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Going the way of the goodyear blimp...

As you yell it out, the tell tale sign of green shimmering announces the reappearance of the leprachaun. "Youuuuu..." you hiss at him, pointing at him with a cubby paw. "What, ye not big enough? I'll fix that," he says, quickly snapping his fingers. Instantly, you feel your stomach bubbling as new fat starts expanding it even to an even greater size. "That's not what I mean and you know it!" you yell, feeling new weight starting to pull upon you. Even as you speak, you feel your muscles straining and tiring. Even your breath is starting to become labored as the unwanted weight continues piling upon your lungs.

"You know... I meant... huh... MUSCLE, not FAT!" You can feel sweat acumulating on your brow, this was getting rediculous, your huge! Your stomach is starting to look like a giant overstuffed bean bag. Your tortured pants, having asked nothing for the extreme girth, tatters themselves as your calfs expand like ballons, resembling a ever growing pair of ice cream cones, the rip traveling higher and higher, stoping mere inches from snapping the ruined garment from twanging clean off. You lean against a wall, using it to take some of the weight of your feet, which feel as if a hundred daggers stab into them.

"Ye never specified that," says the leprachaun, grinnign madly, "When ye say 'make me bigger' ye leave it to so much interpratation." You feel your sides bulging out so wide that your sagging arms begin to come to rest upon them, and you are forced to lean your massive and growing back fully against the wall.

"Stop this... heh... heh... stop this at once." you pant, sweat pouring down your face. The weight was getting unbearable. You feel and heare the straining sound of leather, and suddenly the sound of a gunshot rings out, as the belt around your swollen waist finally gives out, and the force of you newly freed gut explodes forward, sending the buckle and ruined leather shooting forward, the metal buckle embeding itself in the stone wall, taking with it the button on your pants. Your enormous gut even forces the zipper full open. From the looks of it, you pants, or loincloth as it appears now, will soon give up totally.

"No," the Leprachaun says simply, breathing heavily you blurt out, "Why?" The weight of your emense body starts dragging you down, your legs simply won't take the strain anymore. Yuo finally find yourself sitting on the floor, your feet greatly releaved to be free of their load. Glancing your reflection, you see it is hard to tell exactly what you are, a werewolf, or a blimp. Your arms are resting fully on the emense rolls of flab that corse over you, any remnants of a neck that you may have had are completely lost with thick fatty tires that seem to form your chins. Your legs are so bloated, it's becoming difficult to see where yuor knees are, if they are not covered by your heavy gut, which anchors itself, swelling across the castle floor.

"Simply put," said the leprachaun, "Ye cannot order me around, ye can only wish for things. Please reform yer phrase in the form of a wish, and then we'll talk." You wish you had the strength to get up, grab the little beast, and belly flop onto him, but sadly, you feel that you could bearly lift one arm, let alone the sacks of cement that you now call your body, only one way out, wish. Sourly, you begin to pant out, "I... wish..."

Written by an anonymous author

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