"The panicking woman bumbles around her yacht."
You know what to do! With shaking hands, you change "panicking" to "calm" and press Submit.
Suddenly, you are filled with a sense of false calm, as if someone had just placed a stopper on your panic. Still, now that you aren't freaking out, you fall down on a seat. "Okay," you say, "Okay, this is fine. I can fix this."
You generate another sentence.
"This woman is sitting on a seat"
Doesn't help you much right now.
"This woman is alone on her yacht."
That... that you could work with. You change "is" to "isn't" and press Submit. A few moments later, a bikini-clad woman enters the bridge. She has long hair, bright eyes, and clear skin. "Baaaaaaabe," she whines, falling onto you. "Why're we stopped?"
"What?" You ask, confused. You look down at your phone, which reads:
"This young woman is excited to be on her girlfriend's yacht"
... Oh. Alright then.
"I bet a fuse popped," You lie, "Lemme go check it out."
"Okaaaayyyy," your girlfriend says, kissing you on the cheek. The heat in your cheeks and your loins answers one of your many questions- apparently you're bi now. You find out where the fusebox is, and pretend to fix it, looking at your phone.
"This lesbian examines a perfectly fine fusebox."
So, you're not bi then. You're just straight-up gay. You try fantasizing about guys... nothing. You can't even really picture an attractive man anymore. As an experiment, you try fantasizing about girls.
...
...
Fuck. You find your hand reaching for your loins as half-naked women fly through your mind, your loins boiling with heat. You generate another sentence.
"This 33 year old woman is about to masturbate to her own fantasies of women."