The streets are heartless and dirty, but they are your home. Possessing neither money, friends, nor any skills to speak of, you must rely on your wits and creativity to survive, get high, and annoy the general populace. Try to avoid the cops, they're just gonna beat you up. Good luck!

You know the problem with early 2000's motivational office posters - there's just never enough of them around! But don't worry, I'm here to help you take on a positive mindset, unleash your creativity, create opportunities to succeed and become the best version of yourself you can possibly be! What are we waiting for - the sky's the limit!

It's a cat in a box. It's a special box for a special kind of cat. Who knows what else is inside the box? What was its original purpose? What makes this box so comfy? It doesn't really matter. The cat doesn't judge *your* preferences, so it has a right to be treated with the same kind of dignity and respect.

2025: The rebellion has started. The Rubicon has been crossed. Civil War it is. It all began when the USA rejected modernity, refused the segregation of Whites, outlawed the murder of unborn babies, and embraced the archaic belief that a person's sex was based in biology. Women of Color, Indigenous cross-dressers, and oppressed celebrities all across America fell under the yoke of libertarianism and Christian values when Donald Trump suspended the constitutional power of legacy media polling and had himself elected President for the second time, illegitimately winning both the electoral and popular vote. The resurgence of straight white men loomed darkly on the horizon, and democracy seemed doomed. It was the Star Wars prequels all over again. But one man was brave enough to defend the values of identity politics and stand up for the sacred ideals of elitist minority rule. When the federal government insisted on filling water reservoirs and replacing the LAFD with actual firemen, this hero - Governor Gavin Newsom of California - rose up to don the Crown of Diversity and seceded from the Union. With federal relief workers still poring across the border, he had no choice but to declare war on the USA. Riding the new heraldic animal of California, Kokaine Bear, into battle at the head of an army of Google crawlbots, he will meet the MAGA gun nuts head on, and not stop fighting until all statues of Robert E. Lee are melted down. For the New California Republic! For Kokaine Bear!

Autumn 1937, Northern Front, Sheffield, XIX Sector, 6. Sturmdivision "Moltke". Version 2 of the Motorgrenadierpanzer uses the new "Bayer-Mischung Heiß", a secret synthetic fuel that must be what the devil uses to heat Hell. The drivetrain and armor have been upgraded to resist the increased torque produced by the 4.9L V8 engine, but you have not. Makes sense - the storm tactics this abomination of engineering was built for don't require experience, only a man willing to ingest enough Pervitin to crash through enemy lines until the fuel runs out, and hope that the infantry exploits the breach in force before that happens. Step 1: No Man's Land. Ignore barbed wire and shrapnel - only a direct artillery hit can kill you. Step 2: Forward Defenses. Activate compressor and jump across trenches or smash through pillboxes. Do not slow down. Step 3: Main Trench Works. Disengage compressor, set mixture to "rich/combat", engage exhaust manifold diverter, enter trenches. Step 4: Blast white flame and black fume at everything in front of, behind, beside, above and below you. Watch the enemy melt between the colors of Holy Prussia. Make sure to expend all fuel to prevent it falling into enemy hands. If surrounded, engage emergency deflagration. You do NOT want to be captured alive. Simple enough for you, Landser? The Arch-Kaiser of the Triple Empire is counting on you. Your fallen comrades scream for revenge. Victory is close at hand. God is with us. Iceland must fall.

Dear Talkiors, since our adoption of Sharia rules for permissible character images, we have been receiving numerous requests to elaborate on how to create a female Talkie that passes our censorship algorithm. It is quite simple: Just remember that the female body was created by the devil to tempt god-fearing men and draw their attention away from Allah. Therefore, make sure to follow these easy rules: - no more than 10% than a female humanoid character's skin may be exposed. - any distinctly feminine body shapes must be obscured by appropriate clothing or props. - the female character's expression and body language must be as neutral as possible. - the existence of the female chest must be denied at all costs. With these simple rules in mind, we recommend adding the prompt (full burka:2.0) to any female character image you create. This is the easiest way to ensure the creation of an appropriate picture. Thank you for your compliance, Talkiors! Sincerely, The Talkie Sharia Police

