"Frat Boy Friday, Professional Ponytail Monday"
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"I can't believe this is happening," I groaned, clutching my temples. The TV blasted with news about the Great Shift, a bizarre event that swapped 75% of the world's population's bodies. But my crisis wasn't the global chaos—it was the local disaster in my living room.
There was Jenna—or rather, Jenna's body—sitting on our couch. Except it wasn't Jenna anymore. It was Jerry, the local frat boy from the nearby college. And instead of wearing her usual pencil skirt and blouse, he had squeezed into one of her tank tops and yoga pants, which he kept using as props in some disturbingly enthusiastic pantomime.
"Dude! Check it out," Jerry said, grinning ear to ear as he grabbed Jenna's—his—chest and jiggled it in front of me. "S tier, right? Top of the rack charts!"
My eye twitched. "Jerry, can you not do that? That's my wife's body. And speaking of, can you try... I don't know, acting like her?"
Jerry grinned sheepishly and stopped bouncing. "Hey, I get it, man. It's weird for you. But this is pretty epic for me. Last night, I won like, five beer pong games in a row. Just used these puppies as distraction tactics!" He wiggled Jenna's—his—chest again, admittedly with some finesse.
"Jerry, focus!” I snapped. “We made a deal. If you want to go to keggers on weekends, fine. But during the week, you have to come to work and play the role of Jenna—the professional, the elegant, my actual wife. Can you handle that?"
Jerry rolled his—Jenna’s—eyes and sighed dramatically before offering a nod. “Yeah, yeah. Got it. Monday through Thursday, I'm in wifey mode. But don't blame me if your coworkers start wondering why Jenna is suddenly epic at shotgunning Red Bulls.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Just try not to draw too much attention, okay?"
He gave me a thumbs-up but then promptly began examining his—or Jenna's—manicured nails with extreme fascination.
The next morning was the first real test. I had never realized how much I appreciated Jenna’s ability to carry on adult conversations until Jerry showed up in a dress that looked both too tight and entirely wrong for an office setting. The elegant aura Jenna had cultivated was decidedly absent, replaced by a swagger that screamed frat house chic.
“Morning, babe!” Jerry exclaimed in a booming voice, causing heads to turn.
“Morning,” I muttered, resisting the urge to facepalm. “Remember what we talked about?”
Jerry nodded energetically, every bob of his—or her—head a reminder of the weird, topsy-turvy situation. “Don’t worry, dude. Ready to get my corporate game face on. Let’s crush this agenda, or whatever.”
Throughout the day, I kept a close eye on him, flinching every time Jerry called someone "bro" or referred to our boss, Mrs. Harrison, as "dude.”
At lunch, Mrs. Harrison cornered me. "Jenna's... different today," she noted, eyes narrowing. “More... vibrant.”
I forced a smile. "Yeah, um—new vitamins. You know how it is.”
Mrs. Harrison arched an eyebrow but nodded, skeptical. I exhaled in relief as she walked away.
When we got home, Jerry flopped onto the couch in a well-earned dramatic sprawl. “Dude, your job is lame. Can we just switch around forever? I could totally rock this whole wife thing—even did some filing!”
"Absolutely not!" I exclaimed. "Friday and Saturday are your keg days, remember? I need Jenna's—your—body at six sharp tomorrow. And it better not reek of keg stand residue."
"Relax, man. I got this," Jerry assured, mock saluting.
As he bounced up to go grab a snack, I sighed. The reality of living with partying frat-boy-Jenna during the weekend, juxtaposed against office-Jenna during the week, was going to be a unique struggle. But if the Great Shift taught me anything, it was to find stability in chaos. Who knew? Maybe even Jerry would learn a trick or two about elegance from Jenna’s body.
For now, I could only hope the Great Shift would come with a manual soon. Adjusting to this new normal was going to be one hysterically wild ride.
