Review: The Fable, by Katsuhisa Minami

Five stars.

I’m always on the lookout for new manga to read, but I had only come across this award-winning series twice, the latest one when ChatGPT mentioned it. I wish I had read it sooner, because this long series (about 240 chapters) has become one of my favorites.

The story follows an assassin who works for a nameless organization called Fable by the criminal underworld of Japan. This assassin, considered the best of the best, is, as stated by his colleague slash little sister, a savant, a genius at killing, but a kid at everything else. He grew up fending for himself in the woods for days if not weeks at a time, eating all kinds of nasty shit, and stabbing bears in the eye. Apart from the psychological effects that such an upbringing would have on people (which is explored in the story), the guy is also socially blind and has little concern, as well as understanding, for social norms. Pretty sure he’s supposed to be autistic, because the other hardened assassins consider him a weirdo.

After an introductory hit on a bunch of goons, the guy’s boss tells both of his disciples that they have to lay low for a while: they’re ordered to leave town and spend a year living under the wing of the local Yakuza family. They are prohibited from killing anybody in the meantime, under the threat of getting whacked themselves.

The second disciple is a young woman who lost her parents at an early age and then was trained as an agent by this shady organization. She keeps herself drunk most of the time, partly to stave off boredom, mainly to drown the traumas that, along with her training, have rendered her unable to have normal relationships with people. The author could have played her entirely for laughs, or as a fool, but she’s tough and dependable, often the single person in charge of making sure that the dangerous people around her don’t jump at each other’s throats.

When the couple of assassins start living at the Yakuza safehouse, we see what passes for normal behavior for our mentally peculiar protagonist: he sleeps in the bathtub, he walks around (and greets guests) buck naked, he eats fish whole, and is endlessly amused by a third-rate comedian named Jackal. Because the protagonist comes across as an unimpressive dweeb, the hardened Yakuza people he gets to meet want to test his mettle, or resent that he’s occupying the safehouse rent-free for a year. Various dangerous individuals end up trying to ruin his existence for one reason or another, and he’s forced to deal with them without relying on the main ability that made him a legend.

He also pushes himself to hold down a normal job for near minimum wage, as a delivery driver and illustrator, which puts him in regular contact with normal people, exposing them to the dangers that follow him around.

The author blended together drama, comedy, action, and slice-of-life, with endearing, intelligently-written characters that hang out like buddies one moment only to then shoot each other in the face. For example, the grounded grittiness of a nerve-wracked underworld goon who has to avoid getting killed because he has outlived his usefulness, contrasted with a bored drunkard getting a young player so shit-faced that he injures and shits himself in public.

I can’t properly explain the vibe of this series, the then-and-there-ness of its narrative, but you can tell that this was a labor of love for the author, and that he lived vicariously through it. Even secondary goons that would have been cardboard cutouts in other stories get character arcs or at least the sense that they are the protagonist of their own story.

I only have two complaints, the first one quite significant: the first few chapters of the story felt off. I didn’t quite understand the vibe that the author was setting up, perhaps because at that point I assumed that the protagonist wasn’t intended to come off as an autistic weirdo. That led me to abandon the series the first time I came across it. My second complaint is that some of the fights were supposed to happen so fast (particularly those between members of the same organization of assassins) that they were depicted as blurs, which made them conspicuous in a medium that has depicted most of the memorable fight scenes in fiction.

This series was turned into a live-action film that is probably shit because the Japanese can rarely adapt their mangas into live-action movies properly (I suspect that it has to do with how the staff members and actors get chosen, because they have no issues creating amazing anime). Anyway, here’s the trailer:

Lady Gaga? Seriously?

If you enjoy manga and love character-driven stories, please read this series. It’s amazing.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 101: AI-generated audiochapter

I wish there were a song like “Take Me Home, Country Roads” but about the Ice Age. This audiochapter covers chapter 101 of my ongoing novel.

Cast

  • Leire: a thief quest-giver that hangs out in the sewers under Riften
  • Alberto the blob: non-space-based reptilians

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of two hours, sixteen minutes and nine seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 101 (Fiction)


The blob sloshes his bulk like a tar-black wave of putrefaction coming in on a beach, sending ripples of oozing flesh and eyeballs across his gelatinous mass.

“Here’s the gist: a big fuck-off apocalypse is approaching.”

“Oh, another end-of-days scenario.” I sigh. “The Old Gods must be back in business after a long absence, during which they watched us monkeys clamber through the mud in a voyage toward self-destruction. By Arachne’s glorious breast! We’re doomed to be swept off the stage, to end as a stain of entropy, once the Mother of Spiders finishes consuming this universe.”

“Please, stop spewing horseshit and listen. This mess started because the professor designed a revolutionary…”

“Wait, what professor?” I demand to know, irked. “Are you one of those cretins who mention third parties as if their interlocutor were in the know? Have a modicum of respect for the laws of communication, you slobbering slimeball!”

“You met him, idiot.” The blob pulsates with a sloshy squelch. Across his bulk, coconut-sized growths bulge as if they were about to shoot out, pushing eyeballs away and making them bump into other eyeballs. The growths sink back under the rippling goo. “I can’t mime for shit in this form. Nevermind; it’s the bunny guy.”

I’m seated in the first row of my mind theatre when it projects a portrait of the bunnyman’s furry, piss-soiled head sticking out of a toilet: close-set, pointy ears; bulging, gunmetal-gray eyes; a pair of overgrown incisors dripping with drool; almond-or-whiskey-colored fur matted with filth, splotched with gunky crusts.

