"Soul-Swapped Schemes: A Busty Alternative for Freedom"

In the bustling heart of New York City, there lived a man named Larry who'd had the worst luck anyone could possibly imagine. He was once a towering 6'2" figure with tattoos that told tales of bravery, stupidity, and an ill-advised fling with a tattoo artist named Marge. But recently, Larry was locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. As his best friend, I couldn’t just leave him to rot in there. So, naturally, I did what any good friend would: I turned to ancient and highly unreliable magic.

The spellbook I borrowed from a suspicious guy named Merlin (who was actually just Marvin from the comic book store) promised a swift soul transfer. My plan? Pop Larry's soul into some chiseled model’s body, and voila! Larry’s free, and maybe even gets to keep the model's hair. Simple, right?

Things went south at the moment I began the incantation from page 42 of “Soul Shuffling for Dummies.” Just as the mystical energy swirled, a woman stepped right into the path of my outstretched hands. In an instant, Larry's tattooed, muscle-bound soul was sucked out and deposited into the buxom frame of a MILF-tastic redhead who, incidentally, had been on her way to a zumba class.

Groggy and confused, he opened his—well, her—perfectly mascaraed eyes and looked at me with both fury and bewilderment.

"WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?" Larry yelled, his new voice a sultry alto that would make a jazz singer jealous.

"Uh, it’s a long story…" I stammered, trying to avoid eye contact with anything below her eye level.

"Oh, it better be! Look at me, man!" He—she—gestured to her now ample chest, her hands stopping somewhat awkwardly as if afraid to touch it. "How am I supposed to... you know... function?"

"Well, you aren’t in prison," I pointed out in my most optimistic tone.

Larry's eyes widened, but then a mischievous glint formed in them. "I guess you’re right. No more shanky roommates. No more bad prison food."

"Yeah, and no more prison tattoos," I added, trying to keep this crescendo of relief going.

Larry smirked, or rather, her new face smirked in an alluringly mischievous way. "Nah, but I got these," she said, running her hands over her new curves and then instantly retracting them as if burned.

"Always look on the bright side,” I chimed in.

“You know,” Larry mused, scratching his red-haired head. “This might not be all bad. I mean, nobody expects a woman like... this... to commit a crime, right?"

“Oh yeah, totally. Plus, think of all the free drinks you could get.” I chuckled.

Larry's smirk grew broader. “And maybe..." he glanced down at his new assets. “Maybe I could convince that judge to... reassess my case?”

“Now you’re thinking,” I said, patting her shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger. Or, well, tigress."

A week later, Larry—now Laurie—sent me a selfie from a sunny beach, drink in hand and no tattooed prison guard in sight. She captioned it: "Freedom's fabulous, darling. Thanks for the makeover!"

Hey, who knew a little desperate spellcasting could work out so well? Maybe next time I need to get someone out of a jam, I'll consider the benefits of busty alternatives from the get-go.

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.

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