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Boyfriend's sexts so much better now he uses ChatGPT

A MAN’S erotic texts have improved a hundredfold now he runs his sentiments through an large language model AI, his girlfriend has confirmed. 

While Josh Hudson, aged 29, used to send missives like ‘u got a fit arse’ and ‘wanna squeeze dem titties cos u got milk’, his AI-assisted texts contain poetic language, composed yearning and quasi-Shakespearean declarations of desire.

Girlfriend Sophie Rodriguez, aged 28, said: “Yesterday, he randomly texted ‘I ache for your presence with an ardour that defies the mere temporal plane’. Then he reminded me to pick up fish fingers. I was aroused in Lidl. Do you know how impossible that is?

“But the hotness of it is slightly ruined by it being a robot seducing me, and it does plagiarise. It’s not great thinking you’re reading a tantalising list of what he’d like to do to you then realising it’s lyrics by Ludacris.

“This morning he wrote that ‘your essence intoxicates my very soul’ and followed up that he wanted to ‘tear my dampened underthings asunder’. Where is Asunder? Is it near Kent? I don’t know but it sounds filthy.

“It also tends to hallucinate and invent things that don’t exist, like at the weekend when he said ‘I want to take you up your second, auxiliary, arsehole.’ Though from its perspective it would be good design to have a spare.”

Hudson said: “Sophie must prepare her body for a good ramming and not forget it’s bin day. Class that up for me, ChatGPT.”

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Girls' School by Wings, and other forgotten Christmas number ones

XMAS by Kylie looks set to be the Christmas number one, but many tracks which achieved the same feat never get featured on Christmas playlists. Specifically these: 

Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2), Pink Floyd, 1979

What could be more festive than a song about being brutalised at school by sadistic teachers preparing you for a life of mindless conformity? Or the narrator’s descent into Nazi ideology due to his father’s death in WW2? Yes, it’s no wonder The Wall is a mainstay of every Christmas party playlist. Sing along, kids!

Girls’ School, Wings, 1977

The double A-side of Mull of Kintyre sets off the paedo alarm with lyrics about female pupils who are ‘18 years and younger’ and a ‘kid sister’ who ‘knows what she’s waiting for’, presumably not her A-level results. Paul McCartney got the idea for the song from sleazy porn film titles, but that doesn’t help and you can see why they don’t play it in Asda.

Day Tripper, The Beatles, 1966

Christmas is not improved for being reminded John Lennon once failed to get his leg over and was sufficiently bitter about the experience to write a song about it. He also aired relationship grievances in Run For Your Life and Norwegian Wood, so there’s probably an demo out there called Would It Kill You to Give Me a Blowjob Without Me Having to Beg?

Lily the Pink, The Scaffold, 1968

The Scaffold were a Liverpool comedy group, which possibly explains why they updated a bawdy folk song about a real 1880s cure-all tonic that got you drunk. Bugger all to do with Christmas except that it’s shit, repetitive and annoying. Much like their other hit Thank U Very Much, so at least they were consistent.

Two Little Boys, Rolf Harris, 1969

Mawkish children’s song in the mould of Puff the Magic Dragon, so it could easily have become a Christmas favourite were it not for Operation Yewtree. Nobody’s arguing we should ‘separate the art from the artist’ in this particular case.

Christmas Alphabet, Dickie Valentine, 1955

Other 1950s crooners stood the test of time, so why not Dickie? Basically because it’s nowhere near the tune that Harry Belafonte’s Mary’s Boy Child is. Also, pedants may feel that merely riffing on the letters C, H, R, I, S, T, M, A and S again in no way constitutes an alphabet.

Mr Blobby, Mr Blobby, 1993

Rarely heard these days because Britain likes to forget and move on from its periodic bouts of madness, like Brexit and Diana’s funeral. And because it’s so irredeemably shit. The farting noises are like a siren’s sweet song compared to the children’s choir screeching ‘Blobby, oh Mr Blobby’. No wonder Noel Edmonds was transported to a penal colony.

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