"Nano-Nursery: The Baby Bart Dilemma"
0 Points
0
The year is 2093. Springfield is a bioluminescent sprawl under a crystalline dome, and the Simpson family have lived here for centuries, or so the records say. But some things never change—at 43, Bart Simpson is still known as a troublemaker. Well, he *was*. Then came the great computer crash, the one that glitched the city’s databases and scrambled citizen profiles.
One morning, Bart wakes to find the lighting dim and lullabies playing through the house speakers. He rubs his eyes, puzzled—until a gentle robotic voice chirps, “Time for your bottle, baby Bart!” Marge enters, her blue hair streaked with silver, carrying a bottle of what smells suspiciously like apple-flavored protein goo.
“Aw, Mom,” Bart moans. “I’m not a baby! I’m the assistant night manager at the hydroponic skatepark!” But the city registration drones have spoken. According to them, he’s not only five years old but also in desperate need of parental supervision.
Marge smiles serenely, brushing data-flakes off her apron. “Now, now, Barty-warty. You know what the rules say.” She lifts him into the floating crib with surprising strength (thanks, nanoboosts!), tucks him in, and attaches a holographic mobile above his head. It projects spinning donuts and little headless Jebediah Springfield dolls.
The entire house conspires in Marge’s motherly mission. Lisa, the governor of New New Springfield, tries rebooting the census system, but the household AI, “M.O.M. Unit,” fights back, insisting, “Baby must burp first!” Homer, lazily munching space-donuts, doesn’t see anything wrong: “Just go with it, boy. Free snacks!”
Bart tries to escape—slipping on a hyper-skateboard, using a grappling tangle-cord, even crawling through the ventilation ducts—but Marge is always there, her mom-sense infallible, catching him mid-scheme and plopping him back in his cradle. He’s given ‘naptime’ breaks—forced stasis pods for maximum helpfulness—while Marge reads him tales of daring space pirates, “for brain development.”
After a while, Bart begins to appreciate it. There’s something to be said for getting three hot meals and a foot rub from a maternal cyborg every day. His friends come by to visit; some even envy him. Nelson even tries to sneak into the nursery to share in the “baby treatment.”
One night, Lisa finally cracks the system. “Bart, do you want me to fix this?” she asks.
Bart considers his bottle of apple-protein and the gentle whirring of Marge’s nanohands as she smooths his hair. He grins. “Not tonight, Lis. I think I’ll stay Marge’s baby…at least until nap time’s over.”
In the sparkling city under its giant glass dome, some things never change—and Marge Simpson will always be a mother, no matter how old her children, or how many centuries pass.
This story was generated by user noah95 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: Tell me a story where Bart Simpson is treated like a baby by Marge Simpson
Response: The year is 2093. Springfield is a bioluminescent sprawl under a crystalline dome, and the Simpson family have lived here for centuries, or so the records say. But some things never change—at 43, Bart Simpson is still known as a troublemaker. Well, he *was*. Then came the great computer crash, the one that glitched the city’s databases and scrambled citizen profiles. One morning, Bart wakes to find the lighting dim and lullabies playing through the house speakers. He rubs his eyes, puzzled—until a gentle robotic voice chirps, “Time for your bottle, baby Bart!” Marge enters, her blue hair streaked with silver, carrying a bottle of what smells suspiciously like apple-flavored protein goo. “Aw, Mom,” Bart moans. “I’m not a baby! I’m the assistant night manager at the hydroponic skatepark!” But the city registration drones have spoken. According to them, he’s not only five years old but also in desperate need of parental supervision. Marge smiles serenely, brushing data-flakes off her apron. “Now, now, Barty-warty. You know what the rules say.” She lifts him into the floating crib with surprising strength (thanks, nanoboosts!), tucks him in, and attaches a holographic mobile above his head. It projects spinning donuts and little headless Jebediah Springfield dolls. The entire house conspires in Marge’s motherly mission. Lisa, the governor of New New Springfield, tries rebooting the census system, but the household AI, “M.O.M. Unit,” fights back, insisting, “Baby must burp first!” Homer, lazily munching space-donuts, doesn’t see anything wrong: “Just go with it, boy. Free snacks!” Bart tries to escape—slipping on a hyper-skateboard, using a grappling tangle-cord, even crawling through the ventilation ducts—but Marge is always there, her mom-sense infallible, catching him mid-scheme and plopping him back in his cradle. He’s given ‘naptime’ breaks—forced stasis pods for maximum helpfulness—while Marge reads him tales of daring space pirates, “for brain development.” After a while, Bart begins to appreciate it. There’s something to be said for getting three hot meals and a foot rub from a maternal cyborg every day. His friends come by to visit; some even envy him. Nelson even tries to sneak into the nursery to share in the “baby treatment.” One night, Lisa finally cracks the system. “Bart, do you want me to fix this?” she asks. Bart considers his bottle of apple-protein and the gentle whirring of Marge’s nanohands as she smooths his hair. He grins. “Not tonight, Lis. I think I’ll stay Marge’s baby…at least until nap time’s over.” In the sparkling city under its giant glass dome, some things never change—and Marge Simpson will always be a mother, no matter how old her children, or how many centuries pass.
Post your own comment or use AI: