"Mixed Signals"
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Title: "Mixed Signals"
"Alright dear, are you ready?" my dad, Dr. Arnold Hapflik, eccentricity personified, towered over his newest contraption.
"Yes, honey, turn the dingus on. Let's get this experiment going." My mom, Mona, sauntered into the room. She balanced her voluptuous figure on the contraption, with a wiggle and a twirl of her scarlet hair. This part was typical. The part where she willingly became dad's human guinea pig—God bless her was not.
"Okay, fingers cross everyone!" Dad flicked a switch and a loud hum filled the room.
Suddenly, mom screamed. Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped over. Eyes wide, we watched as she seemed to regain consciousness, then sprang up eagerly, "I'm open! Toss me the ball!" I blinked. That sounded like my brother, Danny. Mom never had an interest in football or any of Danny's sports obsession.
But things were about to spiral. The next day, during a game with dad, she flicked a beer tab and murmured, "These refs don't know an elbow from an earlobe." She even threw in a comment about the sideline reporter's assets, her comment floating about our shocked and awkward faces, "Wonder who's have more bounce, mine or hers?" Actually, who did have more bounce was no longer the thing that occupied our minds the most.
Well, then came the big turn. The day of the Call of Duty marathon. "Who's a good player— mwhaha headshot! Take that, you dirty noob! No spawn camping on my watch!" She threw her character into a full throttle sprint, spewing game lingo like an obsessive teen.
But then a persona shift occurred that caused more than a few horrified gasps. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she began to stroke her hips and purred, "Well, aren't you a tempting little thing? Who wouldn't want a slice of that?" We recognized that lecherous tone. My mother was channeling our slightly over-friendly neighbor.
"It's just the energy waves rebounding, creating an echo in her neural pathways," Dad blurted out, in a futile attempt to calm us down. But understanding the why didn't undo the fact that my mom now harbored a sly, skirt-chasing neighbor within her psyche.
"Hapflik, you'd better fix me or I'm showing your Spanx in the town square!" Mom glared, suddenly herself again .
Maybe this chaos could be funny someday. Right now, though, it felt more like an episode from a science-fiction horror show. And I, for one, was not eager for season two.
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 a lot of dialogue about my dad being a crazy scientist who invented a machine that was supposed to read brain waves. My curvy and voluptuous red headed mom said she would be willing to help him test it. She was always willing to help her husband out. When he flicked the switch everyone was in the room and something went wrong. Mom now had multiple personalities in her head, each personality was a different member of our family. At first she wanted to toss the ball around with my older brother and she was acting just like him. The next day she was watching a game with my dad and complaining about the refs they even talked about how big the sideline reporters boobs were and mom wondered who's were bigger between hers or the reporters. Then mom began to act like me she wanted to come up and play some Call Of Duty with me. She complained about spawn campers and was cussing at the screen and using video game lingo like Noob and head shot like she had been gaming her whole life. The worst was when she somehow began to act like our pervy neighbor who had a crush on mom she began to feel herself up and check herself out in the mirror and compliment how sexy she looked to herself.
Response: Title: "Mixed Signals" "Alright dear, are you ready?" my dad, Dr. Arnold Hapflik, eccentricity personified, towered over his newest contraption. "Yes, honey, turn the dingus on. Let's get this experiment going." My mom, Mona, sauntered into the room. She balanced her voluptuous figure on the contraption, with a wiggle and a twirl of her scarlet hair. This part was typical. The part where she willingly became dad's human guinea pig—God bless her was not. "Okay, fingers cross everyone!" Dad flicked a switch and a loud hum filled the room. Suddenly, mom screamed. Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped over. Eyes wide, we watched as she seemed to regain consciousness, then sprang up eagerly, "I'm open! Toss me the ball!" I blinked. That sounded like my brother, Danny. Mom never had an interest in football or any of Danny's sports obsession. But things were about to spiral. The next day, during a game with dad, she flicked a beer tab and murmured, "These refs don't know an elbow from an earlobe." She even threw in a comment about the sideline reporter's assets, her comment floating about our shocked and awkward faces, "Wonder who's have more bounce, mine or hers?" Actually, who did have more bounce was no longer the thing that occupied our minds the most. Well, then came the big turn. The day of the Call of Duty marathon. "Who's a good player— mwhaha headshot! Take that, you dirty noob! No spawn camping on my watch!" She threw her character into a full throttle sprint, spewing game lingo like an obsessive teen. But then a persona shift occurred that caused more than a few horrified gasps. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she began to stroke her hips and purred, "Well, aren't you a tempting little thing? Who wouldn't want a slice of that?" We recognized that lecherous tone. My mother was channeling our slightly over-friendly neighbor. "It's just the energy waves rebounding, creating an echo in her neural pathways," Dad blurted out, in a futile attempt to calm us down. But understanding the why didn't undo the fact that my mom now harbored a sly, skirt-chasing neighbor within her psyche. "Hapflik, you'd better fix me or I'm showing your Spanx in the town square!" Mom glared, suddenly herself again . Maybe this chaos could be funny someday. Right now, though, it felt more like an episode from a science-fiction horror show. And I, for one, was not eager for season two.
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