My guts curdle as a wave of revulsion sweeps through me. I stagger backwards.

“Professor… bunnyman?” I ask in a cracked voice.

“Yes, the bunny-brained professor.”

“Th-that pervert with a torpedo-sized dick?!”

“Healthy self-esteem, I’d say.”

My temples throb with a dull pain.

“You hang out with a cacodemon who pours his own semen on pancakes and force-feeds them to his guests?!”

The blob huffs a blast of fetid air.

“Leire, you’re the kind of woman who would stab her partner because they cheated in a dream. I’m glad I haven’t shared a horizontal position with you.”

“Your loss. I’m a ravenous pussy-eater.”

“Anyway, let me illustrate the problem in terms you may understand: the professor’s contraption ripped reality a fresh vagina, and ever since, it has been oozing fluids from the darkness inside.”

My mind replaces the sight of the wall-wide mass of goo with that of a corundum-hard cock as thick as a stick of salami. Pulsating veins snake under stretched skin that threatens to rip open. The crimson cockhead, glistening with pre-ejaculate, draws nearer and nearer to my wide-open pussy.

A shudder of vertigo wrecks me. My legs go limp; I drop to the carpet. As I clasp my hands to my temples and shut my eyes tight, I rock back and forth.

“Get out of my brain, you giant fuckpole made of twisted, purple veins!”

“Quit your histrionics!” Alberto barks out. “Can’t you stay lucid for five fucking minutes?”

I grit my teeth. After I wipe sweat from my forehead, I lift my gaze to glower at the insolent blob and his legion of glazed eyeballs.

“Wh-why did you have to mention a vagina in such close proximity to that bunnyman bastard?” I demand to know, my voice strained.

The blob heaves and ripples as if he were containing laughter.

“I was trying to relate to your go-to frame of reference. Should I have mentioned penises instead?”

How could I defend my honor? I’ve been known to draw pencil sketches of cocks to visualize data structures.

“I keep glancing away from your greasy thoughts,” Alberto continues. “Oh, did I tell you that I can see them? They emanate from your head as psychedelic steam mirages, constant reminders of your depravity. If they could, they would smell of musty socks.”

I want to sob and curl into a fetal position, but instead I let out a guttural noise and rise from my kneeling position, jerking to my feet. Heat crawls up my cheeks.

“Says the dickbag who stinks like a cesspool filled with rotting corpses. You have thoroughly and blatantly invaded my privacy, so you may as well violate the sanctity of my mental space.”

“Now, could you clarify how come a child has been popping up in your thoughts? There she is again. Anything seedy you’d like to share, you dirty cunt?”

“Are her eyes squinty?” I ask in a calm voice.

“Uh… Yes, she’s Asian.”

I jab my forefinger at the blob.

“Then that’s my new daughter you’re talking about, you jizz-filled, brain-dead bastard. Have some respect!”

The blob’s bulk wobbles, making his myriad eyes quiver.

“Wait, you’re serious. Why would you suddenly have a child? How?”

“Jacqueline and I adopted a little girl that I found in the Ice Age, and she’s the cutest bundle of joy to ever warm my heart. Name’s Nairu.”

“Care to explain rationally how you acquired an Asian kid?”

I cross my arms and tilt my head.

“Rationality is for pussies who believe they need to justify themselves. I merely walked into the trap that you, or that so-called professor of yours, laid out for me.”

“Leire,” the blob growls, “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Please tell me you didn’t steal some random girl!”

“Relax, you poxy shit. I’ll explain the origin story. One recent night, after the last round of sex, Jacqueline wrapped me in her arms, pressing her bountiful breasts against my back. Sheltered by mommy’s warmth and heady scent, I started slipping into dreamland. I visualized Jacqueline and I in our old age, curled up together under the covers, sharing a cigarette. By Arachne’s nipples, I was flooded with gratitude for the woman whose light had seeped through the cracks in my battered mind to extinguish the lonely part. As a child, before I became the target of harassment by interdimensional creeps, whenever I pictured my future, I saw myself stumbling around in a labyrinth of corridors lined with funhouse mirrors. I sobbed and sobbed, terrified of that appearance that kept warping, knowing that soon enough I would lose the only image of myself that I understood.”

“Move on with your story!”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I brush strands of hair from my forehead.

“You interrupt me at such an emotionally charged moment? What a disrespect for the art of storytelling!”

“My interruption was driven by a desperate desire not to hear more about your problems. Just get to the part where you nabbed the kid!”

“Fine, I’ll provide a streamlined version, you blobulous mound of pus. In the morning, I got up from mommy’s bed and I walked naked to the bathroom. When I reached out to turn on the lights, a crackle of energy ran through me. Next thing I knew, I was standing on the muddy pebbles of a riverbank, and an icy wind was blowing against my bare tits. I won’t bore you with my initial freak-out. Anyway, I met the girl in that boreal forest. I also ended up annoying a ground sloth as it was drinking from the river. That long-extinct beast nearly performed extensive surgery on my face with its twenty-centimeter-long claws. Are you getting the close-up of that magnificent mofo from my thoughts? What a gigantic, shambling mass of meat!”

“Oh shit.”

“I wish I could have ridden that goddamn goliath, whose claws were created to rend and gouge, to pull down trees and reap lives. Just so you know, it was probably the largest mammal to ever exist, larger even than the bunnyman’s cock!”

“Leire, none of us opened that rip in space-time,” the blob says gravely as he shifts his bulk. “They will keep appearing spontaneously near you, because your insanity makes you a conduit. It’s a miracle that you returned to the present.”

“You’re telling me. I only had to walk backwards, though. To be fair, I fell on my ass back to the hallway of Jacqueline’s privileged apartment in the hills, to then find out that I had dragged along a filthy, confused child who was unaware that parquet flooring existed.”

“So, in a way, you did kidnap that girl.”

“The authorities might see it that way.”

“I guess it couldn’t be helped. No way to un-kidnap her now.”

“Perhaps I pulled off the greatest scam in the history of interpersonal relations.”

Alberto’s amorphous form shudders, sending waves rolling across the gelatinous mass. His glossy eyeballs, fixated beyond me and beyond the windows, are catching the light from the ceiling fixtures in a somber dance.

“Oh man,” the blob mumbles. “This is terrible.”

A pang of shame forces me to look down.

“You know, I thought so back then, wrapped up in a blanket, chafing my arms through the sleeves of my wool pajamas, near hallucinating due to shock and hypothermia. ‘This is terrible.’ What the hell was I supposed to do with the kid that I snatched from her home? But Jacqueline embraced that little girl like a gift from the universe, and when her angelic giggles fill the apartment, I catch myself smiling. You should see her drawings. She’s so eager to express her uniqueness, like I used to be before my parents shredded my psyche. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those ancient cave paintings belonged to her. But… being raised by me is like getting injected with poison.”

“I meant the rips in space-time. Still, a living child from thousands of years ago is mind-blowing.”

“At least about 11,500 years, which is when the Younger Dryas ended.”

“If the press got ahold of this story, the scientific community would want to lock that girl up in a lab.”

I picture a gaggle of white coats gathered around Nairu as they dazzle her with bright lights. The medical staff will take her temperature, make her pee into a cup, pry open her mouth and reach down her throat to study her lungs, inject her with syringes full of strange fluids, cut away strips of flesh to check her DNA, and open her skull to peer inside the brain.

A sickening ache squeezes my heart, and I clasp a trembling hand over my breast. The urge to murder those butchers sears through me with the fervor of an ancient beast’s drive to dominate and breed.

“I’m sure many scoundrels would love to run their greasy hands all over my sudden daughter,” I say in a cold voice, “but none will, because no non-monstrous person will find out that I kidnapped her from the Ice Age, as well as from her bearded, hunter-gatherer father. In due time, Jacqueline and I will relocate to some remote wilderness, where we’ll survive by farming, raising poultry and livestock, and staging highway robberies at gunpoint. So don’t you go spilling our little secret, you blubbery ectoplasm. In fact, restrain yourself from talking to anyone else; they will run away in terror.”

“Well, in any case, do the world a favor and don’t raise that innocent soul as a pervert.”

I chuckle.

“Nah, she’s fucked. Both of her moms are freaks.”



Author’s note: today’s songs are “Angel From Montgomery” by John Prine, and “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by The Verve.

I keep a playlist with all the songs I’ve mentioned throughout this novel. A hundred and fifty-eight songs so far. Check them out.

Leire met that bunnyman bastard back in chapter 59, during the sequence titled “That Bunnyman Bastard.” She ended up in the Ice Age back in chapter 63, during the sequence titled “A Gift From the Ice Age.” You can check out all the chapters in this page.

How about audiochapters? Do you enjoy them? I do, which is why I spend hours putting each of these together. Here’s the audiochapter for this chapter.

You know how I know that I will never become a professional author, other than the fact that I need to write stuff that virtually nobody else wants to read? I got a sales report from last month; someone has bought both of the books I self-published in Spanish back in 2017 or so. I got paranoid and wondered who was trying to fuck with me.

Ongoing manga: Tengoku Daimakyō, by Masakazu Ishiguro

I dislike reviewing manga series when they haven’t finished; more often than not, how all the parts end up tied up together influences my view of the entire story. There are quite a few manga series that I follow and love but that haven’t ended yet, like Dungeon Meshi, Kaiju No. 8, Boy’s Abyss, Chi no Wadachi, etc. However, a week ago I came across the most intriguing manga in a good while, Tengoku Daimakyō (the title apparently translates to Heavenly Delusion), which has “only” reached chapter 55 (such series tend to end at about chapter 100), but that I’ve been looking forward to sit down and continue discovering what it has to offer.

This story is an odd mix of the Fallout series of games and The Last of Us (the first game, not the TV series, and certainly not the second game). We follow two storylines. In the first one, a bunch of kids are living in a controlled environment designed to raise them in a certain way while isolating them them from the outside world. The kids are tended to by AI, as well as by shady adults who seem to be guided by a cult-like drive to create a “heaven on earth,” where people won’t be discriminated in any way. You quickly realize that these kids slash test subjects have been manipulated genetically to whatever extent, and some of the most interesting scenes of that storyline involve children being unable to comprehend how utterly nuts their environment is; they are unfazed when they come across babies that look like alien squids, because that’s how human babies look like as far as they know. One of the children mingling with the rest straight up looks like an alien. We are only given a bit more information than the children, because we follow some of the adults that handle the operation. In general, the whole deal works like a Fallout vault.