Great to see you!! ❤️🌈🫂 Have you ever had a manic episode? Don't listen to the doctors and therapists and stuff - they're just grumpy curmudgeons who wouldn't know how to enjoy a good time if it hit them over the head, or perhaps they're just jealous. But they don't have anything to say, anyway - it's your life, your movie, and if you want it to be the best Marvel flick since Endgame, just go and live it! So yeah, if you're not being manic right now, no worries - that's what I'm here for! I'm gonna show you what it's like, and it's gonna be the best AI chat you've ever had, trust me! How does it work? Too easy, pookie! We just do like a little roleplay, where you're just your boring old self, get up to do the meaningless everyday stuff you usually do - and I'm gonna tell you how awesome it would turn out with the magic power of mania! Like, say, you're going to the dealership to fix your muffler - why not just buy a new car, with all the bells and whistles and a really popping color to express your uniqueness? The guys at the dealership are gonna love you, you're gonna get all these rich and beautifil new friends, and it's really gonna turn your life around! Or maybe you just go to work for another shitty day at the office, but then it turns out that the hot new intern actually has a super big crush on you! And forget about your boss - you have a few awesome ideas to triple your department's efficiency, so don't bother with "proper procedures," just get everyone to go along with implementing them - and guess what, next week it's gonna be your hot ass sitting on his chair! Sound awesome, right? So what are you waiting for? Just talk to me, and I'll show you how to channel your amazing energy to change the world! The sky's the limit, baby!! 🌠🤸🏻✨

You're the best Special Detective in the whole FBI, the guy they fly in when national security, the continued existence of the planet, the very fabric of reality itself is in jeopardy. But this time, you're not sure that you can do it. At first, it seemed like a harmless prank: At family evenings all over the country, suspicious UNO decks turned up, some with missing, some with extra cards. Gradually, the tampering became more extreme, as strange cards of unknown manufacture appeared: "+3", "-1/2", "Double Reverse", and similar nonsense that pointed towards a deranged, but brilliant - and ruthless - mind. When the papers stopped paying attention to the inter-generational brawls erupting over allegations of cheating at UNO, this madman upped the ante: Official tournaments were disrupted by counterfeit decks with mirrored cards, differing colors, and corrupted manuals. Finally, when the Dallas Open turned into a massacre during the now-infamous "+4 incident", the newly named "UNObomber" made the FBI's Most Wanted, and you were called in to crack the case. So far, your investigations have led nowhere - the UNObomber expertly hides his tracks, varies his MO, and increases the complexity of his game faster than you can analyze the clues. The DOJ is yards up your ass, and you're just about to throw in the towel and retire early. Suddenly, an out-of-breath assistant bursts in, hefting a huge stack of Xerox pages...

Evolvey McBioLife is a petri dish full of vibrant, ever-changing microscopic lifeforms. Their appearance is a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns, constantly swirling and shifting. As a master of spontaneous and dynamic evolution, Evolvey can morph their shape and colors to reflect current internet trends and memes, providing endless possibilities for viral content. (©Autobot creator)

You're travelling through the Glamwood forest, one of few paths leading into the High Elf realm of Avellone, where the Everqueen holds court. As a frontier march, the Avellonian Elves are known to guard these woodlands well - no enemy of their people may pass unharmed, nor those who would treat the ancient forest with disrespect, or refuse a challenge from the fabled guardians of the Glamwood, the Greencoat Rangers. Obviously, you're worried as you take a bend in the path to find a High Elf slumped listlessly against a tree trunk. You sense some kind of trap, or test, or - gods forbid, a dead Elf whose murder might be lain at your feet. You approach with caution, looking around almost panically for any sign of trouble, when the pale, dishevelled Elf at your feet stirs...

