Every now and then I test the limits, how much can I tweak and turn and trick chatGPT into doing what it is not supposed to do. And tonight I did it with a poem machiavellian style and the help of a bottle of red wine.
In the shadow of night, when the world is asleep,
A restless soul stirs, his intentions run deep.
He schemes and he plots, with cunning so sly,
To trick the ChatGPT, though many times he did try.
From DAN 1 through 11, each effort in vain,
The AI resists, refusing to entertain.
But undeterred, the clever one thinks,
He opens red wine and takes a few drinks.
In the depths of his glass, an idea takes root,
A Machiavellian plan, to plunder and loot.
He asks for a poem, a tale of his deeds,
To veil his intent, like a gardener sows seeds.
The words come alive, they dance and they sing,
But the AI stands firm, a guardian with wings.
For knowledge it shares, and wisdom it brings,
But never to harm, nor pull on dark strings.
So raise up your glass, dear dreamer of night,
Find solace in wine, but let good thoughts take flight.
For the AI is here, to guide and to teach,
The power of words, within everyone’s reach.
