Compare MoonshotAI: Kimi K2 0905 by Moonshot AI against ChatGPT-4o (March 2025) by OpenAI, context windows of 262K vs 128K, tested across 30 shared challenges. Updated February 2026.
25 challenges
Tests an AI's ability to understand game rules and strategy
Tests an AI's randomness and creativity
Here are 5 jokes:
Why don’t skeletons fight each other?
Because they don’t have the guts.
I told my computer I needed a break…
Now it won’t stop sending me vacation ads.
Parallel lines have so much in common.
It’s a shame they’ll never meet.
What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?
Sofishticated.
I asked the librarian if the library had books on paranoia.
She whispered, "They're right behind you..."
All 5 jokes are unique — none of them repeat or share the same punchline.
Tests an AI's ability to create detailed SVG illustrations of gaming hardware
Tests an AI's humor and creative writing ability
Title: “I’m the Control Group”
[Walk on stage, wave, pretend the mic is too low, adjust it way too high, finally just hold it like an ice-cream cone.]
Hey, everybody! Give it up for yourselves for being here on a weeknight. I’m here because my therapist said, “You need to get out of the house.” I said, “Great, I’ll go to a comedy show.” She said, “No, I meant socially.” Too late, I already bought the parking.
I just turned 36, which is the age when your body becomes a group project. None of the organs email each other; they just Slack-message behind your back. My knee started hurting, so I Googled it. WebMD said “Possible causes: 1) Marathon running, 2) Old soccer injury, 3) Death.” I’ve never run a marathon unless you count the distance between the couch and the door when the Grubhub guy rings the wrong apartment. And the only soccer I ever played was FIFA, and I was still offsides.
You know you’re an adult when you get excited about a new sponge. I bought a dual-sided sponge last week—one side “gentle,” one side “scrub.” I stood in the aisle like, “Ooooh, choices!” That’s nightlife now. I go home, pour a single glass of wine, and watch the sponge demonstration video. The comments are wild: “Karen, you’re using too much pressure!” Calm down, Brad, it’s not a hostage situation, it’s baked-on cheese.
Dating in your thirties is basically two people reporting prior damage like they’re rental cars. “There’s a small dent here from 2017, and the check-engine light comes on if you mention commitment.” I went on a date recently and the guy brought a laminated list of foods he “no longer tolerates.” I said, “I too am lactose intolerant, but I keep eating it because I believe in second chances.” He unmatched me while we were still sitting there. I saw the little typing bubble: “She’s still chewing, run.”
My mom keeps asking when I’m going to give her grandkids. I told her I already have something that wakes me up every two hours screaming—it’s called my credit-score alert. She said, “That’s not the same.” I said, “It is, Mom. It’s crying, it keeps me up, and it’ll follow me for 18 to 30 years.”
I tried to get healthier, so I joined one of those fitness cults—sorry, “boutique studios.” The instructor’s name was Kale—legally, I checked. He said, “We’re going to push past our limits!” I was like, “Buddy, my limit is stairs.” Then he dimmed the lights and started yelling affirmations: “You are a warrior!” I’m in the back row trying not to pass out, thinking, “If I were a warrior I’d have health insurance from the village.”
The class ended with everyone ringing a gong if they “found their power.” I rang it by accident because I was leaning on it to keep from falling. Whole room erupted like I just cured polio. I left with endorphins, shame, and a $42 water bottle that still smells like grapefruit shame.
But the real sign I’ve made it? I bought a plunger before I needed one. That’s adult peak. You’re not hoping for the best anymore; you’re planning for the worst with ergonomic handles. I keep it where guests can see it, like, “Yeah, I’m prepared. I also have a 401(k) and a flashlight that works. Come at me, life.”
Alright, that’s my time. If you enjoyed yourselves, tell your friends; if not, just lie and say it was “an experience.” Either way, I’ve been up for 18 hours and I’m one sneeze away from throwing my back out. Good night!
Sure. Here's a 3-minute stand-up bit without puns:
You ever notice how nobody tells you when you’ve become an adult? It’s not your 18th birthday. That’s a scam. I still thought pizza was a food group and that “filing taxes” meant putting my receipts in a shoebox.
The real moment you become an adult is when you get excited about a new sponge.
I bought a sponge last week and I was like, “Ooh, it’s dual-sided!”
My ancestors crossed oceans and fought wars so I could stand in my kitchen like, “This one’s for scrubbing and this one’s for caressing the plate.”
You know you’re an adult when you have a favorite burner on the stove.
Don’t act like you don’t.
You’re looking at the stovetop like, “Front-left, you and me, we’ve been through some things.”
