Comedy Short Stories & Freak Face Slapping Novels

In my past life, my sister, Kyra Wood, and I got married at the same time. My husband, Callum Gray, was a navy captain, while hers was a farm director. Both of our husbands shared the same childhood friend—Eliana Sullivan. Kyra and I had the same blood type as Eliana. After she got into an accident, we both donated blood to her. When she woke up, she unexpectedly started being able to hear the thoughts of Kyra and me. Callum and I got into an argument, and I wanted him to apologize. However, Eliana told him that I'd never forgive him, even if I died. On Kyra's wedding anniversary, she decided to ask her husband, Anthony Stone, for a bicycle. However, Eliana told Anthony that Kyra wanted a sports car. Callum thought my personality was too fiery and decided to divorce me. Anthony thought Kyra was too much of a spendthrift and divorced her as well. My sister and I were abandoned and lived in loneliness for the rest of our lives—until we died. When I open my eyes again, I realize that Kyra and I have been reborn. This time, Callum and Anthony can hear our thoughts too.

A young woman showed up at my door, saying she wanted to become my wife to repay me for saving her life. She drove my younger sister out of the house and wanted to transfer the family property to her parasitic parents in my name! I immediately reported her. How could someone be so bold as to commit robbery right at my home in a society governed by law?

Everyone said Finley Floyd was a total family man. His dad had been dead for twenty years, and he still found him a wife. Then he started calling me—someone two years younger than him—"Mommy." Yeah. My hand slipped. I accidentally assigned the affection points to the wrong role. And somehow, Finley really believed I was his mother. When I told him—again—that I wasn't his mom, he snapped. He yanked me into his arms and buried his face against me. "You are Mommy!"

The Gray family was one of the most affluent families in Imperia's elite circles. They were also the sort of family that placed great importance on family hierarchy regardless of age. Perhaps I was being biased because my father somehow had me at the ripe old age of 80. As a result, I became one of the highest-ranking members in the Gray family ever since I was born, despite my very young age. During my full-month celebration, a 60-year-old real estate tycoon cooed at me, waving a deed, "Aw, little great-aunt. Don't cry, and I'll give you three estates." A 50-year-old medical expert quickly slid on surgical gloves. "Stay away from our great-aunt! Don't suffocate the baby!" My entire family spoiled me rotten. And so, I still acted like a spoiled princess even though I was already 20 years old. One day, I was hit with a sudden whimsy of following the trend by going on blind dates… only to run into a massive mama's boy. I looked at the crabs and quietly asked, "Can you crack them for me?" He slammed the plate and barked, "You don't get to act spoiled here! My mother told me I should find a wife who can work! If you can't even crack crabs, then you can't possibly cook or clean for us!" The guy had speakerphone on, allowing his mother to chime in, "If she wants to latch on to our family, she needs to learn how to serve us!" My eyes turned teary as I opened up my family's group chat and sent a voice message, my voice sobbing. The entire Gray family heard me cry. "Some uggo wants me to marry him just to serve his family!"

On my first day at the villa, the production team hands me a mission card. I read it. "Welcome to 'Where's the Straight Guy?', a reality show where 12 male contestants will be living together for one month. Only one of them is straight, while the others are gay. Every week, two people will be voted out. If the hidden straight guy makes it to the end, he'll win ten million dollars." I'm at a loss for words for a few seconds after I finish reading. Then, I look up at the director. "Your team does know what the words 'male contestant' mean, right?" The director looks me over—my short hair, black hoodie, chest hidden under a sports bra, and my five-foot-nine height—then checks the application form. He rattles off, "Alex Callahan, male. A 26-year-old freelancer." I'm rendered speechless again. Lovely. I see the problem now.