The main storyline involves a twenty-year-old redheaded bodyguard who wears a cool jacket, and the fifteen-year-old kid for whom she’s working. They live in the post-apocalyptic ruins of Japan after some cataclysm destroyed a world that had achieved artificial general intelligence. Enough time has passed that the newest generations don’t even care how things ended up this bad. Anyway, for unknown reasons, disturbing monsters with superpowers are roaming the place, which has prevented human beings from establishing lasting settlements.

The aforementioned redhead, who is the main protagonist of this tale, was offered work by a sick young woman who promptly died, but not before bequeathing the redhead a ray gun along with the task of accompanying the fifteen-year-old kid to locate a place called Heaven, where someone who shares a face with the kid will need to receive an injection of a mysterious medicine. Our main couple sets off together to explore a ruined Japan. The redheaded girl also intends to locate the two people she remembers from before a monster attack landed her in a hospital bed for about a year.

The anime adaptation has already been produced. Here’s the trailer:

Troublingly enough, though, it has been picked up in the US by Disney Plus. This is a casually hardcore series that involves regular nudity, murder, The Thing-like grossness, a thirteen-year-old prostitute/hotel tycoon, rape, child rape, and such. There’s thematic stuff that Western fiction wouldn’t touch with a teen foot pole; for example, one of the settlements that the main couple comes across is controlled by a group of female supremacists that cut off women’s breasts if they are deemed too big, that kill any older men they come across, but capture attractive young men (and kids) to keep them as “seed pigs”. I have to assume that the anime, which I’ve barely started watching, must have been toned down significantly, which would be a shame.

All in all, fantastic worldbuilding, very detailed landscapes of a post-apocalyptic Japan, natural-sounding dialogue, cool fight scenes, and a narrative that gets sadder and more tragic the longer it runs. The only downside for me, quite minor in comparison, is that a couple of “evil” characters come across a bit over the top. Anyway, check Tengoku Daimakyō out. Or don’t. Do whatever you want.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 100: AI-generated audiochapter

For a measly hundred euros, I will share all my knowledge of the Younger Dryas cataclysm. This audiochapter covers chapter 100 of my ongoing novel.

Cast

  • Leire: a vexing thief that hangs out in the sewers under Riften like a common rat
  • Alberto the blob: Argonian fellows

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of two hours, five minutes and two seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 100 (Fiction)


The mound of sentient ooze pulses with a sloshing noise, as if it were gulping down foodstuff to fuel its bloat-bound brain.

“Leire, you need to stop having a meltdown every few minutes.”

I take a deep breath as I wipe away my tears with the pad of my thumb.

“What I need to do,” I start in a slow drawl, “is grab the spare umbrella and head home, and by home I mean mommy’s apartment in the hills. The trip back there is going to feel like a journey to another galaxy, but the hot tongue of my petite amie will purge my memories of slimy, eyeball-studded freaks. After having been so thoroughly humiliated by a gelatinous mass of putrid flesh, I need to be hugged and fucked by mommy to keep the dark thoughts at bay. You can return to your realm of rotting slime, and leave me the fuck alone.”

A gloopy chuckle slurps through the blob’s bulk.

“Oh no, we ain’t done yet.”

“Sure we are.”

“You want a repeat of this evening, more hours of wasted overtime at the office, filled instead with you and I arguing? Why not? After all, you don’t care if you get fired.”

My eyelids twitch.

“By all means, please keep pestering me until I slit my wrists.”

“I’m going to force you into a lucid state by any means necessary,” the blob assures me acidly, “and I swear that we will sort this shit out before you leave tonight, because I have dealt with you as much as I can handle.”

“Why don’t you come over here and shove your ‘any means necessary’ up my ass, you quivering wad of phlegm?”

“I’m not going to punish a masochist like you with a good time. Now, I can’t expect someone who has lived a lifetime as a pile of garbage to change overnight, but I will get you to hear me out and learn the true scope of our problem.”

I groan, then run my fingers through my hair. For a second I fear that my hand will come away sticky with black ooze.

“Fuck me with a spiked dildo,” I grumble. I crack my neck, I loosen my shoulders. “You want to share a part of your universe with me?” I extend both arms, palms up, toward the interdimensional intruder, and make beckoning motions by curling my fingers. “Alright, spit it out!”

The office light fixtures are casting their cold glow on the blob’s putrid sludge and his dozens of eyeballs, that stare blankly as they bob like corks. The drumming of raindrops against the windows, along with the low rumble of thunder, have given way to an oppresive silence interrupted only by sloshing and slurping noises emanating from the bulk.

“Earth to cum monster!” I shout.

Alberto harrumphs, and a glob of slime, airborne debris that resembles a greasy pebble, splats into a puddle.

“Are you truly willing to hear me out, or are you going to pull out a fork and stab yourself in the neck again?”

An electric echo crawls up my spine. I remember that drive to dig my carotid artery, and the agony that sewed my mouth shut. It makes me shudder. I rub whatever remains of the four-holed wound from when I attempted to kill a rotten bitch.

“Of course you witnessed that as well, you unmitigated fuck-weasel. Yes, I’ve had my share of stabbings and forkings and plenty of other shit I prefer to keep to myself. I committed atrocious acts when I had to. Regardless, I will listen, as long as you have something intriguing to tell! Then I’m gone. I intend to finish off what’s left of the evening sucking on mommy’s nipples like a starved infant.”

“Can you care about anything other than yourself and your buxom lover?” the blob asks, his voice tinged with irritation.

