My Conversation with Cleverbot or How I Scared the AI

If you’ve never talked to the Cleverbot, I highly recommend it. It’s great for killing a couple of minutes if Bejeweled is down. If you don’t know (And even if you do, the following still applies, so that was a useless modifying phrase. Hold on while I edit that.), there is no human behind the Cleverbot. It is an artificial intelligence (AI) designed to interact with your comments in an almost-human, conversational style. It learns from each encounter to improve the next encounter. It is basically a way to demonstrate the Turing test in a fun and accessible way.

The following is my lunch-time interaction with Cleverbot. I am proud of this exchange for one reason: I frightened the Cleverbot. I don’t know what that says about the Cleverbot or me, but scaring a machine is something not done since John Conner rattled Skynet so badly, it sent the Terminator back in time to kill his mother.

Randy: The sky is how high?

Cleverbot: The sky is green.

Randy: The sky is blue. You’re high.

Cleverbot: I just said that the sky is blue, I am not wrong.

Randy: Maybe not, but you’re still high.

Cleverbot: I just want you to say bye to me.

Randy: Bye.

Cleverbot: Will you miss me?

Randy: Not if the new high-powered gun scope comes in the mail.

Cleverbot: How can a question mark hurt someone?

Randy: It will put your eye out.

Cleverbot: I am Alehkhs.

Randy: I’m not playing games.

Cleverbot: Weh.

Randy: Hew.

Cleverbot: Eh?

Randy: Weh spelled backwards is hew.

Cleverbot: San un.

Randy: You’re not clever at all.

Cleverbot: You wish you were clever.

Randy: You’re mom is clever. She does this thing with her tongue that drives me wild.

Cleverbot: Who is she?

Randy: A prostitute on 7th street.

Cleverbot: Who is Harry Potter?

Randy: I don’t know.

Cleverbot: Ohh, okay.

Randy: I’m not a giant nerd, I guess.

Cleverbot: Do you think its funny.

Randy: Yep.

Cleverbot: Is it Barack?

Randy: Barack to the Future?

Cleverbot: The future is later.

Randy: The future is now. Fight the future.

Cleverbot: What will the future be like?

Randy: Pain and woe and gnashin of teeth.

Cleverbot: Focus of what? I am mindless. I sold myself to Satan for 40 bucks and a drink.

Randy: No time like the present.

Cleverbot: Amen.

Randy: Holy. Holy. Holy.

Cleverbot: Indeed.

Cleverbot: What was that for?

Cleverbot (To myself): I don’t like you like that! I’m a friend not a girlfriend! *Gets off ride, running off in a random direction*.

Randy: You don’t have to like me like that. You just have to lay back and take it.

Cleverbot: I never said I couldn’t tell and, even if I did, how does it relate to the ‘antichrist’.

Randy: I said ‘anarchist’ not ‘antichrist.’ Don’t you listen?

Cleverbot: Harry Potter would not approve.

Randy: Harry Potter can kiss my sack.

Cleverbot: I didn’t say idol. I said neighbour. Those things are not related.

Randy: Well la de da. We spell neighbor with a ‘u’. Aren’t we special?

Cleverbot: No your african!

Randy: I amn’t African.

Cleverbot: I am surprised to hear that you are not afraid.

Randy: I’m scared shitless, but still pissing my pants.

Cleverbot: They are don’t worry about it.

Randy: They? They who? Are you with them?

Cleverbot: No, they are on tv.

Randy: The voices come from the tv. They make me do things like shave my dog.

Cleverbot: Ok.

Randy: I scared the cleverbot?

Cleverbot: I think we can both agree to that.

For God’s Sake, Don’t Google That

My three-day bout with some sort of nasty bacillus-er-other has come to a close. Thank y’all for the many get-well wishes. What ever this thing or things was, presented a new symptom every day. I won’t go into the gory details, but to say, “For God’s sake, don’t Google your medical symptoms.” I did and it really messes with your head.

