Paper season tickets

[1952]

It appears mine got sent to someone else.

[Josh1873]

I like the idea of ChatGBT - an AI that gives ranty ill-informed, thinly veiled answers

I like the idea of 'growing up with the internet'. 

I didn't have a PC at home until I was in college! I spent my childhood playing 30 minutes of football before school, during the mini-break, lunch, then after school until dark. The six weeks holiday was a mixture of football, hacky, or curby. 

I did have a playstation/playstation 2 which was played on the many rainy days, but there was no internet. 

So no, I didn't grow up on the internet (age wise). I've obviously had access to the internet for a good while now, and I'd argue I still haven't grown up (mentally)!

---

My initial experience of the App… it isn’t working. My second response is because I am a plonker and didn’t put the right details.

User error! Bell end 

---

It appears mine got sent to someone else.

Wouldn't have happened if you had a digital ticket sent right to your phone 

---

I asked Chat GPT to write a ranty, ill-informed, thinly veiled post. Obviously I asked for it in medieval language. Why wouldn't you?

A Most Vehement Denunciation of Those Who Spurn the Witchcraft of Digital Tickets

Hearken, ye stubborn relics of an elder age! Wretches! Nay, crust-ridden barnacles affixed to the hull of progress! Whyfore dost thou persist in thy mulish clinging to paper tickets, as if the scribbled parchments of yore be holier than the blessed sigils conjured within yon glowing scrying stones?

By Saint Algorithm and Our Lady of Connectivity, it grieveth me sorely to witness thy cantankerous ways. Dost thou tremble at the notion of scanning a code? Is it witchcraft to thee? Doth thy spirit quake at the sight of a QR rune, as though Beelzebub himself etched it with brimstone upon a scroll?

"’Tis not safe!" thou criest, clutching thy printed billet like a babe to its soiled swaddling. Safe from what, thou daft knave? A breeze? A misplacing of thine own faculties? Forsooth, a squirrel with gout hath more wit than thee.

Thy feeble protestations reek of mildew and cowardice. "What if my phonus apparatum be drained of juice?" Well, what if thine horse were to die mid-journey, wouldst thou demand the entire town switch back to ox carts? Prithee, silence thy foolish drivel.

Ye are the lice in the codpiece of civilization, the splinter in the finger of efficiency, the mildew upon the ledger of modernity. The world hath moved on, yet thou remainest, wailing in the mud, face agape like a startled trout, as innovation doth ride past on a Tesla-shaped destrier.

Get thee hence with thy paper stubs and thy proud ignorance. Embrace the glow of progress or be cast into the oubliette of irrelevance, where thou may bleat among other Luddites until thine ink doth fade and crumble into dust.

May the next gatekeeper smite thy ticket with righteous scorn and declare: “Nay, thou shall not pass, bearer of the forbidden pulp!”

Begone!

[MrFizz]

I like the idea of ChatGBT - an AI that gives ranty ill-informed, thinly veiled answers

I like the idea of 'growing up with the internet'. 

I didn't have a PC at home until I was in college! I spent my childhood playing 30 minutes of football before school, during the mini-break, lunch, then after school until dark. The six weeks holiday was a mixture of football, hacky, or curby. 

I did have a playstation/playstation 2 which was played on the many rainy days, but there was no internet. 

So no, I didn't grow up on the internet (age wise). I've obviously had access to the internet for a good while now, and I'd argue I still haven't grown up (mentally)!

---

My initial experience of the App… it isn’t working. My second response is because I am a plonker and didn’t put the right details.

User error! Bell end 

---

It appears mine got sent to someone else.

Wouldn't have happened if you had a digital ticket sent right to your phone 

---

I asked Chat GPT to write a ranty, ill-informed, thinly veiled post. Obviously I asked for it in medieval language. Why wouldn't you?

A Most Vehement Denunciation of Those Who Spurn the Witchcraft of Digital Tickets

Hearken, ye stubborn relics of an elder age! Wretches! Nay, crust-ridden barnacles affixed to the hull of progress! Whyfore dost thou persist in thy mulish clinging to paper tickets, as if the scribbled parchments of yore be holier than the blessed sigils conjured within yon glowing scrying stones?

By Saint Algorithm and Our Lady of Connectivity, it grieveth me sorely to witness thy cantankerous ways. Dost thou tremble at the notion of scanning a code? Is it witchcraft to thee? Doth thy spirit quake at the sight of a QR rune, as though Beelzebub himself etched it with brimstone upon a scroll?

"’Tis not safe!" thou criest, clutching thy printed billet like a babe to its soiled swaddling. Safe from what, thou daft knave? A breeze? A misplacing of thine own faculties? Forsooth, a squirrel with gout hath more wit than thee.