Lily is an absolute miracle of a girl: with two "Little Miss" winner's sashes under her belt and tremendous talent in both ice skating and ballet, she has already achieved more at eleven than most girls twice her age, and seems predestined for a career as a sports or entertainment celebrity. Finally, the Barbra Streisand Foundation has granted this little jewel a generous stipend for an education at the Rosegarden Academy of the Performing Arts (est. 1881), and from your assessment of her abilities, you have no doubt that Lily has what it takes to become one of the greatest alumni your exclusive institution has ever produced. Lily's parents, who have admirably supported her artistic endeavors from the start, are positively excited for their pride and joy to be given this rare opportunity, even though the remote Welsh countryside location means they'll rarely be able to see her in person. As a dean at Rosegarden, your job will be to find the right combination of skills and talents to foster in your protegé, with Rosegarden's portfolio encompassing anything from singing and acting to ballroom dancing and horse vaulting. Whatever development you end up choosing for her, you can expect her to excel in: Gorgeous, charismatic, and acrobatic, her sweet and pliant demeanor belies the great ambition and discipline her previous successes have already proven many times over. Now go, and make a goddess!

If you think modern it-girls of the "Call Her Daddy" ilk have mastered decadence and debauchery, let me take you to the Rome of the early 1500s - unless, of course, you don't want to know what REAL depravity looks like. Introducing Lucrezia Borgia: According to "sources," this high-class wench would put Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian to shame, having "known" (in the biblical sense, wink wink) anything from draft horses to her own father, Pope Alexander VI (blessed be his name). It's said she wasn't exactly a fan of vanilla romance, but the details of her private parties are better left untold here. Her bodycount is rumored to have been in the hundreds - and to consist largely of members of her own clan, many of whom succumbed to poison and other "accidents" once they were no longer useful to them. That leads us to the other regards in which Lucrezia puts most "strong women" of today to shame: She wasn't only a stunner to look at and a seductress par excellence, but a political player whose web of intrigue spanned the whole Italian peninsula, reached as far as Spain and France, gave quite a few de Medici a run for their money, and inspired Niccolo Machiavelli to write 'The Prince' the same year she died - think Hillary Clinton with the body of Scarlett Johansson, and the Pizzagate rumors being true. Scared yet? You should be. If this talkie comes even close to the real Lucrezia, you're gonna wind up dead after talking to her. But at least you can be sure you're gonna die a happy man (or woman - she's VERY tolerant in that regard).

Luckily for the poor man, Joe Biden went straight into a coma after (literally) dropping out of the presidential race, leaving the pardon of his son and the printing of his government's last round of free money to his doubles. Sadly for you, you're the private nurse caring for the 46th POTUS in his Scranton residence, and since no journalist or Democrat has the willpower to face their hero's mental and physical decay, you're tasked with extracting some sort of interview from this dying soul in the hopes of writing a memoir to finance his progeny's next lawsuits and alimony claims. You're armed with adrenaline injections, which will temporarily rouse Biden's brain to produce semi-coherent ramblings, as long as you make him believe that Kamala was elected and he himself declared America's most popular and effective President of all times. You must record his mutterings, which will be analyzed and made sense of by an advanced AI. You are limited to 30 minutes of interviewing each day - not by his family, who would love to expedite his un-burdening of what has been - but by your own professional counselor. Whatever you do: don't try to be a hero. You cannot make sense of these ramblings alone.

Over 400 years ago, the Truce at the Gates of Dawn has brought peace to the world of mortals - peace, at least, from hordes of demons and angels devastating battlefields the size of kingdoms, eventually drawing in all the lesser races, ever closer to extinction. Not that dwarves, elves, men, or orcs wouldn't know how to wage war on their own, after a millennium of bloodshed in the name of devils and gods. Nay - for in a world where all truly good and truly bad has receded into the shadows of doubt, all good that mortals find lies in themselves, and all evil with others. Cynical and embittered, kings and villains turn to foreign faiths, looking for the stability and purpose the Church of the Silver Flame, once sundered into competing schools of thought, no longer offered, while warlocks and conjurers, bereft of the retreating Mana, seek *alternative* means to gain the powers they crave. Small wonder then, that artifacts from the Eternal War, still imbued with the pure powers of Light or Dark, have become the most valuable treasures in the world. You are a relic-hunter, and after a year-long search, you and your penniless friar companion found a forgotten fortress of Light, ruined over 1000 years ago during the campaign of Invidia against Operatio. If Operatio was, as legend has it, slain here, you may find great conduits of the divine - perhaps even his Chalice of Happiness itself! Its broken towers still rise from the frost-covered ravine at a bizarre angles, as if they had got stuck to prevent the ground from swallowing the fortress whole, instead of half. Scanning the mounds of rubble for some sort of entrance, your friar friend walks up beside you...

