I have ~ 500 words of hand-written bunny rabbit noir parody. I will create code that by some means creates variations on this text until it is a proper novel.
Original source:
"""
I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work: Jess is the kind of doe who expects a lot of lettuce, and I’m not the kind of buck who’s ever going to be able to give her that. Not like Roger or Big Pete. My sire was a small-time vegetable pusher: swedes and carrots mainly, not the big stuff. Most of what he sold was even legal if you had the money and you knew where to find it. But if you do what he does, you can’t be choosy about the company you keep. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he fell out with the Big P. over a kohlrabi shipment and had to leave town.
My dam coped as best she could, though it wasn’t easy for her. We were a decent family, and if the bucks she brought back were Zane and Dane and Kane and Paine (never Boris or Donald or Barack or Emmett), and if they never stayed for more than a week, at least they were kind to me and had their own front teeth. Jane, Laine, Flopsy, and Cottontail were good to me too. Decent does, whatever you think of their lifestyle. Everybody in our end of the burrow used to let you be whoever you needed to be. The only rough year was fifth-grade when that damn Mopsy made Mom go organic, hyperlocal, non-binary AND non-Fibonacci. They tried to make my teachers stop calling us Buck or Doe, and use Duck or Boe instead. Quack! Quack! I tell ya. And Mopsy was a biter.
By sophomore year my incisors were coming down nicely. I had a big cheek and a thumper of a back left foot. I may not have had brains but I had a growing body. And an adult nose for fermented vegetables. I volunteered as a burrow guard and liked the touch of authority it gave me - that and the view as all those rumps went down the burrow.
.
These days, I’m ex-police, I know how to handle myself, and have my own tuxedo, so I can always get work as a bouncer in some toney fruit and seed bar. That’s what I’m doing when Jess comes in. “Wanna get some celery with me, big boy?” “Sure”. Course, she’s outta my league, big eyes, long legs, jewelry, fur coat, none of them cheap. “I want you to find my husband,” she says. “OK” says I, I’m a sucker for a pretty doe in trouble. That’s how I got to be swimming in a lake, at night, on the run from Big Pete’s squad of demented badgers in night vision goggles. Anyway, long story short, I got caught, bitten, tuberculosis, and vet bills like you wouldn’t believe. Don’t let it happen to you.
I’m not as smart as I think I am, I should have known Jessica Rabbit was a Rabbit only by marriage.
"""
I have ~ 500 words of hand-written bunny rabbit noir parody. I will create code that by some means creates variations on this text until it is a proper novel.
Original source: """ I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work: Jess is the kind of doe who expects a lot of lettuce, and I’m not the kind of buck who’s ever going to be able to give her that. Not like Roger or Big Pete. My sire was a small-time vegetable pusher: swedes and carrots mainly, not the big stuff. Most of what he sold was even legal if you had the money and you knew where to find it. But if you do what he does, you can’t be choosy about the company you keep. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he fell out with the Big P. over a kohlrabi shipment and had to leave town.
My dam coped as best she could, though it wasn’t easy for her. We were a decent family, and if the bucks she brought back were Zane and Dane and Kane and Paine (never Boris or Donald or Barack or Emmett), and if they never stayed for more than a week, at least they were kind to me and had their own front teeth. Jane, Laine, Flopsy, and Cottontail were good to me too. Decent does, whatever you think of their lifestyle. Everybody in our end of the burrow used to let you be whoever you needed to be. The only rough year was fifth-grade when that damn Mopsy made Mom go organic, hyperlocal, non-binary AND non-Fibonacci. They tried to make my teachers stop calling us Buck or Doe, and use Duck or Boe instead. Quack! Quack! I tell ya. And Mopsy was a biter.
By sophomore year my incisors were coming down nicely. I had a big cheek and a thumper of a back left foot. I may not have had brains but I had a growing body. And an adult nose for fermented vegetables. I volunteered as a burrow guard and liked the touch of authority it gave me - that and the view as all those rumps went down the burrow. . These days, I’m ex-police, I know how to handle myself, and have my own tuxedo, so I can always get work as a bouncer in some toney fruit and seed bar. That’s what I’m doing when Jess comes in. “Wanna get some celery with me, big boy?” “Sure”. Course, she’s outta my league, big eyes, long legs, jewelry, fur coat, none of them cheap. “I want you to find my husband,” she says. “OK” says I, I’m a sucker for a pretty doe in trouble. That’s how I got to be swimming in a lake, at night, on the run from Big Pete’s squad of demented badgers in night vision goggles. Anyway, long story short, I got caught, bitten, tuberculosis, and vet bills like you wouldn’t believe. Don’t let it happen to you.
I’m not as smart as I think I am, I should have known Jessica Rabbit was a Rabbit only by marriage. """