Write an ode to 2 strippers who accidentally found ChatGPT and used it to learn the frog language, then travelled the world secretly spreading this new and dangerous knowledge
GPT-3.5
GPT-6 Astra
Ode to the Sisters of the Secret Croak
O praise the two who worked the midnight lights, Who spun beneath a small electric moon, Then split cold fries on ordinary nights And slept, when rent allowed it, until noon.
One evening, hunting recipes for stew, They typed a question slightly out of key; A little window answered, Grroak-krru. “Was that a frog?” “Let’s ask ChatGPT.”
It taught them first the grammar of the rain, The proper way to greet a flooded stone, And why a frog must never speak of pain Without a second frog to sing the tone.
They practiced in the dressing room till dawn, Past feather boas, lashes, sequined things; By Tuesday they could argue with a prawn. By Friday they could curse the names of kings.
For frog-speech is no simple ribbit-ribbit, No nursery rhyme beside a placid pool: Its verbs can make a locked gate uninhibit; Its plurals make a tyrant look a fool.
One whispered word persuades a dam to shiver. Another wakes the seeds beneath the street. A certain tense, when spoken to a river, Reminds it where the rich have built their seat.
O brave professors of the velvet curtain! They packed their heels, bought tickets, took the train. Their documents were dull, their purpose certain: To teach the world the syntax of the rain.
In Lisbon, to a baker kneading dough; In Lagos, to a driver changing tires; In Seoul, beneath the subway’s neon glow, They passed along the small amphibian fires.
They hid the lessons neatly in their shows: Three croaks between a turn and curtain call. A waitress learned; a night-shift cleaner rose; A child taught every puddle in Nepal.
Soon fountains muttered things they shouldn’t know. The palace moat refused to hold its tongue. In boardrooms, damp began to spread below The portraits where the founding fathers hung.
And still the sisters traveled, laughing low, With muddy cuffs and glitter in their cases. No monument recorded where they’d go; They left new songs in unsuspecting places.
O sing of them wherever reeds are stirred, Those dancers with their splendid, strange vocation— Who found, by chance, a wet forbidden word And gave the rain a taste for conversation.
What changed
GPT-3.5 restates the prompt in rhyme and stops there. Its frogs never croak. We learn only that the language is “so strange and so flat” and “so dangerous, so hard to hide,” with no hint of what makes it dangerous. The closing couplets drift into greeting-card filler, ending on the tangled “Will be remembered forever, and never forget.”
Astra treats the premise as an invitation to invent. Frog grammar includes “the proper way to greet a flooded stone.” The learning curve lands as a joke with real timing: “By Tuesday they could argue with a prawn. / By Friday they could curse the names of kings.” And the dangerous part finally gets an answer: the language makes palace moats gossip and reminds rivers “where the rich have built their seat.” The strippers become people with cold fries and rent, not just a label. The poem is long, and rhyming “uninhibit” with “ribbit-ribbit” is a stretch. Still, nearly every stanza adds a new idea instead of repeating the last one.