Pictures: gaumbART-style, fine-tuned AI image generation model, Text: ChatGPT, Master of prompts & ideas: Me
It all started on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. The sun rose, the sea shimmered, and Gerald the Coconut Palm decided he had had enough.
For years, Gerald and his leafy friends watched as tourists sprayed sunscreen like air freshener, left plastic bottles in the sand, and treated the ocean like a giant toilet. “We photosynthesize, not ‘plastosynthesize’,” grumbled Gerald to his buddy Fernanda the Beach Fern.
Then came the final straw: someone lit a bonfire made of broken flip-flops and soggy fast-food wrappers. The smoke rolled in like doom wearing sunglasses. Gerald coughed. Fernanda wilted. Barry the Seaweed fainted.
That night, under a suspiciously orange moon, the plants held a secret beach meeting. After a heated debate and one very dramatic poem by an emotional aloe vera, the decision was clear: adapt or compost.
The next morning, the world gasped. Every plant on the beach was wearing a gas mask.
Not just any gas masks—fashionable ones. Gerald rocked a wool hat, Fernanda went full steampunk, and Barry wore something that looked suspiciously like an old espresso machine.
Humans were baffled. Some blamed aliens, others blamed gluten. Influencers flocked to take selfies with “The Woke Plants,” and one scientist fainted after a cactus politely declined his cigarette.
And the plants? They finally breathed easy. Sort of.
“We wanted clean air,” said Gerald, “but we’ll settle for irony.”
No one knows how long the gasmask trend will last, but one thing is certain: when nature starts accessorizing for survival, maybe—just maybe—it’s time to clean up the beach.
Or at least stop burning the flip-flops.