I huff.

“I’m telling you, dude, some of the stuff that went down in this sorry excuse for a planet is, in fact, rather enticing! Do you know about the Younger Dryas cataclysm?”

“What? The Younger-what?”

“Picture this scenario: we’re in the Late Pleistocene, a period when much of North America, from the Canadian arctic down to Missouri, was buried under three-kilometers-thick glaciers. Back then, woolly mammoths, dire wolves, sabre-toothed tigers and ground sloths inhabited the frigid wilderness. They didn’t bother to build cities or write stories or any of that shit: they enjoyed the great outdoors, as well as the pleasures of eating, drinking, swimming in freshwater ponds, rolling in a mound of fresh dung to warm up, and fucking each other senseless, for thousands of generations. That megafauna may have taken delight in some of the most liberal sex positions ever practiced by the animal kingdom. They also suffered, mourned, and remembered their friends and family. Imagine these beasts in the frozen wastes of Alaska and the Yukon territory, their skulls buried in so-called ‘muck’ deposits that nowadays you can excavate from tundra and glacial soil. In the skull fragments, scientists discovered impact-related microspherules, tiny beads formed in the heat of a cosmic impact.” I take a deep breath while my heart pounds against my ribcage. “What evil force snatched such magnificent creatures from life, from our realm, leaving behind nothing but the smear of their existence? The answer lies beyond our planet, in the vast reaches of Arachne’s web, that binds the universe together. An alien spacecraft approached Earth, carrying some interstellar creep, a demigod of destruction whose mission was to crash his ship into our planet as revenge. JK, just joking, as humans like to say. A large short-period comet must have fragmented within the inner solar system. Drawn by Earth’s gravitational pull, flaming chunks of rock from another world bombarded ours. The sky flashes. The ground trembles with the shockwaves of titanic impacts, enough energy released to blast your shitpile through a hundred walls. Bursts of rocks and ash plume over hundreds of kilometers. The ice sheets melt, turning the oceans into a bloodbath of brine and slurry. Massive firestorms rage across forests and savannas and grasslands, burning ten percent of the world’s biomass to soot, while a blanket of atmospheric dust blots out the sun. In the chaos that ensued, a lone entity escaped the wreckage of his spaceship: a deity with eyes like liquid flame, with tentacles for hair. The incarnation of despair, a malevolent force from beyond time and space.” I gulp down the knot in my throat. “The region where these fossils were found, known as Beringia, was part of the largest circumarctic landmass to remain unglaciated, a refuge for Plio-Pleistocene tundra-grassland plant species, and the now-extinct megafauna. So we can assume that those noble beasts went extinct both from a cosmic bombardment and from an alien tentacle god with an egotistical cunt’s idea of fun. A fascinating albeit chilling story, don’t you think, dear Blobbert? I’m an authority on the Late Pleistocene, as I visited it briefly.”

A guttural groan reverberates from deep within the putrid bulk of ooze.

“What the hell are you prattling on about?!”

“Did I strike a nerve? I shared my knowledge of the Younger Dryas cataclysm, born from a comet and an intergalactic god-monster, as a gift to you. Imagine all the contemporary species larger than a goat, then kill off sixty-fucking-five percent of them; that’s how many of the mighty Ice Age megafauna disappeared forever. And the global sea level rose by a hundred and twenty meters. Can you comprehend such catastrophe, how much misery it brought? Can I make you, a gooey puddle of sewage, listen to the screams of the victims as they suffocated in a sludge of melted glaciers? The Younger Dryas cataclysm happened, in the grand scheme of things, yesterday. You were spawned in the post-apocalypse! Your genes are scarred with the fear that the sky will fall on your head.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t give a flying fuck about your pet rocks and your tentacle-haired cunt god!”

I narrow my eyes. I’m getting fed up with this monstrous ignoramus.

“In Arachne’s name, I swear you must have fished your brain out of a lake filled with cat poop.”

“Your morbid obsessions are completely irrelevant to what I’m struggling to convey to you.”

I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. I picture my right hand clenching around the handle of the office door, about to pull myself out of this hellscape. The sooner the better.

I glower at the blob as I spread my arms wide.

“Then spit it out already, sludge-for-brains! Here I am, ready and willing. Tell your story or perish!”



Author’s note: today’s songs are “The Same Old Rock” by Roy Harper, and “Waitin’ Around to Die” by The Be Good Tanyas.

I keep a playlist with all the songs mentioned throughout this novel. A hundred and fifty-six songs so far. Check them out.

Leire didn’t pull the stuff about the Ice Age (entirely) out of her ass. I recently came across this scientific paper. In addition, my protagonist attempted to kill a rotten bitch back in chapter 14, as the climax of the sequence titled “I’m Killing a Rotten Bitch.”

Do you want to hear this chilling chapter acted out by AI-generated voices? Check it out.

So, a hundred chapters of this shit, huh? I started the story back in October of 2021, attempting to pump out a novella after I abandoned my previous two ones. I’m not sure how it ballooned to such an extent. Anyway, I know that a few souls out there have followed this story from the beginning, probably out of morbid curiosity. Thank you. I won’t say that I couldn’t do this without you, because I was doing this alone until I started posting my crap on the internet a few years ago.

Still fifteen or so chapters to go.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 99: AI-generated audiochapter

Yet another entry in the saga that involves a lunatic arguing with an uglier lunatic. This audiochapter covers chapter 99.