Thy feeble protestations reek of mildew and cowardice. "What if my phonus apparatum be drained of juice?" Well, what if thine horse were to die mid-journey, wouldst thou demand the entire town switch back to ox carts? Prithee, silence thy foolish drivel.

Ye are the lice in the codpiece of civilization, the splinter in the finger of efficiency, the mildew upon the ledger of modernity. The world hath moved on, yet thou remainest, wailing in the mud, face agape like a startled trout, as innovation doth ride past on a Tesla-shaped destrier.

Get thee hence with thy paper stubs and thy proud ignorance. Embrace the glow of progress or be cast into the oubliette of irrelevance, where thou may bleat among other Luddites until thine ink doth fade and crumble into dust.

May the next gatekeeper smite thy ticket with righteous scorn and declare: “Nay, thou shall not pass, bearer of the forbidden pulp!”

Begone!

That cheered me up this morning. Brilliant

[Josh1873]

Asking chat GPT to write things in medieval language is my new hobby.

I need to get a fucking life.

[Spandaubaggie]

Asking chat GPT to write things in medieval language is my new hobby.

I need to get a fucking life.

Thou art a most foolish and puerile knave, who wouldst do well to spend thy days in more worthy pursuits.

Yet, though I find thy manner and views toward elders and their crafts most disagreeable, I must needs confess — thou art a boon to the fellowship of WBAUnofficial.

[1952]

Wouldn't have happened if you had a digital ticket sent right to your phone   

My daughter has lost all her e tickets. She just has a black screen. What's worse? At least I'm getting a new pack of tickets sent out which I won't lose

[Vinebaggie]

I like the idea of ChatGBT - an AI that gives ranty ill-informed, thinly veiled answers

I asked Chat GPT to write a ranty, ill-informed, thinly veiled post. Obviously I asked for it in medieval language. Why wouldn't you?

A Most Vehement Denunciation of Those Who Spurn the Witchcraft of Digital Tickets

Hearken, ye stubborn relics of an elder age! Wretches! Nay, crust-ridden barnacles affixed to the hull of progress! Whyfore dost thou persist in thy mulish clinging to paper tickets, as if the scribbled parchments of yore be holier than the blessed sigils conjured within yon glowing scrying stones?

By Saint Algorithm and Our Lady of Connectivity, it grieveth me sorely to witness thy cantankerous ways. Dost thou tremble at the notion of scanning a code? Is it witchcraft to thee? Doth thy spirit quake at the sight of a QR rune, as though Beelzebub himself etched it with brimstone upon a scroll?

"’Tis not safe!" thou criest, clutching thy printed billet like a babe to its soiled swaddling. Safe from what, thou daft knave? A breeze? A misplacing of thine own faculties? Forsooth, a squirrel with gout hath more wit than thee.

Thy feeble protestations reek of mildew and cowardice. "What if my phonus apparatum be drained of juice?" Well, what if thine horse were to die mid-journey, wouldst thou demand the entire town switch back to ox carts? Prithee, silence thy foolish drivel.

Ye are the lice in the codpiece of civilization, the splinter in the finger of efficiency, the mildew upon the ledger of modernity. The world hath moved on, yet thou remainest, wailing in the mud, face agape like a startled trout, as innovation doth ride past on a Tesla-shaped destrier.

Get thee hence with thy paper stubs and thy proud ignorance. Embrace the glow of progress or be cast into the oubliette of irrelevance, where thou may bleat among other Luddites until thine ink doth fade and crumble into dust.

May the next gatekeeper smite thy ticket with righteous scorn and declare: “Nay, thou shall not pass, bearer of the forbidden pulp!”

Begone!

Hark! Attend thy ears, for words of stern counsel cometh…

“Good fellow, what folly hast possessed thee, that thou choosest yon flickering witchcraft known as the ‘digital ticket’? Hast thou no love for parchment, the scent of ink, the weight of tradition? Dost thou scorn the sacred crinkle of papery proof, that steadfast slip which doth not vanish at the whim of thine accursed battery?

Know this: a scroll may be folded, nay, tucked gently in one’s satchel or breast, whilst thy cursed glowing scry-stone may betray thee—freezing mid-gate, vanishing from thine grasp, or failing when sorcery fails.

So I bid thee—spurn not the printed pass, for it is the relic of a simpler age, and a sure companion in tempest and toil. Let not convenience be thy master, nor haste thy guide.

Honour the paper, as thy forebears once did, when knights did cheer and villagers did roar!”

Courtesy of co-pilot