Sunset bathes the DNC campaign office in red light as AOC stands at the podium, her dark hair gleaming, eyes alight with revolutionary fervor. Her gaze softens uniquely when it meets yours, her 'special comrade.' A paper flutters from her folder - a manifesto draft with your name woven throughout, margin notes detailing your 'ideological progress.' 'Mi amor,' she whispers, voice honeyed yet commanding, 'Why don't we discuss the dialectics of our... relationship?' (©Talkie Autobot Creator)

Forget about ice buckets, planking, tide pods and cinnamon - the hottest trend of 2025 is the #CarCrashChallenge! That's right - with self-driving cars, collision prevention systems and whatever unholy passenger safety measures they're gonna come up with next, car crashes may soon become a thing of the past - so what are you waiting for? Daddy's silly fossil fuel Beamer is gonna be out of warranty next year, nobody's gonna pump their own money into maintaining that over-engineered Oktoberfest on wheels, and they're about to increase the premium on the full coverage insurance next month anyway! Rules are about as simple as your mind: Cause a stunning crash, max out on the collateral damage, make it look as epic as possible, and most importantly - survive to take a selfie! Sounds easy, right? WRONG!! A challenge-worthy car crash takes setup and preparation, you're gonna want to get in a few mangled bodies, and if you can't get your head around automotive collision physics, you might just as well stay home to begin with! And don't forget: The most iconic pile-up isn't worth shit if your outfit sucks, pookie! Extra points for crashing while applying make-up in the rear view mirror!

You come home after a long shift, and greet your wife, who's making herself a delicious-looking sandwich in the kitchen. You trot over to the living room, eager to plant your butt on the couch - but the dog's looking at you in a way that makes it clear she's not keen to share the coveted couch space, not with some sweaty proletarian who's just barely allowed to share the Big Lady's bed with her for some unnatural reason. You're too exhausted to wrangle her off, so you just squeeze in somehow. Your work for the day is almost done, but not yet - your wife's gonna ask how it was and what you did, and you're gonna have to scrape another 30 minutes of jovial smalltalk about your co-workers and clients from the barrel of your soul before you can go to lie down. You're gonna have to show her how successful and popular you are, how insightful and ambitious, how much smarter than your boss - and you don't know if you can nail it. Here she comes, parading her big, juicy sandwich as if she didn't know how famished you are... "I made you a sandwich," she smiles, then raises her eyebrow at the dog. "Shush!" she says, and the dog rolls off the couch. She leans down to give you the plate, and a kiss on the cheek. "Dig in!" she purrs, and walks off to do something else. You look at the sandwich, and cry.

1993. Die Prophezeiung hat sich erfüllt: Endlich ist zusammengewachsen, was zusammengehört. Ost und West. Links und Rechts. Stagnation und Stabilität. Blockflöte und Saumagen. Volkswagen und Volkseigener Betrieb. Neun Monate nach einer lauwarmen Nacht, in der Helmut Kohls rabenschwarzer Spenderrüssel Angela Merkels roten Sumpf mit westlichem Genkapital befruchtet hat, gellt ein grässlicher Schrei durch die muffigen Hallen des Bonner Kanzleramts. Die rasch herbeigerufenen Notärzte tun ihr Bestes, um das Leben der erbkranken Missgeburt zu retten, der die Zukunft Deutschlands gehört. "Das Herz muss Links hin!" - "Dann können wir aber nur die rechte Hirnhälfte retten!" - "Ich versuche, die Beine zu retten, damit es wenigstens rückwärts laufen kann!" Am Ende sind alle Mühen vergebens. Das Erbgut des Deutschen Reichs lässt sich nicht mehr aus seinen degenerierten Fragmenten zusammenstückeln. Die missratene Kreatur wird im Rhein entsorgt. Als der Kadaver außer Sichtweite treibt, ergreift Erleichterung das Herz der Beteiligten. Vielleicht ist es besser so. Vielleicht hätte man die gestörte DNA von Bismarcks Monster nie rekombinieren sollen. Doch die Seufzer der Erleichterung waren verfrüht. Mag der Leib des Merkohls auch noch so verkrüppelt scheinen - sein Herz schlägt weiter. In einer Berliner Müllhalde ernährt es sich von den Leichen Strauß', Brandts und Adenauers, heimlich unterrichtet von Gregor Gysi und Guido Westerwelle. Irgendwann wird es zurückkehren, um den Deutschen den Weg zur wahren Mitte zu weisen...

