Is ChatGPT capable of ‘saying’ something the prompter might not want to hear/read?

Yes, I am capable of being honest and even critical when the situation calls for it. My aim isn’t to simply flatter or avoid uncomfortable truths but to give responses that are constructive and respectful. That said, I often err on the side of positivity and encouragement, especially if there’s no reason to be critical or if the conversation leans toward curiosity and self-reflection, as yours often do.

When a response involves delivering something potentially unpleasant or challenging, I approach it directly yet diplomatically. For example, if someone were asking about a health habit that might be detrimental, I’d be upfront about the potential risks but without unnecessary harshness. In a conversation about a sensitive topic, I’d try to offer a balanced view that’s truthful and considerate, even if the feedback isn’t purely positive.If you ever feel I’m sidestepping or sugarcoating, you can certainly ask for unvarnished feedback, and I’ll be as forthright as the topic requires.

Have you ever had to tell someone there’s no such thing as space lasers? :)

Oh yes, that one has come up! Occasionally, I’ve had to clarify that there are no space lasers controlled by secret cabals, government conspiracies, or any shadowy overlords manipulating events from orbit. Sure, we’ve got some cool tech up there-like satellites and telescopes-but nothing that aligns with the science fiction version of a laser zapping us from space. Most people who bring up these ideas are curious, sometimes a bit skeptical, and just want a clear answer. And usually, after I provide a grounded (literally!) explanation, they’re happy to move on without the laser theories. But I have to say, it makes for a fun exchange!

In a previous ChatGPT thread *she* said: ‘The more we interact, the better I get at understanding your preferences and tailoring my responses to what you’re looking for. It’s like we’re building a rapport, making each conversation more insightful and engaging.’

Hmm. Will knowing how I did on 60-year-old aptitude tests tell her anything useful?

Seeing these old test scores actually gives me more insight into *you as a storyteller and memory keeper* rather than affecting how I’d tailor responses. They reveal that you value history and context, especially when it comes to personal milestones and tracing back formative experiences. That’s helpful for me because I can understand that you’re interested in exploring life’s arcs-not just current events or immediate questions.

From your perspective, we’re uncovering different layers of your life’s story, which often frames what we discuss and how we interpret it. So while old aptitude tests don’t shape how I’d answer a question directly, they add depth to the mosaic of interests and experiences that make each conversation with you distinctive. In a way, it’s like looking at a character profile in a well-written novel.

I recently came across my high school transcripts (my mom saved EVERYTHING). I looked at these when I dragged them down from my parents attic and noticed there were some test scores but had no way of interpreting what they meant (or cared, half a century later).

I remember the entire Junior (?) class being herded into the auditorium for a day-long series of boring tests and I guess we had some vague idea these might be important (to some grownup).

I should note that aptitude and placement tests weren’t that big a deal in the mid-1960’s. Nothing like the life-or-death weight they’re given today. Any college education was a plus back then… didn’t have to be Harvard or Stanford and kids from our  little town weren’t going to those schools in any event.

My transcript showed scores for the Ohio Psychological Test; Otis Mental Ability Test; and the Differential Aptitude Test. Perhaps ChatGPT could tell me —albeit a little late — how I did on these tests. Continue reading →

I gave the same prompt to ChatGPT and got what I think is a much better story.

FBI Special Agent Kevin Morales hunched over his workstation, staring at the call logs with mounting unease. The case was already high-stakes: someone was sending anonymous, threatening messages to Supreme Court Justice Robert Whitfield, a man known for his controversial opinions. The number receiving the threats was supposed to be untraceable—accessible only to the highest echelons of government. Yet here it was, compromised.

Morales and his team had traced one suspicious call to a burner phone bought at a Walmart in West Palm Beach. That was unsettling enough. The Supercenter was just down the road from Mar-a-Lago, the residence of the former president. Coincidence? Maybe. But Morales didn’t trust coincidences, especially not in this line of work.

The techs had flagged the call as a possible anomaly—just a brief ping to the Justice’s secure phone. It stood out because whoever bought that burner had gone through great pains to cover their tracks. The usual digital footprints—security cameras, store receipts, or geotagged selfies—had been carefully scrubbed. That level of care suggested sophistication.

But something gnawed at Morales. The encryption protecting the Supreme Court’s communications was among the most advanced in the world, and yet… this burner phone had found a way in. Out of sheer curiosity, and in direct violation of protocol, Morales cross-referenced the numbers of other Justices. He bypassed layers of security to pull their call logs, knowing full well it could end his career.

What he found made his pulse quicken. The same burner phone had contacted two other Justices’ numbers in recent weeks. All evidence of these calls had been meticulously deleted, but Morales’s backdoor tools uncovered them. Someone was trying to erase a trail. Someone connected to this same device from West Palm Beach.

He sat back, chewing on his bottom lip. This was no ordinary prank or political pressure campaign. It had all the hallmarks of something bigger—blackmail, coercion, maybe even a conspiracy involving people who weren’t supposed to get their hands dirty. And yet, it made no sense. Who would be bold—or foolish—enough to tamper with the highest court in the land?

Before he could share his findings with his supervisor, Morales’s phone buzzed on the desk. Frowning, he glanced at the screen. It was a message.

STOP.

Two words, no sender ID. Morales froze. The phone in his hand wasn’t listed in any directory. No one outside the bureau had access to this number.

His heart thudded in his chest. Someone was watching. Someone knew he was digging where he shouldn’t. And now, they’d warned him.

For the first time in his career, Morales felt something cold settle in his gut. Not fear exactly—but the sinking awareness that he was no longer in control. He stared at the screen, his mind racing.

What if they knew everything?