The Internet

Log In or Register

Write (with AI)

Title: "Spellbound: A Body-Snatching Comedy"

Bookmark
0 Points
A comedic scene unfolds as a failed body-swap spell results in a man's soul trapped in a curvy, redheaded mom's body, much to their dismay.
0

I had been pacing my apartment for three days straight, barely taking a break to snack on some cold pizza, thinking about my best friend, Chuck. Poor guy had been thrown behind bars for a crime he didn't commit. A classic case of "wrong place, wrong time," but what do you expect from a guy whose life motto was, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Finally, after rummaging through a stack of ancient books that I’d borrowed from a questionable witch, I found a spell—a beautiful, complex spell—that could transfer Chuck’s soul into another body. Seemed foolproof, right?

I stormed into the prison visiting room like I owned the place, ready to spring my plan into action. I leaned into the plexiglass partition and whispered in my best prison-break conspirator voice, "I’ve got a way to get you out, Chuck."

From the other side, Chuck, in his 6’2” glory with tattoos that could intimidate a grizzly bear, leaned in with a mixture of hope and skepticism.

“Yeah? What is it?” he grumbled.

“I’ve got this spell that can switch your soul into another body. We just need to find someone… suitable.”

“Suitable?” Chuck’s left eyebrow shot up. “Define ‘suitable.’”

“I was thinking... just a random guy, same age range,” I said, trying not to sound too vague. “You know, someone who wouldn't notice right away.”

“Right.” Chuck’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

So, I prepared the spell and arranged for an elaborate yet suspiciously unnoticed staging of "body snatching." Timing was crucial, but luck was supposedly on our side.

“Ready?” I muttered, my fingers tingling with magical energy.

“Just do it, man," Chuck said, definitively. "Anything’s better than here.”

I muttered the incantation, aiming it at a random dude. But just as the spell was zipping through the ether, a busty redheaded woman, mid-to-late 40s, stepped into the spell's path. There was a bright flash of light and some very confused gasps from onlookers.

For a second, I simply prayed that the grimacing muscular guy in the corner with a “Mom” tattoo was still just minding his own business.

When the smoke cleared, the redheaded woman was staring at me. Only, it wasn’t her. It was Chuck, or at least Chuck’s soul inside her... curvy, unmistakably redheaded mom-bod.

“What… the... HELL?” she... I mean he... I mean, Chuck’s raging eyes almost popped out of their new, mascara-clad sockets.

“Uh...Hey, Chuck,” I said, sweating bullets. “Guess you’re out of prison?”

“Are you kidding me? Look at me!” Chuck’s voice was now a feminine trill loaded with murderous intent.

“Well, hey—at least you’re not locked up!” I said, always the optimist.

Chuck looked down at his... her... ample bust, then glared at me with all the fury a wronged redheaded MILF could muster. “You couldn’t have found a regular dude, huh?”

“Technically, you were aiming for a guy,” Pip Milligan, the receptionist, observed as he walked by, sipping his coffee, utterly unfazed by the drama. “But I guess you just don't know how to 'spell' right.”

We both stared at him, wishing we could light his stupendous hair on fire with mere thoughts.

“Listen,” I whispered feverishly to Chuck, “let’s just get out of here. We can fix this.”

“If we don’t,” Chuck said, adjusting what must be his new "assets" to avoid strangulation, “you’re going to wish someone locked you up, because heaven won’t help you when I’m through.”

And with that, Operation Save Chuck took a weird, might-need-to-buy-new-clothes-and-possibly-therapy turn. But hey, at least he wasn’t in prison, and who knew? Maybe Chuck would learn to appreciate the delicate art of high heels. Or not. Probably not.

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 friend had been locked up in prison for something he didn’t do. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I found a spell that could throw his soul into a different body. I tried to throw his soul into a guys body, but then a woman stepped in the way and now he’s in her busty body. My friend who used to be a 6'2 and tatted up, now he was in the body of a curvy and busty redheaded MILF. He isn't to pleased, but hey at least he's not locked up.

Response: I had been pacing my apartment for three days straight, barely taking a break to snack on some cold pizza, thinking about my best friend, Chuck. Poor guy had been thrown behind bars for a crime he didn't commit. A classic case of "wrong place, wrong time," but what do you expect from a guy whose life motto was, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Finally, after rummaging through a stack of ancient books that I’d borrowed from a questionable witch, I found a spell—a beautiful, complex spell—that could transfer Chuck’s soul into another body. Seemed foolproof, right? I stormed into the prison visiting room like I owned the place, ready to spring my plan into action. I leaned into the plexiglass partition and whispered in my best prison-break conspirator voice, "I’ve got a way to get you out, Chuck." From the other side, Chuck, in his 6’2” glory with tattoos that could intimidate a grizzly bear, leaned in with a mixture of hope and skepticism. “Yeah? What is it?” he grumbled. “I’ve got this spell that can switch your soul into another body. We just need to find someone… suitable.” “Suitable?” Chuck’s left eyebrow shot up. “Define ‘suitable.’” “I was thinking... just a random guy, same age range,” I said, trying not to sound too vague. “You know, someone who wouldn't notice right away.” “Right.” Chuck’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but desperate times call for desperate measures. So, I prepared the spell and arranged for an elaborate yet suspiciously unnoticed staging of "body snatching." Timing was crucial, but luck was supposedly on our side. “Ready?” I muttered, my fingers tingling with magical energy. “Just do it, man," Chuck said, definitively. "Anything’s better than here.” I muttered the incantation, aiming it at a random dude. But just as the spell was zipping through the ether, a busty redheaded woman, mid-to-late 40s, stepped into the spell's path. There was a bright flash of light and some very confused gasps from onlookers. For a second, I simply prayed that the grimacing muscular guy in the corner with a “Mom” tattoo was still just minding his own business. When the smoke cleared, the redheaded woman was staring at me. Only, it wasn’t her. It was Chuck, or at least Chuck’s soul inside her... curvy, unmistakably redheaded mom-bod. “What… the... HELL?” she... I mean he... I mean, Chuck’s raging eyes almost popped out of their new, mascara-clad sockets. “Uh...Hey, Chuck,” I said, sweating bullets. “Guess you’re out of prison?” “Are you kidding me? Look at me!” Chuck’s voice was now a feminine trill loaded with murderous intent. “Well, hey—at least you’re not locked up!” I said, always the optimist. Chuck looked down at his... her... ample bust, then glared at me with all the fury a wronged redheaded MILF could muster. “You couldn’t have found a regular dude, huh?” “Technically, you were aiming for a guy,” Pip Milligan, the receptionist, observed as he walked by, sipping his coffee, utterly unfazed by the drama. “But I guess you just don't know how to 'spell' right.” We both stared at him, wishing we could light his stupendous hair on fire with mere thoughts. “Listen,” I whispered feverishly to Chuck, “let’s just get out of here. We can fix this.” “If we don’t,” Chuck said, adjusting what must be his new "assets" to avoid strangulation, “you’re going to wish someone locked you up, because heaven won’t help you when I’m through.” And with that, Operation Save Chuck took a weird, might-need-to-buy-new-clothes-and-possibly-therapy turn. But hey, at least he wasn’t in prison, and who knew? Maybe Chuck would learn to appreciate the delicate art of high heels. Or not. Probably not.

Comment Section

Post your own comment: