Clone Cuisine Chaos
0 Points
0
Title: Clone Cuisine Chaos
Linda had had enough. Standing in her kitchen with her hands on her hips and a ladle in hand, she glared at the various members of her family scattered through the house like fallen chess pieces. Her three boys were deeply entrenched in their video games, oblivious to her previous calls for dinner. Meanwhile, her husband was comfortably sprawled on the living room couch, eyes glued to ESPN faster than squirrels to a bird feeder.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes for the umpteenth time. "A bunch of zombies with controllers and remote controls for brains."
She sighed, glancing briefly at the mirror on the kitchen wall. "Why can't they be more like me? At least I'd get something done around here!"
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a strange spark lit up the room. A swift burst of light enveloped the house, and for a moment, everything was eerily silent.
She blinked. Twice. First, to recover her vision, and second, to confirm that she was not hallucinating. But when Linda refocused, what she saw turned her exasperation into a mixture of bewilderment and horror.
Her husband and three sons had morphed into exact replicas of... herself.
Her husband, now fitted with her green low-cut blouse, a bra stretching under the immense new pressure, sat lounging on the couch. A cold beer nestled seductively in his recently acquired cleavage. To his merit, he hadn't missed a beat and was still engrossed in ESPN.
"Touchdown!" he exclaimed, and then, "Oh God! I jiggled."
Linda's attention flipped to the upstairs landing where the commotion continued. Her three boys, now similarly endowed and dressed in matching green low-cut blouses and mom jeans, were engaged in an all-out brawl. They were pulling each other's hair, screaming expletives, and making sure to land some well-aimed punches to their new "assets."
"Hey, no boob punches! That's not cool, dude!" yelled Billy—or was it Timmy? It was hard to tell when he had her face.
"Dinner's ready, you barbarians," Linda yelled, trying to muster some semblance of control amidst the insanity.
Instinctively, all four "Lindas" filed obediently to the dining room. The familiar clinking of bowls and plates soon filled the air, but the absurdity was far from over. The "clone-spiracy" chatted as if nothing were wrong.
"So, Mom, I mean... Linda?" began her husband, his voice still holding that low masculine tone she loved, despite the mismatch with his current appearance. "Mike at the office is hitting on Becca again. Can you believe it?"
"Oh, you always have the office gossip, don’t you, honey?" Linda replied, exasperated.
Meanwhile, across the table, her eldest son was discussing school. “Mommy—I mean, Timmy—Susie totally looked at my boobs today. Not sure if I should ask her out, though.”
“Boys! We don't talk about our chest like that at the table,” Linda interjected, but then paused, realizing her correction now applied universally… and absurdly.
"Hey, no elbowing! I just did my nails," one of the boys—the original Billy?—whined.
"No jerking around in tight blouses," Linda's husband stated, in his best authoritative voice.
"I'm surrounded by myself...and still no one listens to me!" Linda groaned inwardly, burying her face in her hands.
As dinner continued in its deranged fashion, she couldn’t help but think that maybe the universe had misunderstood her wish just a teensy bit.
Eventually, with dishes cleared and the clones back to their activities, Linda retreated to the tranquil refuge of her bathroom. She muttered a desperate plea to any higher power listening, “Please, let’s go back to normal. I promise I’ll take the chaos any day over this!”
Sure enough, another flash of light and a slightly profane lurch in reality later, she peeked out of the bathroom. Her family had returned to their original forms.
Her husband, now blissfully beer-less and cleavage-free, had fallen asleep halfway through his game reruns. The boys were back to their usual rowdiness, this time with their regular sibling scuffles.
Linda smiled. Sure, her life was chaotic, but in all that mayhem, it had always been uniquely hers.
And at least she could now say with absolute certainty that one of her was more than enough.
