Nap Lapkin and the Dastardly Debacle (written by ChatGPT)

Ok, I’m going to be completely honest here. I asked ChatGPT if it knew who Lance Manion was. It said the following:

“Yes, I’m familiar with Lance Manion. He’s an American writer known for his blog, which features a mix of humorous and thought-provoking commentary on a range of topics. Manion’s writing often combines satire and personal reflection, and he’s also written books that reflect his distinctive voice.”

I have to admit I was impressed. So, all full of myself, I asked it it was familiar with the character of Nap Lapkin.

“Yes, Nap Lapkin is a character created by Lance Manion. He’s a somewhat cynical and often humorous persona that Manion uses to offer social commentary and reflect on various aspects of life. Nap Lapkin’s observations and musings are typically laced with irony and wit, making him a distinctive voice in Manion’s writing.”

The hair’s stood up on my neck. Apparently AI has great taste in literature. So I asked it if it could wrote a Nap Lapkin story in the style of P.G. Wodehouse. It’s didn’t answer yes or no, it just eagerly offered up the following:

Nap Lapkin and the Dastardly Debacle

In the quaint and impossibly picturesque village of Little Whimsy, where even the most ordinary of pursuits had a knack for turning into something akin to an operatic farce, there resided one Nap Lapkin. Mr. Lapkin, of indeterminate age and an unsettlingly precise manner, had recently taken up residence at the venerable Trotwood Hall, a residence whose charm was only rivaled by its persistent tendency to catch fire at least once a decade.

Nap Lapkin was a man of the world, possessing a mind sharp enough to cut through the thickest fog of village gossip. His days were spent embroiled in matters of such import that one might assume he was the secret advisor to the Queen herself. However, in reality, his principal concern was a rather troublesome issue involving a local garden party, which had spiraled into an astonishing debacle of mythical proportions.

The affair began innocuously enough with the annual “Garden Gala Extravaganza,” an event hosted by Lady Agatha Crumblethorpe, a woman whose penchant for elaborate social occasions was matched only by her tendency to become hopelessly entangled in her own floral decorations. This year’s gala was to feature a highly anticipated contest for the “Most Impressive Dahlia,” an accolade that promised eternal glory and, more practically, a sterling silver teapot.

The scene was set: manicured lawns, an array of floral displays that would make the Botanical Gardens look like an unkempt wilderness, and a gathering of the village’s most distinguished, including Nap Lapkin himself. Nap had been lured to the gala under the pretense of offering some witticisms about horticulture, but in truth, he harbored a rather curious interest in Lady Agatha’s infamous fruit punch, reputed to be of an alcoholic nature.

As the contest drew near, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. However, it was not long before calamity struck. Lady Agatha’s prized dahlias, which had been pampered and paraded like divas in the limelight, began to droop at an alarming rate. Whispers of sabotage swirled through the air like the smoke from a recently extinguished bonfire.

Nap Lapkin, being the kind of fellow who could discern a plot from a mile away and who relished the opportunity to don the mantle of detective, took it upon himself to investigate. His inquiries led him to the rather flustered and perpetually overzealous Mr. Bertie Flimshaw, the local florist with an unfortunate reputation for accidentally converting joy into chaos.

It appeared that Mr. Flimshaw, in his enthusiasm for providing a flourish to Lady Agatha’s dahlias, had concocted a new watering solution. The recipe was ostensibly harmless, consisting of an elaborate mix of mineral water, a hint of rose essence, and, rather disastrously, half a bottle of something that could only be described as a particularly potent brandy.

In the ensuing chaos, the dahlias, having partaken in what could only be described as a floral bender, had succumbed to a state of wilting despair. Nap Lapkin, with a demeanor reminiscent of a man who had just discovered his favorite hat was missing, swiftly intervened. With a mixture of charm, cunning, and a large pitcher of plain, unsullied water, he managed to revive the ailing dahlias to a state that could only be described as moderately respectable.

The gala concluded with Nap Lapkin receiving an honorary mention for his “Exemplary Contribution to Floral Rehabilitation,” a title that sounded far more impressive than the accompanying bronze medal might suggest. The teapot, as it happened, was awarded to Lady Agatha’s own dahlia, which had heroically endured its own tribulations with grace.

As for Mr. Flimshaw, he was last seen attempting to explain his “innovative” concoction to a rather unimpressed herd of local sheep, who, it appeared, were less than impressed with his floral mixology skills.

Nap Lapkin, having deftly untangled another of Little Whimsy’s inevitable absurdities, retired to his study with a satisfied sigh and a glass of the more traditional sort of punch. The village, once again, settled into its comfortably ludicrous routine, and Nap Lapkin remained the ever-unruffled observer of its charmingly eccentric escapades.