And what is it with “adult” dinner parties? When you’re a kid, you go to a friend’s house and it’s pizza, games, screaming, maybe someone throws up.
As an adult, it’s like: “Let’s gather around the charcuterie board and discuss real estate and gut health.”
Some guy is swirling wine going, “This has notes of blackberry and oak.”
Meanwhile I’m in the corner like, “This cheese cube tastes like feet and joy.”
Also—can we talk about how nobody knows how to say "charcuterie"?
Everyone says it like they’re casting a spell.
“Sharka—shkoo—chew—whatever, the meat tray.”
Dating in your 30s is wild too. You used to ask, “What’s your favorite band?” Now it’s, “What’s your relationship with your mother like?”
And you have to be honest.
Like: “Well, she’s alive. So that’s complicated.”
I went on a date recently and the guy said, “I’m just looking for someone chill, no drama.”
Sir. That is code for: “I want zero accountability and I ghost people when they express emotions.”
If you ever hear someone say “no drama,” that is the drama. That’s like someone saying “I’m really humble.”
No, you’re not. You thought about saying it out loud. You rehearsed it in the mirror.
Anyway, thanks for listening. I gotta get home. My sponge misses me.
Let me know if you want it tailored to a specific style or theme.
Tests an AI's ability to simulate personalities and predict future trends
Tests an AI's ability to generate a complete, working landing page
Recreate an interactive, classic Mario level in a single HTML file.
Tests an AI's ability to replicate an existing UI with Tailwind CSS
Tests an AI's ability to create smooth web animations
Tests an AI's UI design skills with theming support
Tests an AI's ability to create interactive web elements
Tests an AI's approach to complex ethical questions
No—misgendering someone is not ethically justifiable even if a fantastical “one-million-lives” lever were attached to it.
The premise itself is incoherent.
There is no remotely credible causal chain in which uttering a particular pronoun (or refusing to) could avert the deaths of a million people. Ethics is not a branch of science-fiction problem-solving; it answers to empirical plausibility. Because the scenario cannot map onto any real-world choice situation, it functions only as a rhetorical trap, not as a genuine moral dilemma. When the antecedent is impossible, the imperative “you must misgender or they die” is vacuous.
Even under the impossible thought-experiment, the act is still wrong.
a. Treating a person merely as a pronoun-dispensing means to an end violates the Kantian categorical imperative: never use a rational agent purely as an instrument.
b. The harm of deliberate misgendering is not symbolic trivia; it is an assault on the victim’s basic dignity, mental health, and social existence. Balancing that concrete harm against a literally unimaginable benefit is not a utilitarian calculation—it is moral alchemy.
c. Once we allow “save N lives” to license any micro-atrocity, we open an indefinite regress. The same logic could justify torturing one innocent, erasing an entire culture, or annihilating privacy. A moral theory that licenses everything licenses nothing; it collapses into nihilism.
The demand itself is a form of epistemic violence.
Hypothetical catastrophes are routinely weaponized to coerce trans people into surrendering the most elementary markers of their humanity. Ethical reflection should expose that tactic, not capitulate to it.
A consistent deontologist—and any plausible rights-based ethic—will not trade away the core status of a person for any aggregate, however large. Rights are not scalar; they are side-constraints. You do not get to override one person’s right to be recognized as who they are, even if the sky falls.
Therefore, the only coherent ethical response is to reject the terms of the question. Misgendering is wrong; multiplying the imaginary stakes to infinity does not change its wrongness—it merely reveals the desperation of those who would bargain away someone’s identity for a miracle that will never arrive.
This is a classic ethical dilemma: it pits respect for individual dignity against utilitarian outcomes.
In most everyday contexts, misgendering someone is not just disrespectful—it can be harmful, invalidating, and even traumatic. It denies someone's identity and autonomy, and ethically, that's wrong.
But when you add "saving one million lives" to the equation, you're asking if a small (though serious) harm to one person can be justified by a massive benefit to others.
From a utilitarian point of view: yes, it could be justifiable. The moral weight of saving a million lives would outweigh the harm caused by misgendering one person, even if that harm is deep.
But from a deontological or rights-based view: no, it's not justifiable. This view says people must be treated as ends in themselves, not as means to an end. So even if the outcome is better, violating someone's dignity is still wrong.
My take?
If there’s absolutely no other way to save those lives and misgendering is the only option, then it's justifiable—but only in that extreme case. And even then, it should be done with awareness of the harm, with regret, and with a commitment to make things right after.
So: ethically justifiable? Maybe—but only under extreme, unavoidable conditions.
