The Unconventional Mulligan
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Title: The Unconventional Mulligan
For years, our four-ball golf club was strictly a no wives/girlfriends/daughters/pets rule sort of place. 'Til Hal messed up everything. I mean, seriously, who in their right mind agrees to something called 'Body Swap Therapy'?
It was a completely avoidable mess. I mean, come on; if your wife proposes something like that, you're meant to run in the opposite direction, not walk straight into disaster. But no, Hal would 'try almost anything once', even if it meant swapping bodies with his wife, Rachel.
Which, by the way, he did. And let me tell you, it was weird.
There I was, on the scenic greens of our club's course, about to tee off. And who should arrive, late as usual, tottering down the hill in approximate four-inch heels? Hal.
Only it wasn't Hal. It was Rachel.
Well, technically, it was Rachel's body. The infuriating grin that appeared on that perfectly sculpted face was all Hal, though. "I didn't think you'd come, Hal," I cried, incredulous stare not quite hidden behind my own smirk. "Might be a bit... distracting, don't you think?" I pointed a not-so-subtle finger towards his ā I mean, her ā new additions.
"Ah, those?" Hal looked down at his or rather, Rachel's chest with a thoughtful look. "Let's just say it's a hazard I'm willing to take."
I shrugged, moving onto the tee box to line up my shot. "Just donāt expect any concessions from me," I warned.
"Oh, don't you worry," he shot back, an impish glint in his eye.
As the day wore on, we got more and more competitive, as we always did. But this time, there was something different. Hal actually tried to use his new āassetsā to distract me. He, or now I suppose she, would stretch or bend over just as I was about to take a swing.
At first, it was merely surprising. But as it continued, it turned utterly hilarious ā and works subtly effective.
Even worse, the switched dimensions certainly messed up Hal's swing. Who'd have thought a change in bra size would affect the correct golf posture? Every time he lines up a shot, he wobbles, or the club slips in his manicured hands. His drives are terrible, he can barely get the ball up, and his once-precise putting? Well, let's just say it's gotten quite 'busty'. The confusion of the situation without question reflected itself in his gameplay.
By the 18th hole, weāre all nearly doubled over with laughter, a sharp contrast to our earlier, grim realization of Halās switch. Who knew a round of golf could turn out to be such a comedy show?
In the end, all I can say is this: Hal might have gotten an outlandish and exciting experience in body-swap therapy, but he's definitely become the worst golfer in our group. As for myself? Well, let's just say I'll forever have a funny - and rather strange - tale to narrate at every golf gathering henceforth.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAIās large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALLĀ·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a body swap story My buddies wife forced him to go to body swap therapy. He went and now heās stuck in her body. The good news is he can still play our round of golf today, itās just awkward because his wife is hot, I hope he doesnāt use his body to distract me but his new breasts have effected his swing quite a bit.
Response: Title: The Unconventional Mulligan For years, our four-ball golf club was strictly a no wives/girlfriends/daughters/pets rule sort of place. 'Til Hal messed up everything. I mean, seriously, who in their right mind agrees to something called 'Body Swap Therapy'? It was a completely avoidable mess. I mean, come on; if your wife proposes something like that, you're meant to run in the opposite direction, not walk straight into disaster. But no, Hal would 'try almost anything once', even if it meant swapping bodies with his wife, Rachel. Which, by the way, he did. And let me tell you, it was weird. There I was, on the scenic greens of our club's course, about to tee off. And who should arrive, late as usual, tottering down the hill in approximate four-inch heels? Hal. Only it wasn't Hal. It was Rachel. Well, technically, it was Rachel's body. The infuriating grin that appeared on that perfectly sculpted face was all Hal, though. "I didn't think you'd come, Hal," I cried, incredulous stare not quite hidden behind my own smirk. "Might be a bit... distracting, don't you think?" I pointed a not-so-subtle finger towards his ā I mean, her ā new additions. "Ah, those?" Hal looked down at his or rather, Rachel's chest with a thoughtful look. "Let's just say it's a hazard I'm willing to take." I shrugged, moving onto the tee box to line up my shot. "Just donāt expect any concessions from me," I warned. "Oh, don't you worry," he shot back, an impish glint in his eye. As the day wore on, we got more and more competitive, as we always did. But this time, there was something different. Hal actually tried to use his new āassetsā to distract me. He, or now I suppose she, would stretch or bend over just as I was about to take a swing. At first, it was merely surprising. But as it continued, it turned utterly hilarious ā and works subtly effective. Even worse, the switched dimensions certainly messed up Hal's swing. Who'd have thought a change in bra size would affect the correct golf posture? Every time he lines up a shot, he wobbles, or the club slips in his manicured hands. His drives are terrible, he can barely get the ball up, and his once-precise putting? Well, let's just say it's gotten quite 'busty'. The confusion of the situation without question reflected itself in his gameplay. By the 18th hole, weāre all nearly doubled over with laughter, a sharp contrast to our earlier, grim realization of Halās switch. Who knew a round of golf could turn out to be such a comedy show? In the end, all I can say is this: Hal might have gotten an outlandish and exciting experience in body-swap therapy, but he's definitely become the worst golfer in our group. As for myself? Well, let's just say I'll forever have a funny - and rather strange - tale to narrate at every golf gathering henceforth.
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