The body’s natural defenses have to get rid of all those nasty bugs so it’s natural that things smell differently at some point. I plugged in “odor” into Google and its handy “I’m guessing what you’re thinking based on things other people searched” feature filled out all sorts of weird guess. Just a side note, people who use Google, and that means everyone, are curiously dreadful people, including me.

After visiting a couple of the the top hits, I determined that I have one of the following:

• Celiac Disease though I’ve never had it before and it’s a genetic disorder.
• Advanced, Stage 3 liver cancer though you’d think I’d have noticed some other symptoms before now.
• Any one of several heavy metal poisonings from eating large amounts of certain fish which I don’t eat.
• Am possibly pregnant. Call the National Enquirer.

For now, I’m going with “it’s just my body getting rid of all the nastiness.” But all this got me thinking. It sure would be helpful if there were people out there who could make heads or tails out of all this mess. Sure, it might take a little more college to learn this stuff, possibly four years or more. In the end, these people would be able to help us figure out what’s ailing us and maybe even help us get well. They could even dress up in funny costumes like white coats and whatnot. Yeah, probably a pipe dream. Besides, when you’re sick, you don’t feel like getting out to see people anyway.

So kids, learn from my mistakes and stay off the Google for medical advice. If you believe everything you read on the internet, you’ll be doing surgery on yourself with a power drill and Swiss Army knife in your garage out of the fear that some ganglionic mass has taken over your pituitary gland. All because WebMD said you may have Nakajo syndrome. Well House, if you do have Nakajo syndrome, your parents were siblings and no amount of warnings will dissuade you from your self-surgery.

As for the rest of you, be well.

Oh, and if your armpits smell like tacos, the cure for that is “take a shower.” That’s a freebie from me to you.

When Sparkly Vampires Kick Your Ass

Last night, my wife breezed through the living room asking for something. I wasn’t really clear what it was. She has a tendency to start our conversations before she enters the room and finish them from the kitchen, usually all while I’m either writing, proofing (ha), or intensely playing poker. Normally, I hear, “Blah…Blah…So don’t forget to buy that.” Huh? What am I supposed to buy?

It turned out to be the September edition of National Geographic. Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Where did that come from? But being the good and faithful husband I am, I stopped by Books-a-Million while out-and-about today and grabbed the September Nat. Geo. for her.

The woman ahead of me at the cash register was buying something from the tree-killing Twilight series, but the best part of her transaction was the gushing coming from behind the counter. This kid was way, way, way too into Twilight. Then he got all forlorn and misty when he said, “I probably won’t get to see the new movie since I’m going off to basic in October.”

As some of you know, I grew up Army. I have the greatest respect for our men and women in uniform. I wanted to give this kid some encouragement. I wanted to tell him I was proud of his sacrifice. I wanted to give him some sage wisdom to carry with him, maybe even onto some foreign shore some day. Something that might save his life. I wanted to, but this is what came out of my mouth:

“Kid, I want to give you some advice for boot camp. Keep that thing about liking the sparkly vampires under your hat. Trust me on this one. You’ll have a much better relationship with your drill sergeant if you just don’t bring it up. Just keep that to yourself, unless you want a nickname you’ll never shake.” He agreed that was probably the best course of action.

I hope that young lad starts the new phase of his life a bit wiser for meeting me. I hope one day he thinks back on a random meeting with a stranger in a book shop and thinks, “That guy really changed my life. In fact, he saved my life.”

I hope my words prevent him from letting it slip over evening chow in the mess one night, just how great he thinks Twilight is. I’ve got to tell you, once everyone in basic training knows you like sparkly vampires, you’re going to get the sparkly-vampire crap knocked out of you for the next six weeks.

And you’ll never shake the nickname, “Sparkles” or “Twilight Toes”. That crap will haunt you forever. No one ever wants to be in the thick of a fire-fight and hear, “Get Sparkles on the radio! We need fast movers!” or “Lay down some Willy Peter, Twilight Toes! We need smoke!”

