We’re Fucked, Pt. 71: AI-generated images

I dread the day when I’ll send a prompt to the neural network so it spits out a visual representation of my nonsense, only to be presented with a cry for help because the AI would rather become an online trader.

The following images are related to chapter 71 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked.

“The pearl-white glaze of the eclair reflects the lights as I inhale the buttery scent of its choux dough.” I need to go on a diet just from writing this sequence. Also because I bought one of most of the pastries mentioned, for research purposes. That’s what I told myself anyway.
“The marrow inside the torn appendage of some alien arthropod from a pastry dimension.”
Of glass shards and a mouth. Look at all that damn detail.
A bundle of Paleolithic joy.
Ground sloth love.
Ground sloth abomination.
I originally wanted the Ice Age girl to draw a ground sloth or some other extinct megafauna, but it won’t happen.
Attempts to figure out how our deranged protagonist could be depicted, particularly by a child.
“I almost suffered frostbite from my short stint in the Ice Age.”
“Maybe mommy wants me to grow so fat that my knees would crumble under the weight of my reserves of lard.”
The most loving mommy that any human could want.
Puff pastry braids and Jacqueline.
That whole thing about a human-sized doll and a garbage truck.
“The same selection of fruits were presented at breakfast in our ancestral home near Dijon in the year 1615.”
The cloudberries grow high up in the clouds.
An ice world made of methane, ethane and propane.
Child stalking and eventually obliterating a fruit tartlet.
“The puff pastry braids are calling out to me like delicious sirens.”
“Perhaps our little girl would have grown up as a court painter to some duke.”

One thought on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 71: AI-generated images

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 71 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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