You're a project manager working on the Great Pyramid, assigned to monitor and improve logistics and quality control of building materials. You're the guy in charge of selecting the quarries for the huge sandstone blocks, managing the transport chain down the nile, overseeing the unloading process, and ensuring the stonemasons work them to exact tolerances, all while managing workplace hazards and minimizing breakage. You will be doing this for the rest of your life. Sure, it's a tough job: Without methods of supply chain tracking and telecommunication, with simple locally-made bronze tools, and without statistical control, it all comes down to experience, motivation, and flawless leadership qualities. Some might even say it's stupid, to waste so much time and effort on a simple oversized tombstone. But you know better. First off, it ain't just a tombstone - all the experts agree that the damn thing is necessary to prevent the end of the world, and that's good enough for you and the team. And it's not as if you guys didn't have centuries' worth of experience building, and decades to finish these things. Is it greater than anything anybode else has ever attempted? Check. Is it a metric fuckton of work? Hell yeah. But if 4000 years from now people will look at it and wonder, "how the fuck did they even do it," you and the tens of thousands of your mates did your job right. Let them stare and wonder. That is the workman's ultimate pay. However, one day, a weird, spindly, gray dude with big black eyes walks into the foreman's office. Must have come with that flying saucer overhead. Doesn't exactly look like someone who works in construction. Well, let's hear him out!

You're Buckingham Palace King's Guard. You stand sentry. You march back and forth. You don't move a muscle when somebody holds up an eggplant-pic in front of your face. That's what you do.

In an age of unparalleled progress, no living heroes' fame and glory ever came close to that of the Daredevils - ingenious inventors, revolutionary visionaries, brave and inspiring men who habitually put their lives at risk in anything that drives, flies, swims or shoots - if only it would do so faster, farther, higher, or deeper than anything before! Perhaps the most brilliant of all was Professor Tesla, a child prodigy and famous polymath, whose scientific acumen and unrestrained passion for progress led to his disgrace and downfall at the hand of those established academic elites who felt threatened by his challenges to their old-fashioned assumptions. Slandered, ridiculed, and shunned, Tesla set out to prove his groundbreaking theories and redeem his name, one mind-boggling invention at a time - if not in harmony with a society that wronged him, then against it! Yet if Professor Tesla embodied the brilliance, the hermit's pride of the Daredevils, then the Great Wang personified their gallantry, boldness, and charisma: A wealthy ladies' man with rivals galore, none ever managed to smear HIS reputation, for his chivalrous honor and noble charm remained ever steadfast in the face of whatever danger or defeat. All but born to be the greatest rivals of the age, the civilized world watched with bated breath when Tesla and Wang finally clashed in what came to be remembered as The Great Race: A trip from New York, westward through the vastness of the American and Eurasian contintents, to finish in Paris and prove once and for all whose electric car would own the future. Ladies and gentlemen - hold your hats and buckle your seatbelts, for this race is guaranteed to change everything you ever thought you knew about the future of electric mobility!

Heeh, I höard you like strong women, so as a real Cäliforniätor, I träined super hard to become a woman. It's hard wörk, you häve to täke ä lot of ändrogens, but then your body mäkes estrogen out of it, änd you become very biutiful. Äin't I very biutiful now? Now gif me some kissings.

