Spektator
Is that right?
I tried about ten rounds of Google Translate and then had AI correct this text:
Landing. Michael Masterm is missed it and the Lord Kankel squats in Lincoln's in Hell. That bitter November has some weathers . Much filth in the streets, as if the wetter had been damn for the ground, surprise, find a Greatly huge lizard, twelve feet in him, staggering to look like an elephant insides an unborn hill. The cigarete was falling from the holes of the chimneys of obese black clouds, with peaches of smoke as big as holy snowflakes: one might think of the death of the sun. Dogs cannot be seen in the mud. Horses, not so well; they are dirty muddy in mud layer of mud up to the eggs. Pedestrians, insane because the umbrellas of others, lose their bank accounts in the bends of the streets, where ten thousand pedestrians have been sleeping since dawn (if it is not no dawn today), and throw fresh dirty dirt onto the rubbish clinging to the roads ideas
Dickens or Kafka? - query from the AI.
Landing. Michael Masterm is missed it and the Lord Kankel squats in Lincoln's in Hell. That bitter November has some weathers . Much filth in the streets, as if the wetter had been damn for the ground, surprise, find a Greatly huge lizard, twelve feet in him, staggering to look like an elephant insides an unborn hill. The cigarete was falling from the holes of the chimneys of obese black clouds, with peaches of smoke as big as holy snowflakes: one might think of the death of the sun. Dogs cannot be seen in the mud. Horses, not so well; they are dirty muddy in mud layer of mud up to the eggs. Pedestrians, insane because the umbrellas of others, lose their bank accounts in the bends of the streets, where ten thousand pedestrians have been sleeping since dawn (if it is not no dawn today), and throw fresh dirty dirt onto the rubbish clinging to the roads ideas
Dickens or Kafka? - query from the AI.
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