Who would have thought that the idiotic interactions between a deranged human and a cranky interdimensional blob would become the inspiration for such AI-generated beauty?
The following images are related to chapter 89 of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked.
I have posted many other entries with generated images. Check them out.
“Why are you making me waste precious time with your toxic oratory?”
“Am I facing the squid-god Proteus?”
“I picture myself taking a shortcut at midnight through a grimy alley, that stinks of dog shit, urine, cigarette smoke, stale booze, and dime-store perfume.”
“A rat scampers along a clogged storm drain.”
“Some vermin is scrabbling in a trash can.”
“Shards of broken glass glitter like slivers of moonstone.”
“An orange-sized, black glob of snot drops in front of me and splatters on the piss-glazed cobblestones.”
“Dozens of bulging eyeballs are observing me, glued to a gargantuan garland of slimy tar suspended between the graffitied brick walls, like a forgotten ornament for some holiday that honors a god of putrefaction and deformity.” No garland, and mostly just graffiti.
“Look, if you had checked the yearbooks in your high school’s library, you would have realized that I was in middle school when blob-people made their debut.”
“The blob gurgles like a busted-up washing machine.”
“I want to gouge that eye out, then unhinge my jaw wide enough to cram the orb in my mouth.”
“The eye would slime my lips and ooze onto my tongue.”
“I would sink my teeth into its fibrous sclera as if into a jawbreaker, and the released vitreous humor would shoot through my nose.”
“What an unhygienic lot!”
“To whatever extent a name becomes the verbal attempt at manifesting one’s destiny, weren’t my parents setting me up for mediocrity by giving me a commonplace moniker instead of, say, Flower-Duster, or Unsliced Saliva’s Fondness for Fishbones?” Beautiful depictions of an idiotic sentence.
“A creative forest fae came up with it, maybe because she understood I had a penchant for being an untamed bohemian.”
“Who would want to associate with a cacodemon who came all over the pancakes they cooked for breakfast?”
“Interdimensional tapioca pudding.”
“I’m a helium balloon soaring above the mountains.”
“Any gal nearby would come crawling across the woods with her hair matted in clumps and her tongue out like a begging puppy.”
“What a life of luxury they were blessed with by mommy Earth!”
“The blob rolls his dozens of eyeballs so far back that they sink into the squirming goo, spin, then spring to the surface again.”
“Is the mere existence of logic and evidence so unbearable to your warped little soul?”
“As the ghastly racket resounds, the mound of sludge shakes and ripples like the belly of an obese man who has gorged himself on a vatful of lard.”
“With each gargle and snort, the squelchy mass threatens to eject several gallons of its rotten innards into space.”
The Domains of the Emperor Owl 