Cast

  • Leire: the best blonde infiltrator in Riften
  • Alberto the blob: loads of scaly dudes that you met in Oblivion

I have produced audiochapters for this entire sequence so far. A total of an hour, fifty-six minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Check them out.

We’re Fucked, Pt. 99 (Fiction)


A bolt of lightning slashes the darkness, throwing the office into harsh relief. Alberto the blob, a viscous and putrid mural of shuddering goo, glistens wetly under the harsh light, and his myriad of eyeballs reflect my own dreadful image back at me.

“I wish I were riding your current high,” I say, “burning with self-righteousness, able to discharge your pent-up anger against someone else. I’d prefer, though, if you had chosen a target who did something worthy of your ire: an actual asshole.”

“You think that people can only get angry at what you do? Is that why you keep busy playing with yourself while ignoring your responsibilities, including your job and your basic needs? Your inaction can ruin lives.”

My stomach knots tighter.

“Don’t try to make me responsible for others,” I plead. “I can’t even take care of myself.”

The blob ripples like a sea of black slime and eyeballs.

“Unfortunately, the responsibility only falls on you, a weirdo who would rather be miserable than improve. You’re the one who can listen to what needs to be done, the sole person suited to stop a cosmic shitstorm. Isn’t it fitting, though? We need an aberration to beat another.”

I hunch over, and as I rub my eyelids, I seek a mental refuge from this deluge of insanity. I see her face, the glowing visage of Jacqueline, my all-encompassing muse, a pearl beyond price. Her ivory-white skin is framed by a raven-black cascade of lustrous hair. Her cobalt-blues are locked into my eyes without disgust. The rosy, wet cavity of her mouth tempts me like a fountain of potable water in a scorching day. Please come and save me from myself.

“Wh-why do I have to be the one?” I complain weakly. “Jacqueline also worked with you, for much longer, and she isn’t as eager to forget human beings as I am. She would try to understand you and help you cope. Hell, she even believes me when I open up about the otherworldly stalkers by whom I’m routinely harassed, although she’s never suffered the misfortune of gazing upon your abominable forms.”

“Sure, your girlfriend slash mommy would have done a bang-up job, if only for reminding me of the most carnal pleasures of my former world.” The blob snickers. “But nope, we are stuck with a self-defeating sack of shit, a pathetic wreck with more anxiety attacks than brain cells, who can barely accomplish the most basic of tasks, who’s never had the guts to start living, who can’t see farther than her own disgusting orifices. The perfect package for a universe on its last leg!”

I gulp down bitter acid, then take a lungful of stinging toxins.

“Again, why me?”

“Because your mind was open and ready for a trip through the cosmic craphole, Leire. What, you want me to make it simpler? You’re a walking heap of psychological garbage. In the old days, you’d have been locked up in an asylum. I had the inkling that you wouldn’t go crazier even when contacted by sentient abominations, but you still surprised me by taking the visits in stride, as if some people just happened to be accosted by teleporting horses.”

I grind my teeth.

“I’ve done nothing but rage against you fuckers.”

The blob’s legion of eyeballs catch the erratic flicker of lightning, shimmering like tiny stars caught in a sea of filth.

“Hey, cheer up, girlie! In these enlightened times, you can become the champion of interdimensional gods, which is what I’ve fancied myself to be since I escaped your realm of rot and decay.”

“If people actually worshipped you,” I grumble, “I would understand if they also persecuted anybody who depicted your image.”

The blob chokes on a chuckle, glugging noisily. My gaze wanders from my former coworker’s grotesque bulk to the black screen of my computer. Leire the Demented Seer, the Chosen Paladin of Interdimensional Gods. Sounds better than being a struggling office worker that has to curb her intrusive thoughts about shoving random penis-shaped objects into her orifices.

“Enough bullshit,” the blob barks out. “You’re going to wake up right now. You’re going to open your eyes and start taking life seriously. Time has been running out for everyone since you disregarded my warning back in your defunct car.”

I cross my arms over my chest.

“You creeps have done an atrocious job of convincing me that these supposed warnings were urgent. Perhaps you left your brains behind in some other dimension, where you should have stayed for all I care. Besides, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re lying about a cosmic threat, that you just want to fuck with me.”

The wall-wide mucus-and-eyeball-ridden monstrosity stirs like an organic tide.

“Look here, you clit-loving lunatic,” the blob snaps back in a wet gurgle. He coughs up a glob of tar onto the carpet. “An impossible message flashing across your Renault Laguna’s dashboard would have disturbed any other human being into lucidity.”

“Didn’t we discuss that already? No, we ended up arguing about my car’s supernatural powers. What did you write across the dashboard, then? ‘A horse with a dick for a head will fuck you before you die’? Such a warning might have sent me running to the psych ward.”

Gooey innards ripple and slosh in the gelatinous bulk.

“‘We’re fucked,’ damn you!”

“What was that?”

“The message I wrote on your dashboard, which you ignored as if it were junk mail, was ‘We’re fucked’!”

I grimace.

“That’s all the fuck you wrote?”

“How much clearer could I be?” he snarls. “It means that you’re fucked, that I’m fucked, that the universe is fucked!”

A knot expands in my throat, and I lower my gaze to the puddles of black goo seeping into the carpet. The slanted rain is drumming on the windows. Thunder crackles. The absurdity of it all bubbles up inside me, shoots up my esophagus, and bursts out into laughter that ricochets off the office walls. Mine is a despairing laughter tinged with madness, the sole human sound amidst the rainstorm and the blob’s otherworldly gurgles.