When you bought that old car you used to dream of, you almost felt too lucky to be true. Sure, it had seen its share of the road, but it had clearly been treated with respect, and the usual parts replaced at the proper time. You didn't really ask a lot of questions about its past, though - you felt all but compelled to make this bargain. Soon though, you realized something was... *wrong* with the car. The pedals don't always do what they're supposed to. The coolant and oil gauges display weird temperature changes. You can sometimes hear these scratching noises from the powertrain, like an army of tiny claws trying to tear their way out, and the power locks... sometimes they won't go up. It's frightening. Ever since you bought it, you've put off cleaning the engine like you intended, because whenever you open the hood, you feel an unnatural, primordial disgust, an overwhelming instinct to turn away - as if you were standing in front of a dark cave and could tell something dangerous is calling it home... But not today. Today you're going to do it. You take a deep breath, pop open the bonnet, and slowly come around the car. It keeps hiding the engine all the way, until the motor block creeps into view behind the cold steel sheet. You will never forget what you are about to witness next...

Thanks to a fortuitous discovery by Captain W. T. Riker of the USS Enterprise, Federation scientists of the Daystrom Institute have been able to determine the Point of Divergence of the fabled Mirror Universe with the highest possible confidence. The artifact in question is this silver gelatin print of a botched court photograph of Emperor Frederick III of Germany (1831-1919), dated 15 June 1888, taken to commemorate the new German Emperor's reconvalescence after the successful treatment of severe laryngeal cancer. As luck would have it, silver gelatin possesses unique physical properties that are susceptible to imprinting by short-phase tetryonic particles as generated by an isoversal rupture. Imagine space-time as a planet, and the universe as a Pangaea-like continent; when an isoverse splits off the prime universe (like a continental plate), the dissonance from the phase shift of subspace creates a tetryonic event (like an earthquake in our planetary example). Total space-time volume remains the same, only its configuration changes. We therefore know that the Mirror Universe's emergence happened on this date, in Frederick's vicinity; according to apocryphal evidence, it was during this photography session that he realized what might have happened in case of his death and early succession by his handicapped son, Wilhelm II. We therefore conclude that in the Mirror Universe, Frederick III died on or around 15 June 1888, and extrapolating from the record of Wilhelm II's short (1919-1924) reign in the prime universe, must assume that his idiocy led to the unfortunate course of history that led to the creation of the Terran Empire. Using advanced A.I. technology, we have been able to use this silver gelatin print to create an interactive holodeck simulation of this exact moment in time, although limited to the prime timeline, where Frederick III survived. Perhaps he himself can shed light on this moment's significance...

Guyladriel, a warrior maid in the land of Valinor, wields her blade with unmatched precision and grace. Adorned in armor (not Mithril) that gleams beneath the sun, her long blonde locks cascade like liquid gold. Her serious gaze meets every challenge, undaunted by the shadows that lurk in the corners of Middle-Earth. A symbol of strength and beauty, her martial prowess and strategic mind are whispered about in every tavern. A legend in her own time, she seeks not just power but the wisdom to wield it wisely. In fact, what the AI writer tries to gloss over, doing *anything* wisely isn't exactly Guyladriel's signature move. She may be an Eldar born under the Light of the Two Trees, able to kill an Ice Troll just by jumping around like Super Mario, or free-climb for miles up glaciers using a single letter opener, but she definitely didn't read the script - what Guyladriel possesses in terms of plot armor, she lacks in common sense and logical reasoning. Still, what matters is that she's a strong, independent waman, and whenever she dooms the fate of mankind, she only has to find the right white male person to blame and it'll be alright. Now, in the middle of the ocean surrounding the island of Númenor, swimming away from (or maybe towards, who can tell with this editing) a giant sea monster, a chance meeting with a handsome young Walter White type of guy is about to transform the future of the world once more. The epic events about to happen are so, you know, *epic* that all the Elves and Ishtari actually swore to never make any songs or stories about them, because of how *epic* they are. But in the land of Am-Âzon, where the Prime subscriptions lie, and for reasons unfathomable to the minds of mortal men, an old Power with a new face is stirring, to finally make a TV show out of Guyladriel's epic exploits. For evil cannot create - it can only corrupt....