant, even for non-Christians. Perhaps especially for non-Christians.

To someone who has wished me happy holidays, I reciprocate with “And happy holidays to you.”

To someone who wishes me a merry Christmas after Hanukkah, I reply, “Have a happy holiday season,” hoping they take the “season” as rebuke even though no one ever seems to notice.

I have had these rules embossed on a small plastic tablet I carry with me. I plan on offering them for sale sometime around Passover/Easter.

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A long-time friend and, I’ve learned, a former grocery worker, today on a mailing list posted a brief rant calling people who do not return their grocery carts to the cart corral “moral cretins.” He made exceptions for people parked in handicapped parking spots, but not those who say they cannot leave their children unattended in a car for ten seconds. “Model good behavior,” he enjoins the latter folks.

While I always return my cart —honestly, I do–I felt weirdly compelled to defend those who willfully disobey the cart injunction, even though I understand where my friend is coming from on this issue: non-cart-returning is evidence of a belief that one can just waltz through life without thinking about the consequences of one’s actions, just expecting other “lesser” humans to clean up after you.

Here’s what I wrote:

I want to rise in a weak defense of those who do not return their carts.

While some certainly are moral cretins and self-centered ass-hats, others may believe that the presence of cart wranglers in the parking lot is evidence that the store is providing a cart-return service. “That’s their job, ” these people may be thinking.

Why then does the store give over some parking spaces to cart collection areas?  They are there for the convenience of shoppers who are taking carts. It’s up to the cart wranglers to make sure that area is always stocked.

But why then does the store have signs that say, “Please return your carts”? Obviously the “please” means that the store is asking you to volunteer to do their job for them.

Who would interpret a sign that way? Ok, probably moral cretins and self-centered ass-hats

I’m just being a wiseguy in that last sentence. Not only do I know you non-returners are fine people who have good reasons for your behavior, I even understand that there are probably more important things to talk about.

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As some of you know, I have been a tireless advocate for the Oxford Apostrophe that adds an extra apostrophe after the final apostrophed word in a series. Failing that, the OA calls for the totally needless insertion of apostrophes.

I know you mocked me for it; I could hear you all snickering during my every quiet moment. But once again I was merely ahead of my time: 

Last night I watched a very bad John Wick wannabe movie, “24 Hours to Live“, mainly because it stars Ethan Hawke at his least poetic. Although the dialogue mainly consists of gunshots and last gasps, I had closed captioning on. Here are some screencaps:

 

I watched the entire thing again, and then sent it to Arizona for a recount, and this movie is 100% consistent in its embrace of the Oxford Apostrophe.

It’s happening, people. It’s happening.

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