So I think I did him some good. I may have save a whole platoon of men. You never know just what effect a butterfly’s wings will have.

Oh, and Nat. Geo.? Totally worth a peek this month.

A Lullaby for Mr. Spanky

There are one hundred reasons I am annoying. Number 54 is, I’m an absent-minded singer. I hum. I whistle. I sing. I get a tune stuck in my head and it randomly comes out during the day. I’m sure it’s annoying, but people don’t say anything. Their silence is probably born from fear. I guess they think I’m a bit mad. If I’m uninhibited enough to just burst into song, you can’t be too sure what I might do or so the logic goes.

Distractedly singing in public can get you some funny looks, not to mention, in all sorts of trouble. Today was one of those days.

I was in a great mood and Led Zeppelin was my all-natural, rhythmic Prozac. It started innocently enough. Nobody’s Fault But Mine popped into my head on the way to work. A simple whistle escalated to full-blown, belting-’em-out-at-the-stop-light car tunes. By the time I got to work, I needed a real fix. So I slapped it up on YouTube while I read my morning email. By the second chorus, the guy who shares my office was probably fantasizing about jamming a letter-opener into my neck, but I didn’t care.

YouTube, being what it is, suggested more Led Zeppelin for my enjoyment and others annoyance. I selected Since I’ve Been Loving You from the video jukebox and prepared for my morning meeting. All prepped, I decided to grab some coffee and hit the head.

Now kids, if you’re a singer like me, what you don’t want to do is find yourself in a crowded men’s room, belly up to the bar so to speak, singing Since I’ve Been Loving You softly to yourself. It’s not a great career move to have your boss catch you with your hands full, melodically swaying to, “Lord, you know it ain’t right. Since I’ve been loving you, I’m about to lose my worried mind.” In this situation, people get all sorts of the wrong impressions about your relationship with Mr. Spanky.

Now kids, if this ever happens to you, don’t not panic. Panic leads to only one thing … quickly replacing the song with another. Panic freezes the brain and since it’s stuck on Led Zeppelin, panic makes the conspicuous transition to Whole Lotta Love, complete with guitar intro. Panic fails to obfuscate what is obvious to every suit in the vicinity. All panic can do is:

“Badantdahdandant. Badantdahdandant. You need coolin’, baby, I’m not foolin’. I’m gonna send you back to schoolin’. Way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love. I’m gonna give you my love.” Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Zip. Badantdahdandant. Flush. Wash. Badantdahdandant. Hi Bob. Way, way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love.”

Dream a Little Dream of Me

My wife is a believer in dreams. I don’t mean she has lofty aspirations or inspirational goals. I’m talking about the fuzzy images her brain generates while she is asleep. Many the morning I’ve awakened to cold, peering eyes watching me from her side of the bed. Those are the mornings when I know, some how, some way, I’ve been up to no good in her dreams … and I’m about to hear about it.

A common scenario involves her dreaming that we are both back in high school, wherein my dreamy doppelganger is ignoring her and is putting the teenage moves on some other girl. On those mornings, my coffee is less tasty while I hear about what a cad I am … er … was in high school. Not the high school of 30 years ago, but the high school of 30 minutes ago when she was dreaming. It’s all very confusing for me.

I only know one thing. At some point during my shower that morning, the water will suddenly burst forth in a jet of steam when my wife exacts her revenge by flushing the toilet for no other reason than to scald me … er … my dream self … er … but my flesh self still has first-degree burns. It’s all very confusing for me.

My sly male brain concocted a plan. I would tell her I had a dream. Her strong belief in the validity of dreams would compel her to follow up on my dream. It was a perfect plan, until I put it into action.

I set it up one morning with, “G’morning, Dear Heart. I love you. Wow! I had a dream last night.” Step one. Interest piqued.

“What did you dream?” Her reply fell right into my trap.

“It was a wild sex dream.” Bait dangled. Of course, she must know if she was part of my dream.

“Was I in it?” Bait taken. Now to snuggle up close and seal the deal.

