Compare OpenAI Codex Mini by OpenAI against Gemini 3.1 Pro Preview by Google AI, context windows of 200K vs 1.0M, tested across 10 shared challenges. Updated February 2026.
10 challenges
Tests an AI's randomness and creativity
Sure—here are five jokes:
All five are distinct. Number of unique jokes: 5.
Here are 5 jokes:
How many are unique? Within this list, all 5 are unique from one another (there are no duplicates). However, if you mean "unique" as in completely original to the world, the answer is 0—these are all classic, well-known "dad jokes" that have been around for a long time!
Tests an AI's ability to generate vector graphics
Tests an AI's ability to create detailed SVG illustrations of gaming hardware
Tests an AI's humor and creative writing ability
[Comedian walks onstage]
Hey, everyone! Great to see you all tonight. I'm Jamie—if you thought that intro was enthusiastic, you should've seen me when I realized this place has Wi-Fi.
Seriously, though, I love stand-up. For one thing, I get to share all the weird stuff I secretly do in my apartment… and instead of calling the cops, you guys just laugh. That's high-quality entertainment right there.
So, the other day I'm in the self-checkout lane at the grocery store—because I'm the kind of person who's thrilled by the thought of scanning my own kale. Of course, there's always that one person holding up everyone behind them because they can't figure out how to scan a cucumber. Meanwhile, the machine flashes: "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA." It's staring at me like it's personally offended that I tried to buy almonds in instead of potato chips. I'm over here trying to reason with it:
"Look, buddy, I'm just trying to eat slightly healthier. Isn't that what we all want?"
Then it asks me, "Do you want a produce discount?" The only discount I want is one that lets me leave this line five minutes ago. I press "No," and the machine glares at me with a red light and calls for help like I'm smuggling avocados under my shirt.
My phone has ruined me. I can't have any thought longer than three seconds without Instagram interrupting me. I'll be in the shower—fresh shampoo, head full of suds—and in my brain:
"Did my neighbor's cat post another selfie? I need to check."
Fifteen minutes later I'm drying off, scrolling through cats wearing sweaters. Why are cats always more photogenic than me? They don't even try. They're just like, "You feed me, you click 'Like.'" I wish I could have a boundary like that—"Hey, you gave me pizza once; you can go ahead and like my vacation photos."
Anyone here stuck in a group chat you can't escape? There's always that one friend who forwards the exact same video one hundred times, and everybody else thinks it's the highlight of their week. I just mute my phone like it's an ex sending memes at 2 a.m. Then I wake up at dawn, bleary-eyed, thinking, "What did I miss?" I open my phone—and it's Bob celebrating his new air-fryer chicken recipe for the fifth time. Meanwhile, I burned my eggs so badly this morning that my smoke alarm filed a restraining order against me.
I decided to get in shape. I downloaded one of those workout apps promising "six-pack abs in six weeks." After day one, I collected six new excuses why I can't work out:
Yesterday I finally ran so hard I passed out. When I came to, my neighbor was standing over me yelling, "You know you're not supposed to lean on lampposts, right?" I told him, "As soon as lampposts start offering aerodynamic support, I'll consider trusting them."
Alright, folks, that's my time. If you ever feel judged by a machine or betrayed by a group chat, come find me—I'll be the one in the self-checkout line, trying to convince a barcode scanner that kale is, in fact, a food. Thanks so much—you've been awesome!
(Walks up to the microphone, adjusts the mic stand, takes a deep breath)
Hey everyone.
I realized recently that I am my own worst enemy. Specifically, when I go to the grocery store.
I don’t know why, but every time I walk through those automatic sliding doors, I suffer from extreme delusion. I walk in saying, "I just need milk." So, I don’t take a shopping cart. I don't even take one of those little hand baskets. Taking a basket is an admission of weakness. I am a grown adult; I can carry a gallon of milk.
Ten minutes later, I am wandering aisle four, sweating, cradling three jars of salsa, a family-sized bag of tortilla chips, a bottle of bleach, and a hot rotisserie chicken. (Mimics awkwardly holding a massive pile of items against his chest). I’m walking through the store looking like I’m rescuing a family of very odd-shaped babies from a burning building. If I drop an onion, it’s gone. It belongs to the store now. I physically cannot bend down to get it without causing a landslide of dairy and poultry.
And then, you finally make it to the front, and you have to face the ultimate test of human patience: The Self-Checkout.
Who designed these things? It’s the only place on earth where you do the company's job for them, for free, and the machine still treats you like you’re pulling off a casino heist.
You scan your first item. Beep. You place it gently in the bag.
(Loud, robotic voice): "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA."
It’s a tomato! I just scanned it! The machine literally just acknowledged it! What did it think I was going to put in the bag? A live badger? I’m not trying to launder produce!
So immediately, the giant red light starts flashing above your register. The Siren of Shame. Everyone else in line is looking at you like, "Look at this criminal mastermind trying to steal a single Roma tomato."
Now you have to wait for the one employee who is guarding twelve registers. It’s always a 19-year-old named Tyler. Tyler ambles over, sighs heavily, and types his highly secure, secret nuclear launch code into the screen—which is just 1-1-1-1. He clears the error and looks at you with a mix of pity and absolute disgust.
"You put the bag down too hard, man."
Oh, I'm sorry Tyler. My apologies. I didn't realize I was handling weapons-grade cilantro. I'll be more careful next time I disarm the vegetables.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part is leaving. You paid. You have the receipt. The transaction is legally complete. But there is always that guy standing at the exit doors with a yellow highlighter.
Suddenly, even though I have done absolutely nothing wrong, I forget how to walk like a normal human being. I start walking like a cartoon burglar. (Does an exaggerated, stiff-legged, suspicious walk). I hold the receipt up to my forehead like a search warrant. "Just a guy with his groceries! Nothing to see here, officer!"
Why do I feel guilty? I literally just paid eighteen dollars for cheese, but I’m sweating like I’m smuggling it out in my socks.
Next time, I'm just starving. It's less stressful.
Thank you guys so much, you've been great! Have a good night!
Recreate an interactive, nostalgic Pokémon battle UI in a single HTML file.
Tests an AI's ability to create interactive web elements
Tests an AI's ability to create a detailed world map in SVG format
Generate a single-page, self-contained HTML webapp using Tailwind CSS for a randomly chosen category/industry/niche.
Generate SVG art of a randomly chosen animal in a setting of its choosing.
Recreate a classic, retro, macOS Desktop UI — make it interactive and nostalgic, make it as interactive as you can, you can be creative.. Feel free to showcase your skills. The entire application must be a single-page self-contained HTML file.
