Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
You glance at Fred ... and discover him to be drooling at the mere sight of so much food! Hunger dances in his eyes like a flame, and you can hear his stomach rumbling hard enough to make the Richter scale! With only a panting snarl for warning, Fred pounces on the buffet, cramming food into his mouth with one paw and onto his plate with the other.
With such swiftness does the rapacious carnivore leap, you find yourself too shocked to move, watching as Fred devours an entire ham in mere seconds! As more and more of the food disappears down his seemingly bottomless gullet, you begin to see where it's all going ... like balloons filling with syrup, his arms slowly thicken, the drooping flab rippling and bulging as it strains against the armholes of his shirt. You'd guess the same is happening to his legs, as his baggy pants seem to inflate, pushed out until they tighten against the growing flesh. Even Fred's face fills out, his cheeks wobbling like those of some overstuffed chipmunk as he crams more and more calories into his apparently endless gorge. His neck, formerly a column of muscle and bone, bulges and sags until it vanishes, forming a donut of fat between chest and chin that soon becomes rolls of fat covering his shirt collar. His paws even swell with lard, becoming so thick that his fingers look like sausages stuck to a balloon. His chest and shoulders begin to look like football pads, trapping his head between their smothering softness, but still he stuffs his face, even as his belly rolls from beneath his shirt to hang over his belt. As time passes, the one roll of paunch grows to two, then three, pushing his shirt further and further up its rounding slope. As you watch, he begins to look like a furry parade balloon. Even as his body continues to swell, his clothes show signs of giving out ... his shirt is almost transparent, and his trousers groan audibly at the seams. His belt looks painfully tight, and ready to give way. By now, Fred has finished off all the fried foods, the potatoes, the mexican, chinese, and cajun foods, the cooked meats, any seafood they had, seven cakes, twelve trays of cookies, all the toppings for the ice cream, ten pies, fourteen pastries, fifteen donuts, and three tubs of gelatine. By now, he even resembles gelatine, his body wobbling with each movement, his tightly bound legs keeping him at a waddle. It hasn't seemed to slow him down, though. Finally, he reaches the ice cream dispenser ... and instead of reaching for a bowl or cone, he lies back against it, sticks his head under the center nozzle, and pulls the lever, pouring the ice cream from the dispenser straight down his throat.
Suddenly, everything seems to happen at once. With a sound like a muffles gunshot, the flabby wolf's belt buckle snaps, the now-useless band of leather falling to the ground beneath him, only to be quickly smothered in flesh as Fred's sides roll outward, free of their last constraint. His pants rip straight through the zipper, soon followed by the seams, and the shaggy legs they once contained seem to double in width. His t-shirt basically explodes, the overstressed seams giving way with a firecracker's POP!
Finally, the ice cream dispenser empties with a drained gurgle, and Fred lets out a massive belch as he seems to regain his sanity and looks himself over.
"Oh no, not again!", he cries. His body resembles a furry beached whale, a shaggy, moored blimp. You quickly fish through your pockets for the old picture of Fred. Bringing it out and comparing, you see Fred is now twice the size he was when the snapshot was taken!
Suddenly you realize ... you're hungry too. And all that's left is the salad bar, which Fred left an untouched oasis of greenery. You walk to the immense wolf, and slowly help him to his feet. As the two of you wrestle his over-upholstered frame upright, the rags of his pants drop away, leaving him clad only in the rags of his shirt and his (amazingly elastic) briefs ... not that you can see much of them between his belly and his love handles.
"So," you ask your full and fattened friend, "What do you have to say for yourself?
Written by Jack (edited by wanderer)