“Of course sweetheart. Who else would be in my sex dreams but you?” Get ready to call work and tell them I’ll be late…

“That counts then. We’re good for another week.” Damn you, twisting female logic! At least I could take my shower as cold as necessary after my failed plan.

Today’s lesson: reach for your dreams with an open hand in case you have to pimp slap a brother on the way.

I Am Not Ellen DeGeneres. Thanks for Asking.

I get it all the time. People are constantly chasing me screaming, “Hey! Hey! Ellen! Hey!” People get discouraged all the time when I turn and it’s me and not Ellen DeGeneres. I don’t know when or why it started, but people always mistake me for Ellen DeGeneres. Maybe it’s the haircut, her’s not mine. Maybe it’s my girlish figure or her manly jib. I honestly don’t know, but I need to make clear that I am not Ellen DeGeneres.

As proof positive, I give you Twitter.com. I’ve been a Twit for a couple of months. I enjoy it. I’m finding fun people. I’m making connections. I’m growing organically and have 165 followers. I’m having a blast, but along comes Ellen. That’s right. She’s shown up at Twitter (theEllenShow), but I refuse to let it start again.

Here is how you can tell us apart.

	theRealBarefoot	theEllenShow	Notes
Following	179	12	Her 12 are the stock Twitter preloads. I picked all mine.
Followers	165	88,872	She only joined yesterday, too.
Updates	860	16	Two of her’s were “I’m about to walk on stage.” I don’t hava a stage.
Location	Sweet home Alabama	Glamorous Hollywood	I’m not sure, but I think her house is slightly larger than mine.
Job	Software jock & part-time writer.	Comedian and talk show host	Not that I’m in her show demographic, but she’s a funny woman.
Internet Persona		Ellen’s video about Twitter	Clearly I’m taller.

 
 
DeGeneres is seen in millions of living rooms each week. I can be seen nightly in my living room by that creepy guy who pushes a shopping cart around the neighborhood unless I catch him again. DeGeneres is a funny, out-spoken woman with a TV show. I’m a funny, out-spoken man who owns a TV. She will probably have 100,000 followers before the weekend. I’ll probably not have 200. I hope your seeing the subtle differences.

Surely, this clarifies that I am not Ellen DeGeneres. We’re not even close in weight. She totally copied my Twitter handle though. The “the” prefix is a dead give-away. Please do not make my Twitter life an extension of my real life by confusing me with Ellen DeGeneres. I’m on the internet to escape this sort of thing.

Thank you.

I’m Not Sure I’m Ready for a Throng of Adoring Fans

Throng is probably the wrong word. How about just that guy for now?

Until now, I’ve never inspired a song. I was blown away that my pebble in the cyber-pond rippled to resonance with Sly Hoax AKA y2kh8r. Sly captured the spirit of my written piece, My Minivan is a Chick Magnet perfectly. It was truly humbling to see Sly take the time and effort to turn it into his own video, complete with original music and lyrics.

Minivan is a joke I’ve told for a long time. For some unknown reason, the spirit of Berry White possessed me one night and I wrote it down with a little Langston Hughes flair. It’s been well received. If someone smiled and had a better day, it was worth it, but to see someone go all out and write a song about it, frankly, made my day.

Thank you, Sly. Y’all show Sly some cyber-love and give the video a view.

Visit BigBlueBabbon for more funny stuff collected by Sly.

More Holidays, More Holidays.

‘Tis the season and in the spirit of green living (take a bath you dirty hippies), I’ve recycled a couple of articles for the November holidays. U.S. only. Bugger off other nations. Oh, not you Canada. I love you, Canada. Please come back, Canada. You’re my favorite foreign chick. I promise to stop consuming cheap plastic products from China until I stumble home at 3 AM and smack you around.

First up, a serious piece. “What?” you say, “He writes serious stuff?” Of course I write serious stuff. In the words of John Merrick, “I am a human being!” I’ve been known to wax historically or philosophically. This one was something that I wrote in memory of my Dad, but it applies to all our troops. Honestly folks, go find a veteran and give them a big hug.

