**Title: The Unforeseen Consequences of a Wish for Wealth**

**Title: Wishes Aren't All They're Cracked Up to Be**

Dave and I, we ain't exactly been swimming in it. Month after month, the rent was getting tougher to meet. We were nearing the point of having to downgrade from our dingy abode to an even dingier one. During one particularly grim night, we both saw this brilliant star in the sky. In unison, we decided to wish for wealth. Seemed like a good idea at the time, all things considered.

Morning came, and nothing seemed different at first – I was still in my worn-out bed with sheets that held onto mysterious stains for dear life. But then, a scream pierced the calm, coming from Dave’s room. This wasn't just a yelp of surprise; it was a full-on “someone’s-trying-to-murder-me” scream.

I bolted to his room and stopped dead in my tracks. Before me was the most jaw-droppingly stunning blonde I’d ever seen, complete with gravity-defying assets. "Mate, who are you?" I blurted out.

"It's me, ya dummy!" the blonde snapped in a surprisingly familiar voice. "Dave! What the heck happened to me?!"

Dave, or rather this new blonde bombshell version of him, needed some convincing. But after a quick-fire round of rapid questions only Dave would know the answers to, I was forced to accept the unbelievable. My best friend had turned into what could only be described as every Instagram influencer’s goal.

"Well, Dave," I said, wrestling with the absurdity of the situation. "I think I’ve got a plan."

We decided his new talent was best suited for modeling. Dave, now Daisy DeLux (appropriate, right?), became a sensation overnight. I, Oscar (but you can call me Oz), appointed myself as the unofficial manager and photographer – though my experience was limited to selfies and some questionable snapchats.

Daisy took to her new role with aplomb. She struck poses, pouted, and flipped her hair like a pro. The followers grew, so did the likes, and money started flowing in faster than Dave's beer consumption on a lads' night out.

Speaking of which, our poker nights still happened. The crew had some... adjustments to make. The first poker night post-transformation, the lads couldn’t help but bombard Daisy with, well, invasive inquiries.

"What's it like havin' boobs?" Stan asked, barely managing to keep a straight face.

Daisy, not missing a beat, shot back, "Mate, it's like carryin' round two water balloons, but they don’t pop. Pretty sure I can broadcast wifi with them too."

"How much ya had to spend on new clothes?" asked Jimmy, failing at sounding disinterested.

"Who needs money when ya got fan mail?" Daisy smirked, batting her eyelashes. "Got more bras in the post than I'll ever need. Next bloke to ask me will get one. Lacy, in fire engine red."

And the questions kept rolling in. Daisy, for all his prior grumbling about rent and life’s woes, reveled in doling out the most ridiculous answers he could think of. The lads could never tell if he was serious or just messing with them anymore, which I reckon he kind of enjoyed.

As we raked in more cash from Daisy’s newfound fame, I couldn't shake the feeling of how bizarre life had turned. A wish for wealth had taken Dave’s Y chromosome for collateral. But frankly, the rent was paid, the fridge was stocked, and poker nights had never been livelier.

Next time we see a wishing star, though, I'll be careful what I ask for. No spellbooks or stars for us anymore. Lessons learned the wild, unforgettable, new-boobs sorta way.

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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