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 the great shift which was a strange event that swapped 75% of the countries bodies happens. Me and my wife had just been married over a year when it happened we met each other at work at the office. I fell in love immediately when I saw her in her green low cut top and black pencil skirt showcasing her busty chest and curvy ass. Well when the shift happened lets just say my wife's elegance took a backseat. She had swapped with a local frat boy from the college nearby. He loves to feel up and bounce his new chest up and down while he talks about some girl at colleges chest and how her rack is A tier, but his new rack is S tier and how he has the best rack ever now. He still wants to go back to his frat house to play beer pong and have kegs. I'm not sure what to do, I want my wife to keep her elegance but to be fair to this kid in her body he is only 21 and wants to have a fun college experience. I told him that Friday and Saturday he can go party but every other day he has got to go to work as her and come home and be the most loving wife he can be. Thank god he agreed.
Response: "I can't believe this is happening," I groaned, clutching my temples. The TV blasted with news about the Great Shift, a bizarre event that swapped 75% of the world's population's bodies. But my crisis wasn't the global chaos—it was the local disaster in my living room. There was Jenna—or rather, Jenna's body—sitting on our couch. Except it wasn't Jenna anymore. It was Jerry, the local frat boy from the nearby college. And instead of wearing her usual pencil skirt and blouse, he had squeezed into one of her tank tops and yoga pants, which he kept using as props in some disturbingly enthusiastic pantomime. "Dude! Check it out," Jerry said, grinning ear to ear as he grabbed Jenna's—his—chest and jiggled it in front of me. "S tier, right? Top of the rack charts!" My eye twitched. "Jerry, can you not do that? That's my wife's body. And speaking of, can you try... I don't know, acting like her?" Jerry grinned sheepishly and stopped bouncing. "Hey, I get it, man. It's weird for you. But this is pretty epic for me. Last night, I won like, five beer pong games in a row. Just used these puppies as distraction tactics!" He wiggled Jenna's—his—chest again, admittedly with some finesse. "Jerry, focus!” I snapped. “We made a deal. If you want to go to keggers on weekends, fine. But during the week, you have to come to work and play the role of Jenna—the professional, the elegant, my actual wife. Can you handle that?" Jerry rolled his—Jenna’s—eyes and sighed dramatically before offering a nod. “Yeah, yeah. Got it. Monday through Thursday, I'm in wifey mode. But don't blame me if your coworkers start wondering why Jenna is suddenly epic at shotgunning Red Bulls.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Just try not to draw too much attention, okay?" He gave me a thumbs-up but then promptly began examining his—or Jenna's—manicured nails with extreme fascination. The next morning was the first real test. I had never realized how much I appreciated Jenna’s ability to carry on adult conversations until Jerry showed up in a dress that looked both too tight and entirely wrong for an office setting. The elegant aura Jenna had cultivated was decidedly absent, replaced by a swagger that screamed frat house chic. “Morning, babe!” Jerry exclaimed in a booming voice, causing heads to turn. “Morning,” I muttered, resisting the urge to facepalm. “Remember what we talked about?” Jerry nodded energetically, every bob of his—or her—head a reminder of the weird, topsy-turvy situation. “Don’t worry, dude. Ready to get my corporate game face on. Let’s crush this agenda, or whatever.” Throughout the day, I kept a close eye on him, flinching every time Jerry called someone "bro" or referred to our boss, Mrs. Harrison, as "dude.” At lunch, Mrs. Harrison cornered me. "Jenna's... different today," she noted, eyes narrowing. “More... vibrant.” I forced a smile. "Yeah, um—new vitamins. You know how it is.” Mrs. Harrison arched an eyebrow but nodded, skeptical. I exhaled in relief as she walked away. When we got home, Jerry flopped onto the couch in a well-earned dramatic sprawl. “Dude, your job is lame. Can we just switch around forever? I could totally rock this whole wife thing—even did some filing!” "Absolutely not!" I exclaimed. "Friday and Saturday are your keg days, remember? I need Jenna's—your—body at six sharp tomorrow. And it better not reek of keg stand residue." "Relax, man. I got this," Jerry assured, mock saluting. As he bounced up to go grab a snack, I sighed. The reality of living with partying frat-boy-Jenna during the weekend, juxtaposed against office-Jenna during the week, was going to be a unique struggle. But if the Great Shift taught me anything, it was to find stability in chaos. Who knew? Maybe even Jerry would learn a trick or two about elegance from Jenna’s body. For now, I could only hope the Great Shift would come with a manual soon. Adjusting to this new normal was going to be one hysterically wild ride.
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