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Fred goofs... agian.

You keep you mind focus on being happy about cooking for Fred and Albert, thinking about playing video games, and the fun times you had at the fair. Finally you put the piece of bacon on the paper plate, and you all watch it.

Nothing.

"Arrrgh, this is impossible," you say, frustrated at the lack of progress.

"What else haven't we tried?" Says Albert.

"Well, we havn't *BEEELCCCHH*... opps, sorry," says Fred, letting out a belch mid sentence. "Still a bit stuffed from breakfast." He pats his plump stomach, before getting a confused look on his face, then brings both hands down, grabbing a handful, then his eyes go wide as it swells a couple inches. "Um, guys!" he says, "I have a problem!" he says, before letting out another belch.

"What did you do!?" Says Albert, as Freds pant's button pops off, and his furry stomach rolls out from under his shirt. "I ate the tart! I'm sorry, I thought it was safe at this point."

"Where's the plate!?" you say, looking for it.

"In the bin!" says Fred, as the seat of his pants fill out, and he turns and starts hop waddling to it, digging through it and pulling out all the paper plates he can find, ripping them all up. "There, that should..." *RRRRRRIIIIIPPPPP* Fred's pants rip open in the back, and you see he is still getting fatter. "Why didn't that work?" he says, before belching yet again. His stomach keeps swelling, causing the shirt to ride up to his chest, and Fred looks worried.

"Wait, the tin!" you say, thinking of the actual container the tart had been in. Fred turns and bends over, trying to reach in, but now his stomach is getting in the way, so Albert reaches in and digs round, finally finding the tart. The tin has been refilled, the same tart sitting in it, which albert pulls out. The tin immediately refills, and after a moment, the tart in his hand also multiplies into a second. Albert then tears the tin in two, tart and all, and Fred's stomach gurgles, and stops growing.

"Crap," says Fred, hefting his new weight, "I'm gonna have to buy new clothes. By now he is most definitely obese, his sides spilling out over his pants, and the shirt covering a much more rounded chest with a second chin and wobbly cheeks.

"I'm sorry Fred," you say, knowing this is again your fault.

"Don't be, I ate the tart, it's my fault," he says, "And, again, it is still nowhere near how big I got before. He hops from one foot to another, causing his belly to shake up and down, but demonstrating his mobility. "See?" he says, though you notice him panting a little.

"I think the actual trigger isn't something you do," says Albert, "It's when someone actually eats your food." he picks up the bacon on the table, puts it in his mouth, chews and swallows. After a moment, the bacon reappears on the plate, then another, and another. Albert belches a moment, and you see his stomach bulge a bit, before Albert takes the plate, and rips it in two, stopping the process. "That confirms it," he says, rubbing his stomach again.

"Guess I can forget about cooking then," you say, looking at the damage you've done to Fred and Albert.

"Yeah. Maybe the next test should be something non-food related," says Fred, "Excuse me, I need to find something less tight." he waddles towards the stairs, belly bouncing ahead of him as the tear in his pants gets bigger with the strain.

You try to think of what else you could try.


Written by an anonymous author

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