"Mom Bod Shenanigans"
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Title: "Mom Bod Shenanigans"
I'd always thought working at FitSwap was just your average, run-of-the-mill way to reel in some extra cash, but when my best friend's mom, Marge, signed up for the Full Monty Swap, things got unexpectedly hilarious.
The swap was seamless, as usual. I blinked and found myself staring at Marge's reflection in the mirror, her infamous red locks framing my borrowed face. I let out a laugh that sounded oddly musical in her voice. Who knew, right?
"Wow, Marge, you’ve really outdone yourself," I say, patting my, er… her cheeks. "Today is going to be legendary."
My first order of business? Shake that protein shake! As I vigorously mixed the powder and water, those high-spirited jiggles were truly a sight to behold. Well, not just a sight, but a full-body experience.
"Boobies," I laugh to myself, shaking the bottle even harder, just for the heck of it.
The professional in me knew I had to keep up with Marge's fitness regime. However, the curious teenager inside me couldn’t help but explore the forbidden temple of biro-dom. First, I rummaged through her wardrobe, trying on a dress she wore that one Christmas when she made my buddy's dad sweat bullets. Next, I examined her make-up kit, poking at a sea of brushes and powders like an alien scientist.
But alas, pleasure came with a hefty dose of chores. So, I embarked on an odyssey through the mundanity of housework.
Vacuuming was my Everest. I cranked up the machine and off I went, Marge's delicate arms guiding the bulky vacuum as we danced around the living room. Out of nowhere, I started belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody," my favorite, and—let’s be honest—Marge's not-at-all favorite.
"Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the Fandango!" I sang, trying to operatically hit those notes. Just when I nailed it—or butchered it, take your pick—my bestie walks in, eyes squinting like he was facing an alien invasion.
"What in the... Mom, since when do you know Queen lyrics?" He asked, his eyebrows dancing a merry jig of confusion.
I turned, holding the vacuum like it was Freddie Mercury's mic stand. "Oh, darling, I've been a Bohemian since before you were in diapers!" I flounder, attempting to mirror Marge's famously unconvincing sincerity.
He narrowed his eyes but shrugged it off, mumbling something about getting breakfast. Phew, dodged that bullet.
Onward to the kitchen. I attempted to whip up Marge's famous pancakes. Spoiler alert: cooking is harder than it looks. Smoke poured from the pan like a chimney, and I coughed Marge's delicate coughs as I pulled out my phone to Google 'How to Make Pancakes.' Despite my poor pancake performance, I set the table, trying to save face.
Laundry was next. A true test of patience and manual dexterity. I awkwardly folded clothes, including brightly colored, lacy garments that made me gulp. "Geez, Marge," I muttered, shaking Marge's head. "Who knew you were so stylish?"
Just as I tackled the final sock pairings, the real Marge came bursting through the FitSwap App's return portal, looking refreshed and… dare I say it… kinda swole.
"How'd it go, hon?" She asks herself through me, which is weird. "Did you take care of everything?"
I give her a confident nod. "You bet your sweet bippy I did—and I think I've added a bit of Freddie Mercury charm to your repertoire."
A laugh, much more natural in her voice, bubbled up from her. Marge pulled herself comfortably back into her body, and I stepped out, feeling like my usual dorky self again.
"Thanks, kiddo," she winked. "Maybe next time, I'll swap bodies with your gym coach and make you do the homework."
With a chuckle and a wave, I left the FitSwap headquarters, today's antics cemented forever in the annals of absurdity. As for my best friend? He’ll never look at Queen the same way again.
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 My best friend worked for this new company called FitSwap it was a company that could swap your body with a personal trainer to workout your body for you. What I didn’t know was my mom had signed up and requested my friend to swap with her. Now my friend was in her busty redheaded body having the time of his life. My friend had always had a crush on my mom and now he had full access to her body. He is having a lot of fun though. He laughs as he shakes his protein shake loving how it makes his boobs jiggle. He also has to take over some of her house duties to though which he dreads, like vacuuming and cooking and doing the laundry. I didn't even know he was in there for a couple of days until I heard mom vacuuming and singing a song she would never know in a million years that my friend loves to sing. write the story from my friends perspective in my moms body.
Response: Title: "Mom Bod Shenanigans" I'd always thought working at FitSwap was just your average, run-of-the-mill way to reel in some extra cash, but when my best friend's mom, Marge, signed up for the Full Monty Swap, things got unexpectedly hilarious. The swap was seamless, as usual. I blinked and found myself staring at Marge's reflection in the mirror, her infamous red locks framing my borrowed face. I let out a laugh that sounded oddly musical in her voice. Who knew, right? "Wow, Marge, you’ve really outdone yourself," I say, patting my, er… her cheeks. "Today is going to be legendary." My first order of business? Shake that protein shake! As I vigorously mixed the powder and water, those high-spirited jiggles were truly a sight to behold. Well, not just a sight, but a full-body experience. "Boobies," I laugh to myself, shaking the bottle even harder, just for the heck of it. The professional in me knew I had to keep up with Marge's fitness regime. However, the curious teenager inside me couldn’t help but explore the forbidden temple of biro-dom. First, I rummaged through her wardrobe, trying on a dress she wore that one Christmas when she made my buddy's dad sweat bullets. Next, I examined her make-up kit, poking at a sea of brushes and powders like an alien scientist. But alas, pleasure came with a hefty dose of chores. So, I embarked on an odyssey through the mundanity of housework. Vacuuming was my Everest. I cranked up the machine and off I went, Marge's delicate arms guiding the bulky vacuum as we danced around the living room. Out of nowhere, I started belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody," my favorite, and—let’s be honest—Marge's not-at-all favorite. "Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the Fandango!" I sang, trying to operatically hit those notes. Just when I nailed it—or butchered it, take your pick—my bestie walks in, eyes squinting like he was facing an alien invasion. "What in the... Mom, since when do you know Queen lyrics?" He asked, his eyebrows dancing a merry jig of confusion. I turned, holding the vacuum like it was Freddie Mercury's mic stand. "Oh, darling, I've been a Bohemian since before you were in diapers!" I flounder, attempting to mirror Marge's famously unconvincing sincerity. He narrowed his eyes but shrugged it off, mumbling something about getting breakfast. Phew, dodged that bullet. Onward to the kitchen. I attempted to whip up Marge's famous pancakes. Spoiler alert: cooking is harder than it looks. Smoke poured from the pan like a chimney, and I coughed Marge's delicate coughs as I pulled out my phone to Google 'How to Make Pancakes.' Despite my poor pancake performance, I set the table, trying to save face. Laundry was next. A true test of patience and manual dexterity. I awkwardly folded clothes, including brightly colored, lacy garments that made me gulp. "Geez, Marge," I muttered, shaking Marge's head. "Who knew you were so stylish?" Just as I tackled the final sock pairings, the real Marge came bursting through the FitSwap App's return portal, looking refreshed and… dare I say it… kinda swole. "How'd it go, hon?" She asks herself through me, which is weird. "Did you take care of everything?" I give her a confident nod. "You bet your sweet bippy I did—and I think I've added a bit of Freddie Mercury charm to your repertoire." A laugh, much more natural in her voice, bubbled up from her. Marge pulled herself comfortably back into her body, and I stepped out, feeling like my usual dorky self again. "Thanks, kiddo," she winked. "Maybe next time, I'll swap bodies with your gym coach and make you do the homework." With a chuckle and a wave, I left the FitSwap headquarters, today's antics cemented forever in the annals of absurdity. As for my best friend? He’ll never look at Queen the same way again.
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