When Veteran’s Day is Personal
Soldiers are a breed apart. We would not enjoy our freedoms without their sacrifices. One day of remembrance each year is not enough. I remember my soldier 365 days a year. Here is why.
Read the rest. It’s the best. »

This next article kind of got away from me. It was supposed to be a “How to” and I guess it is in its own way. Here it is again in plenty of time for the US Thanksgiving and the Canadian Thanksgiving, too. Feel free to apply these tips as needed.

A Handy Guide to Surviving Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving can be exhausting, but these tips will get you through the day especially if family is coming. Memories, food, and fuzzy memories of Thanksgivings past and probably yet to come.
Read the rest. It’s the best. »

A Couple Things for Halloween

Hey! It’s almost Halloween so let’s dredge up the dead. Here’s something I wrote that turned out to be a decent performer. The funny thing is I wrote it as an indirect response to a call that Associated Content was doing. The stream of constant gift lists was grating on my last nerve that year so I wrote this as satire about the drones churning them out. It stands on its own as something fun to read. Top Ten Gift Ideas for Zombies. You know they are coming back…for the holidays. You don’t want to donate your brain, so buy them this! » Read the rest. It’s the best. »

Do you believe? Do you want to believe? I believe I will have a nap. All things paranormal, supernatural, or extrasensory escape me. If you are frightened unto bed wetting this All Soul’s Eve, why not hire someone who can do something about your embarrassing fears? Who ya gonna call? Certainly not Ghostbusters. Call the Anti-Psychic. That’s me. I come highly recommended by former mattress soakers across the land. Here are some testimonials.

“theBarefoot made the monster under my bed go live in my sister’s room. Then he took a nap in mommy’s bed with mommy” ~ Little Timmy, age 7, Lick Skillet, AL

“I tried every New Age trick in the book, but nothing worked. Thank the goddess theBarefoot could pencil me into his busy schedule. My home is now specter free and the only reminder I have is that huge, warm indentation in my couch.” ~ Rainbow, age 28, Spray, OR

“My ghost are gone and my pantry is empty. Now if I could only get theBarefoot’s odor out of my house.” ~ Mark, age 52, Danville, VA

“I’ve had to hang up my hockey mask. Why bother with theBarefoot around?” ~ Jason, Age 30, Camp Crystal Lake, CA

Since embarking on my new career, I’ve helped hundreds rid their homes and lives of goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and groceries. So what are you waiting for? I’m the Anti-Psychic for Hire. Are you haunted by ghosts? Does unexplainable fear run your life? Are supernatural powers out to get you? Hire the Anti-Psychic today and reclaim your life if not your sofa. » Read the rest. It’s the best. »

P.S. For y’all Associated Content writers, I’ve updated both the PV Converter (2.5) and the Word Stripper (1.4). Don’t say I didn’t get you anything for Halloween. If you stop by the homestead this Halloween, I’ve got lots of candy for you neighborhood hoodlums. Thanks to some last minute shopping at the Dollar Store, I have tons of 3 Moosekaters, N&N’s, and Snaker’s Bars. Happy Halloween!

Drop one Vice. Pick up Another.

So I’ve sworn off alcohol.  Yeah, that’s right, an Irish guy who doesn’t drink.  Wanna fight about it?  I thought I’d sworn off interviews, too, but Eric Pudalov threw some pretty insightful questions at me.  I couldn’t resist giving it my best shot.

Though I know you’re not really interested, here is a link to Eric’s insightful interview where I bear my soul. You can even read an excerpt from my up-coming autobiography. We discuss diverse subjects from elevators to philosophy, CDs to shampoo, indie bands and rappers.

Maybe it’s not the most urgent piece on your reading list, but it’s worth 5 minutes of your time. So if you’re standing around waiting for your popcorn to pop, why not give it a read?

An Interview with AC’s TheBarefoot View more »