"Cloned Chaos: A Recipe for Hilarity"
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Marianne stood at the kitchen counter, chopping salad ingredients with the kind of vigor that betrayed her irritation. She had just called for dinner—thirty minutes ago. She glanced toward the living room, where the TV blared with ESPN highlights, and sighed deeply. Her husband, Dave, was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, occasionally clinking his beer bottle against the coffee table.
Upstairs, the muffled sounds of video game explosions and the occasional shout indicated her three sons were still deeply involved in their digital warfare. She had put effort into making a home-cooked meal, and nobody seemed to appreciate it.
“Why can’t they be more like me?” she muttered, rolling her eyes and grumbling to herself. She might have waved her knife a bit too theatrically, but who could blame her?
Just then, a strange shimmer washed over the house, like reality itself had taken a brief, glitchy pause. Marianne blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a scene that made her wish she'd been anywhere else but here. Every single family member had morphed into an exact clone of her.
“Mom! Why’d you tilt the screen?” asked Tim—well, Tim’s clone—his voice now unmistakably Marianne’s high-pitched tone. He and his brothers, Jake and Matt, were still upstairs, now in green low-cut blouses and mom jeans, pulling each other's hair and punching their new ample bosoms as they continued their game.
Marianne’s heart leaped to her throat as she stumbled backward, nearly dropping the salad bowl. She turned toward the living room, only to find her husband—her clone’s husband—lounging on the couch in identical attire. He had a beer bottle snugly nestled between his cleavage, a sight that was both alarming and tragically comical.
“Touchdown!” shouted Dave, thrusting his free arm into the air. The movement caused a small wave in his—not his, she reminded herself—their chest area, making the beer bottle wobble precariously.
“Oh, come on!” groaned Marianne. “This is not what I meant!”
After a few surreal moments, everyone finally came down for dinner, still sporting Marianne's unmistakable physique and fashion sense. They had their usual conversations as if nothing had happened.
“Man, Carol totally looked at Mrs.—uh, I mean my boobs today,” said Tim, scratching his—not his, but you get it. “Totally weird!”
“Did you ask her out?” asked Jake, casually flattening his blouse, as if he hadn’t always worn one.
Dave—clone Dave—belched and leaned back in his seat. “Tough day at work, hon. The boss still has it out for me.”
Marianne’s eyes twitched. The sight of her family’s ridiculous transformations was overwhelming. “Now, listen up!” she shouted, her voice carrying a new fervor. “No more clones. I need you all to be yourselves again. Got it?”
Her family nodded collectively, still not seeing any problem with their newly acquired forms.
With a huff and a shove, Marianne sat down and attempted to eat. She stabbed at a piece of lettuce, hoping this madness would resolve itself. Maybe, if they actually listened to her for once and did as she asked, then—
The shimmer returned, and instantaneously everything was normal again. Or...well, back to the insanity that was 'normal' for this household.
Dave stretched, his male physique rightfully returned, and cracked another beer. “Touchdown!” he said, completely unaware of the recent body-swap adventure.
The boys were back to their natural selves, yelling at the video game while regular hair-pulling resumed. “Mom, dinner smells great,” Tim called, his voice back to its original timbre.
Marianne sighed and took a bite. Finally, a semblance of order, albeit as disorderly as ever. She’d never wish for her family to be like her again. Once was clearly 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: Marianne stood at the kitchen counter, chopping salad ingredients with the kind of vigor that betrayed her irritation. She had just called for dinner—thirty minutes ago. She glanced toward the living room, where the TV blared with ESPN highlights, and sighed deeply. Her husband, Dave, was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, occasionally clinking his beer bottle against the coffee table. Upstairs, the muffled sounds of video game explosions and the occasional shout indicated her three sons were still deeply involved in their digital warfare. She had put effort into making a home-cooked meal, and nobody seemed to appreciate it. “Why can’t they be more like me?” she muttered, rolling her eyes and grumbling to herself. She might have waved her knife a bit too theatrically, but who could blame her? Just then, a strange shimmer washed over the house, like reality itself had taken a brief, glitchy pause. Marianne blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a scene that made her wish she'd been anywhere else but here. Every single family member had morphed into an exact clone of her. “Mom! Why’d you tilt the screen?” asked Tim—well, Tim’s clone—his voice now unmistakably Marianne’s high-pitched tone. He and his brothers, Jake and Matt, were still upstairs, now in green low-cut blouses and mom jeans, pulling each other's hair and punching their new ample bosoms as they continued their game. Marianne’s heart leaped to her throat as she stumbled backward, nearly dropping the salad bowl. She turned toward the living room, only to find her husband—her clone’s husband—lounging on the couch in identical attire. He had a beer bottle snugly nestled between his cleavage, a sight that was both alarming and tragically comical. “Touchdown!” shouted Dave, thrusting his free arm into the air. The movement caused a small wave in his—not his, she reminded herself—their chest area, making the beer bottle wobble precariously. “Oh, come on!” groaned Marianne. “This is not what I meant!” After a few surreal moments, everyone finally came down for dinner, still sporting Marianne's unmistakable physique and fashion sense. They had their usual conversations as if nothing had happened. “Man, Carol totally looked at Mrs.—uh, I mean my boobs today,” said Tim, scratching his—not his, but you get it. “Totally weird!” “Did you ask her out?” asked Jake, casually flattening his blouse, as if he hadn’t always worn one. Dave—clone Dave—belched and leaned back in his seat. “Tough day at work, hon. The boss still has it out for me.” Marianne’s eyes twitched. The sight of her family’s ridiculous transformations was overwhelming. “Now, listen up!” she shouted, her voice carrying a new fervor. “No more clones. I need you all to be yourselves again. Got it?” Her family nodded collectively, still not seeing any problem with their newly acquired forms. With a huff and a shove, Marianne sat down and attempted to eat. She stabbed at a piece of lettuce, hoping this madness would resolve itself. Maybe, if they actually listened to her for once and did as she asked, then— The shimmer returned, and instantaneously everything was normal again. Or...well, back to the insanity that was 'normal' for this household. Dave stretched, his male physique rightfully returned, and cracked another beer. “Touchdown!” he said, completely unaware of the recent body-swap adventure. The boys were back to their natural selves, yelling at the video game while regular hair-pulling resumed. “Mom, dinner smells great,” Tim called, his voice back to its original timbre. Marianne sighed and took a bite. Finally, a semblance of order, albeit as disorderly as ever. She’d never wish for her family to be like her again. Once was clearly enough.
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