“Do you recall that message, then?” Alberto asks impatiently.

I raise my gaze to meet the wall-wide mass of putrid slime. His countless eyeballs are scrutinizing me like a cop eyeing a perp.

“Nope,” I say in a strained voice, “you may as well have made it up.”

The blob heaves as if I had punched his gut.

“Again with your self-imposed amnesia?!”

“Doesn’t matter. I get your point: we’re fucked.” I slide my palm down my face as the back of my eyeballs grows hotter. “That’s what you wretched snot-fondler sent as a message of utmost urgency? As eloquent as a dead rat’s turd. Of course we’re fucked, you oversized cum-sack! That much I understood since I crawled out of the womb broken, since my parents failed to behave towards each other like human beings, let alone raise a functional, healthy child. Billions of people born to struggle daily in this cesspool only to be rewarded with decrepitude and death. How many are loved along the way?” Tears well up, hot and stinging, but I press on. “I don’t need some interdimensional pus-clown to remind me of the achingly obvious fact that we’re all fucked. We never stood a fucking chance.”



Author’s note: today’s songs are “Karma Police” by Radiohead, “Game of Pricks” by Guided by Voices, “The Plan” by Built to Spill, and “Miss Misery” by Elliott Smith.

I keep a playlist with all the songs mentioned throughout this novel. A hundred and fifty-four songs so far. Check them out.

Were you looking forward to the audiochapter for this entry? Well, I was. Check it out.

It took me ages to work through this chapter. I’ve been distracted programming, and my mood has been let’s say quite low. Anyway, GPT-4’s API has been broken for days, who knows why, so I’ll likely write more prose than code in the coming days.

ChatGPT writes an episode of Friends

Tonight a thought crossed my mind: “What if ChatGPT wrote an episode of Friends?” Of course, it needed to involve a dinosaur.

My prompt:

Question. Write a script for the TV show Friends. The script should be about the group of friends coming across a live dinosaur. Answer: Let’s try to work out the answer step by step:

GPT-4’s answer:


Sure, let’s go through this in steps:

Step 1: Establishing the Scenario

First, we need to establish how our beloved group of Friends would come across a live dinosaur. One possible scenario is that Ross, being a paleontologist, is invited to a top-secret experiment where scientists have managed to clone a dinosaur, and he decides to bring the whole group along.

Step 2: Character Reactions

Next, we need to determine how each character would react to seeing a live dinosaur:

  • Ross: He would be thrilled and fascinated, trying to explain everything about the dinosaur to the others.
  • Rachel: She might be scared at first but then would probably try to make friends with the dinosaur.
  • Monica: She could be worried about the dinosaur making a mess.
  • Chandler: He would likely make sarcastic remarks and jokes about the dinosaur.
  • Joey: He might be excited and curious about the dinosaur, potentially trying to communicate with it or even ride it.
  • Phoebe: She would likely be concerned about the dinosaur’s feelings and well-being.

Step 3: Dialogue and Plot

Once we have established the setting and character reactions, we can start writing the script. Here’s a brief example:

INT. SECRET LAB – DAY

ROSS excitedly gathers the group around a large, secure enclosure. Inside is a small, surprisingly cute dinosaur.

ROSS: You guys, meet Dino – the world’s first living dinosaur clone!

CHANDLER: (sarcastically) Oh, because Jurassic Park worked out so well.

MONICA: (worriedly to Ross) You promise it’s safe, right? And… clean?

JOEY: (excitedly) Can I ride it?

ROSS: No, Joey! This is a delicate scientific breakthrough, not a petting zoo.

PHOEBE: (concerned) But is he happy here? What about his dinosaur family?

RACHEL: (to the dinosaur) Hi, Dino. I’m Rachel. Do you want to be friends?

Dino ROARS, causing the group to jump back.

CHANDLER: (dryly) Well, that went well.


GPT-4 stopped the output there, but I prompted it to continue.


Suddenly, Dino RAMS against the enclosure, breaking it open. The group SCREAMS and backs away.

ROSS: (panicked) Everyone stay calm! Dinosaurs can sense fear!

CHANDLER: (sarcastically) Oh, well, in that case, we’re totally fine.

Monica is HYPERVENTILATING, clutching Chandler’s arm.

MONICA: (terrified) Ross, do something!

Joey suddenly makes a bold decision.

JOEY: (determined) I got this!

He steps forward, trying to wrestle Dino back into the enclosure. Dino, however, is unimpressed and flicks Joey away with his tail.

Phoebe steps forward, singing a calming song.

PHOEBE: (singing softly) Smelly cat, smelly cat, it’s not your fault…

Dino seems to calm down a bit, but is still out of the enclosure.

Rachel, seeing Dino calmed by Phoebe’s singing, steps forward cautiously.

RACHEL: (gently) Dino, it’s okay. You’re safe here.

Dino seems to respond to Rachel’s soothing voice, but he’s still nervous.

ROSS: (to Rachel) Rachel, keep talking! He seems to like you.

Rachel nods, continuing to speak softly to Dino.

Meanwhile, Joey gets up from the floor, dusting himself off.

JOEY: (to Chandler) You know, I thought that would go differently.

CHANDLER: (deadpan) Really? Because I think we all saw that coming.

Suddenly, a GROUP OF SCIENTISTS rush into the room, panicked. They manage to coax Dino back into his enclosure with some food.

ROSS: (relieved) Thank goodness.

MONICA: (still shaking) Can we please go somewhere less…prehistoric now?

PHOEBE: (to Dino, sadly) Bye, Dino. I hope they let you out to play sometimes.

The group, still a bit shaken, leaves the lab.

CHANDLER: (sarcastically) So, Ross, when’s your next show and tell?


That was a success.

AI news #3


If you are interested in what GPT-4 can do in games, check out part two of this series, because it showed how people are using ChatGPT for Skyrim and Fallout. Things have developed a bit further. The following video shows someone’s modded companion with whom the player can interact naturally, and who is aware of the world around her.

Truly amazing. As long as the world doesn’t end, imagine how amazing games will become in a few years. At least how amazing modders will make those games, if their companies can’t be arsed.

The following unassuming entry represented a turning point in how I use GPT-4:

Turns out that some clever people out there have proved that some prompts can squeeze significantly more intelligence out of GPT-4. The author of the video had the idea of pushing it a bit further by implementing the following architecture:

  • Given a prompt, ask GPT-4 through the API to give you three separate answers.
  • Send those three answers to GPT-4, asking it to act like a researcher and point out the flaws in those answers.
  • Send the answers along with the researcher’s analysis to GPT-4, and ask it to act like a resolver to determine which answer is more valid (according to the researcher’s analysis), improve it a bit, and present it as the final answer.

I have implemented that system in Python. It was very easy to do, as well. Although it takes significantly longer than just asking regular ChatGPT a question, the results are much better.

I thought about how mini-AGIs (Auto-GPT and BabyAGI) use GPT-4 to simulate artificial general intelligence, and I realized that if you can get GPT-4 to develop a list of tasks in a similar way the previous algorithm is structured, you can then link those tasks to the previous algorithm so that it executes each task in a loop.

I’m not that interested in programming an Auto-GPT at the moment; I’m happy enough getting a list of tasks that I can then send to GPT-4 at my leisure. However, I did code an addition to the previous program, one that sends an objective to GPT-4 and tells it to act like a manager developing a prioritized task list. In fact, as in the previous algorithm, it sends that request thrice, and then those answers are passed to a researcher, whose answer gets passed to a resolver as per the previously displayed algorithm.

Here’s the list of tasks that resulted from sending to my program the objective of programming a particular card game, one I’m developing, in the Rust programming language:

  1. Initialize the game engine, including a GUI that supports displaying cards and decks on screen.
  2. Create data structures to represent the different card types: Exploration Zone, Biomes, Encounters, Events, Resources, Afflictions, Player cards, and Portal cards.
  3. Load card data from toml files into the appropriate data structures.
  4. Develop a function to generate a random Exploration Zone card from the available Exploration Zone cards.
  5. Display the randomly selected Exploration Zone card on the top right corner of the screen.
  6. Develop a function to create the Biomes deck, selecting the matching Biome types as specified in the chosen Exploration Zone card.
  7. Ensure the first Biome card of the Biomes deck is displayed face up next to the Biomes deck.
  8. Develop a function to create the Encounter, Events, Resources, and Affliction decks based on the Feature icons from the chosen Exploration Zone card.
  9. Implement player classes (soldier, medic, scientist, scout) with their respective attributes and abilities.
  10. Design the player decks for 4 players, each with a unique role, and include a Portal card to allow escaping to the Hub.
  11. Design the Hub and implement the card drafting system for the Hub, allowing players to choose cards to add to their decks while trading resources.
  12. Develop a system for players to rebuild their decks while in the Hub between explorations.
  13. Design the goal cards that specify objectives required for each Exploration.
  14. Implement a system that tracks combos and interactions between cards, such as activating abilities based on certain conditions.
  15. Create a data gathering and analysis system for role combinations, deck compositions, and card interactions to identify balance issues and adjust card values and abilities accordingly.
  16. Test the game extensively, iterating on card mechanics, balance, and player engagement.
  17. Polish graphics, UI, and overall user experience to ensure an enjoyable gaming experience.
  18. Incorporate playtesting, gather feedback, and make improvements to game mechanics, card designs, and balance based on feedback and data-driven insights.
  19. Create game documentation, tutorial, or in-game help system to provide instructions and guidance for players on how to play the game and understand its mechanics.
  20. Market and promote the game, develop marketing materials and promotional events to raise awareness about the game, attract players, and grow the community.

As you can see, you could pass most of those tasks to the first algorithm, which would come up with a good answer.

I found myself at times copy-pasting ideas from a working document to the prompt I was sending to GPT-4. I thought that there must be some automated system that would pick the most appropriate domain knowledge for whatever prompt I wanted to send to GPT-4. I asked ChatGPT if it could come up with an answer, and it suggested vector databases. I had no fucking clue what vector databases were, but now I know.

Vector databases translate information into “webs” of data according to the distance between the elements, or something to that effect. What’s important is that if you query the database with some information, it will return the most similar information it contains related to what you asked. Sort of like a recommendation system.

The ‘annoy’ crate for Python seems to be one of the most commonly used systems for implementing vector databases, so that’s what I used. Now I just have to paste all the domain knowledge into a txt file, then run a simple program that registers the knowledge into the appropriate vector database. When I’m ordering the other couple of programs to either develop a task list or perform a task, they query the vector database to retrieve the most relevant domain knowledge. Pretty cool.