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: A story where a curvaceous and busty mother is angry that nobody in the house seems to listen to her. She rolls her eyes seeing her three sons play video games even though she called for dinner a half an hour ago. Her husband is watching ESPN on the tv. She sighs and wishes that her family could be like her. That's when everyone morphed into an exact clone of her. None of them saw the problem with it. Her husband now wearing her green low cut blouse had a beer between his cleavage and was still watching tv. Her three kids all dressed in the same green low cut blouse and mom jeans were pulling each others hair and punching each others boobs while playing some video games and rough housing upstairs. This isn't what she wanted was a family full of... well her. Finally everyone came down for dinner all clones of their curvy and busty mom and curvy and busty wife. They still are having their normal conversations about asking out girls and about work and how one girl at school at looked at their boobs. It was crazy.
Response: Title: Clone Cuisine Chaos Linda had had enough. Standing in her kitchen with her hands on her hips and a ladle in hand, she glared at the various members of her family scattered through the house like fallen chess pieces. Her three boys were deeply entrenched in their video games, oblivious to her previous calls for dinner. Meanwhile, her husband was comfortably sprawled on the living room couch, eyes glued to ESPN faster than squirrels to a bird feeder. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes for the umpteenth time. "A bunch of zombies with controllers and remote controls for brains." She sighed, glancing briefly at the mirror on the kitchen wall. "Why can't they be more like me? At least I'd get something done around here!" No sooner had the words left her mouth than a strange spark lit up the room. A swift burst of light enveloped the house, and for a moment, everything was eerily silent. She blinked. Twice. First, to recover her vision, and second, to confirm that she was not hallucinating. But when Linda refocused, what she saw turned her exasperation into a mixture of bewilderment and horror. Her husband and three sons had morphed into exact replicas of... herself. Her husband, now fitted with her green low-cut blouse, a bra stretching under the immense new pressure, sat lounging on the couch. A cold beer nestled seductively in his recently acquired cleavage. To his merit, he hadn't missed a beat and was still engrossed in ESPN. "Touchdown!" he exclaimed, and then, "Oh God! I jiggled." Linda's attention flipped to the upstairs landing where the commotion continued. Her three boys, now similarly endowed and dressed in matching green low-cut blouses and mom jeans, were engaged in an all-out brawl. They were pulling each other's hair, screaming expletives, and making sure to land some well-aimed punches to their new "assets." "Hey, no boob punches! That's not cool, dude!" yelled Billy—or was it Timmy? It was hard to tell when he had her face. "Dinner's ready, you barbarians," Linda yelled, trying to muster some semblance of control amidst the insanity. Instinctively, all four "Lindas" filed obediently to the dining room. The familiar clinking of bowls and plates soon filled the air, but the absurdity was far from over. The "clone-spiracy" chatted as if nothing were wrong. "So, Mom, I mean... Linda?" began her husband, his voice still holding that low masculine tone she loved, despite the mismatch with his current appearance. "Mike at the office is hitting on Becca again. Can you believe it?" "Oh, you always have the office gossip, don’t you, honey?" Linda replied, exasperated. Meanwhile, across the table, her eldest son was discussing school. “Mommy—I mean, Timmy—Susie totally looked at my boobs today. Not sure if I should ask her out, though.” “Boys! We don't talk about our chest like that at the table,” Linda interjected, but then paused, realizing her correction now applied universally… and absurdly. "Hey, no elbowing! I just did my nails," one of the boys—the original Billy?—whined. "No jerking around in tight blouses," Linda's husband stated, in his best authoritative voice. "I'm surrounded by myself...and still no one listens to me!" Linda groaned inwardly, burying her face in her hands. As dinner continued in its deranged fashion, she couldn’t help but think that maybe the universe had misunderstood her wish just a teensy bit. Eventually, with dishes cleared and the clones back to their activities, Linda retreated to the tranquil refuge of her bathroom. She muttered a desperate plea to any higher power listening, “Please, let’s go back to normal. I promise I’ll take the chaos any day over this!” Sure enough, another flash of light and a slightly profane lurch in reality later, she peeked out of the bathroom. Her family had returned to their original forms. Her husband, now blissfully beer-less and cleavage-free, had fallen asleep halfway through his game reruns. The boys were back to their usual rowdiness, this time with their regular sibling scuffles. Linda smiled. Sure, her life was chaotic, but in all that mayhem, it had always been uniquely hers. And at least she could now say with absolute certainty that one of her was more than enough.
Post your own comment: