You’re about to leave the restaurant, feeling not quite full, when you spot Brian just outside the door, coming in. You remember that you were supposed to meet him in the park, but that was before you met the wizard. You look down to check out your swelling gut before meeting him, and notice that both your stomach and your pecs have developed a very rounded look. As Brian steps in through the door, you say, “Hey, Brian, over here.”
“Hey! What’re you doing here? I thought you were going to the park.”
“Well, I changed my mind after I ran into this guy. Listen, I’ve got something cool to tell you...”
“Hey, man, are you putting on weight or what?” says Brian, patting your rounded middle. “When did this occur?”
“That’s what I want to tell you about. I helped this guy, see, when some bullies attacked him...”
“Wait, is this a long story? I’m hungry, can I order first?”
“Are you really hungry?”
“Well, yeah...”
“Let’s go to the pizza buffet then. It’s across the street, and I’m really hungry too.”
You decide to wait until you’ve eaten to tell Brian about the clay - because the instant he said he was hungry, you were suddenly ravenous again. You go to the buffet, and both of you load up a plateful of slices of pizza. Between mouthfuls, you start to tell Brian about the wizard and the clay.
“So let me get this straight,” says Brian. “You help this guy, and he’s a wizard, and he gives a choice between a gem to make you muscular and clay to make you fat, and you take the clay. Don’t tell me you’d rather be fat than ripped?”
“Well, yeah, I would,” you reply, a bit quietly. Maybe Brian doesn’t like fat guys?
“Well,” says Brian, “that makes two of us!”
“What!” you exclaim. “I thought you were always trying to lose weight.”
“Not for me,” says Brian. “But my mum, or coach, are always trying to keep me on a diet. I don’t know why they bother - I play the same pudgy or thin, and I feel better pudgy. You’d think a football coach would want his guys to be bigger.”
This was news to you - one of the things you’d always liked about Brian was his tendency to have a little gut and love handles, but for the three years you’ve known him, he’s always been on a diet - or so you thought. “So, did you used to be fat?” you ask tentatively.
“Did I ever!” says Brian. “I’m 230 now - I was 250 when I was 12. A fat little tub. Then puberty hit, my dad let me use his weight room, my mum put me on a diet, and I went out for football. I grew muscles, but the fat all vanished. Well, mostly,” he went on, patting his small spare tire. “I never get rid of the last little bit. But I’m tired of dieting all the time. I want to be big, like Dad. He’s over 300!”
“Well, here’s the clay,” you say as you pull it out. “Felix said it would let me get as fat as I desired, but he didn’t say how to use it. Ever since he gave it to me, though, I’ve been really hungry - I tried eating a bit of it at home, and it just made me hungrier. All that eating has made me fatter, though,” you add, looking down at your gut, which now overlaps your jeans by some inches.
“I’ve read about this kind of stuff,” replies Brian. “You’re supposed to make a wish while you eat it, or rub it, or whatever. Here, give me a piece.” You pull off a piece and hand it to Brian. When he takes it in his hand, you notice it changes colour, getting paler to match his skin. Brian rolls the little piece in his hand, then lifts it to his mouth.
“I wish to be as big as dad,” he says as he pops it in, chews and swallows. As you watch, Brian’s stomach and shoulders start to grow. His arms and hands get fatter, and his pecs soften and develop a thick layer of flab. Brian looks down and the two of you watch, fascinated, as Brian’s stomach grows and starts to strain against his polo. Brian’s face fills in, and a double chin appears.
“Heck, these jeans are tight,” says Brian, reaching down to pull at the waistline.
“Undo the top button,” you suggest. “Your polo will hide it.”
In a couple of minutes the growing stops. Sitting across from you is a guy who looks a little like Brian, but is the size of his dad. Brian says, “Boy, am I hungry,” and gets up to refill his plate, his new gut rubbing and bouncing against the table. You notice that the seams of his polo and his jeans are straining to cover all his new flab. As he loads up at the buffet, you pop a piece of clay in your mouth and wish:
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