**"Bros with Boobs: A Comedy Tale of Gender Swaps and Friendship"**
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**A Gender Flu Fuss: A Comedy of Errors**
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"So, let me get this straight," Brad said, leaning against the kitchen counter, one eyebrow arched to the point it could touch the stars. "The Gender Flu turned you into this bombshell redhead and you’re worried things might get complicated because I have a thing for busty redheads?"
I gave him an exasperated look, which probably looked more like a model's smolder. "Yes, exactly, Brad. And stop staring at my boobs, man."
"Sorry, they’re just—" Brad held out his hands, smirking.
"Yeah, I know, they’re like the Grand Canyon. Magnificent. Now, close your fly trap before something flies in," I retorted, dropping onto the sofa which, unsurprisingly, made a sound of protest under my new weight. "I just want things to remain normal between us. We're bros."
Brad’s eyes danced with laughter. "Bros with significant... differences."
I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him. "Bros! Capital letters, okay? I still want to watch sports, play video games, and check out girls. Just because I'm a curvy redhead now doesn't mean my brain’s been replaced with salsa dip."
He ducked, narrowly missing the pillow projectile, and leaned back. "Alright, alright. So, what’s the plan? Gonna try out for cheerleading or something?" he said, snickering.
"Oh, ha-ha, very funny, Brad. You’re a regular comedian. I lost my job at the auto shop, remember? And my income, so... I’m basically mooching off you until I figure something out."
Brad turned serious for a moment. "Hey, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, okay? We’ll figure things out together. Just promise me one thing."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"Don’t fall in love with me," he said, flourishing a dramatic swoop of his hair.
My eyes rolled so hard you would’ve thought they'd pop out of my head. "Trust me, Brad. I looked at my new reflection this morning and seriously considered dating myself before I’d date you."
He laughed. "Touché. Seriously though, we need to get you some new clothes or every outfit will end up like Hulk in mid-transformation."
I sighed. "Tell me about it. Half my wardrobe already looks like it tried to escape the '90s grunge era.”
Brad clapped me on the back—well, he tried; his hand got embarrassingly sidetracked by the curves. "Whoa, sorry. Personal space."
"See, this is what I’m talking about. We have to set some ground rules," I said, crossing my arms. Not the best move; my chest nearly succeeded in escaping my button-up shirt.
"We’ll manage, dude. No, wait, dudette? What's the right term?"
"Dude. Always dude," I said firmly, returning a sisterly—no, brotherly—fist bump. "Now, let’s grab some pizza and binge-watch football. But, Brad?"
"Yeah?"
"Order an extra-large for me. It takes a lot of fuel to maintain this... um, grandeur."
Brad chuckled as he reached for the phone. "You’ve got it, dude. Extra-large, extra cheesy, just like old times."
As he punched in the order, I leaned back, hoping that our friendship would remain rock-solid, despite my newly acquired 'special effects.'
Hey, what’s life without a few laughs, right?
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The End
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a story with dialogue where After I had gotten a bad case of gender flu which changes your gender. It had turned me into a busty and curvy redhead I didn’t know what to do. I had lost my job at the auto shop and had lost all my income. Luckily my friend had called me and let me move over with him. He is a real life saver. I just hope things between us don’t get awkward. I knew he had a thing for busty redheads and clearly I fit the bill. I just want things to remain normal between us, no matter what I look like I’m still his bro. I still love sports and the ladies no matter if my tits are bigger than most of the ladies we crush on now.
Response: **A Gender Flu Fuss: A Comedy of Errors** ------- "So, let me get this straight," Brad said, leaning against the kitchen counter, one eyebrow arched to the point it could touch the stars. "The Gender Flu turned you into this bombshell redhead and you’re worried things might get complicated because I have a thing for busty redheads?" I gave him an exasperated look, which probably looked more like a model's smolder. "Yes, exactly, Brad. And stop staring at my boobs, man." "Sorry, they’re just—" Brad held out his hands, smirking. "Yeah, I know, they’re like the Grand Canyon. Magnificent. Now, close your fly trap before something flies in," I retorted, dropping onto the sofa which, unsurprisingly, made a sound of protest under my new weight. "I just want things to remain normal between us. We're bros." Brad’s eyes danced with laughter. "Bros with significant... differences." I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him. "Bros! Capital letters, okay? I still want to watch sports, play video games, and check out girls. Just because I'm a curvy redhead now doesn't mean my brain’s been replaced with salsa dip." He ducked, narrowly missing the pillow projectile, and leaned back. "Alright, alright. So, what’s the plan? Gonna try out for cheerleading or something?" he said, snickering. "Oh, ha-ha, very funny, Brad. You’re a regular comedian. I lost my job at the auto shop, remember? And my income, so... I’m basically mooching off you until I figure something out." Brad turned serious for a moment. "Hey, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, okay? We’ll figure things out together. Just promise me one thing." "Yeah, what's that?" "Don’t fall in love with me," he said, flourishing a dramatic swoop of his hair. My eyes rolled so hard you would’ve thought they'd pop out of my head. "Trust me, Brad. I looked at my new reflection this morning and seriously considered dating myself before I’d date you." He laughed. "Touché. Seriously though, we need to get you some new clothes or every outfit will end up like Hulk in mid-transformation." I sighed. "Tell me about it. Half my wardrobe already looks like it tried to escape the '90s grunge era.” Brad clapped me on the back—well, he tried; his hand got embarrassingly sidetracked by the curves. "Whoa, sorry. Personal space." "See, this is what I’m talking about. We have to set some ground rules," I said, crossing my arms. Not the best move; my chest nearly succeeded in escaping my button-up shirt. "We’ll manage, dude. No, wait, dudette? What's the right term?" "Dude. Always dude," I said firmly, returning a sisterly—no, brotherly—fist bump. "Now, let’s grab some pizza and binge-watch football. But, Brad?" "Yeah?" "Order an extra-large for me. It takes a lot of fuel to maintain this... um, grandeur." Brad chuckled as he reached for the phone. "You’ve got it, dude. Extra-large, extra cheesy, just like old times." As he punched in the order, I leaned back, hoping that our friendship would remain rock-solid, despite my newly acquired 'special effects.' Hey, what’s life without a few laughs, right? ------- The End
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