Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
Over the course of the next few weeks, your routine becomes pretty consistent: get up, go to work, store take home pizzas, go work out, come home and eat leftovers. Of course, Albert uses the pizza you bring in as incentive to get a better performance out of you, so your workouts arn't entirely without results. You definitely put on some muscle, though it is hardly visible under the layer of flab, it does offset the previous trouble you were having getting about. The same can't be said of everything else, as your nightly 'treats' are more then enough to steadily increase your already ponderous waistline. The first problem came when you got stuck in your apartment door from the fist few inches, your girth finally making it impossible to bypass without wrecking the doorframe, which promptly got you kicked out by your land lord. Luckily for you, your able to call in a favor, and Fred let's you move into his guest house after he remodels it with some bigger double doors (apparently Fred is loaded). You insist that it must be the muscle you've gained growing faster then you burn the flab.
You manage to finally replace your wardrobe, but it seems like your always somehow managing to shrink them in the wash, everything feeling tight after a few days no matter how carefully you wash them. Not to mention that stores just don't seem to carry anything big enough for you anymore, leaving you stuck in pants that feel ready to split at any moment, and shirts that fail to cover your bulging gut.
Of course this does not go unnoticed by Albert. "Are you snacking between meals?" he questions, as you waddle between the lockers, barely able to open yours with what little space if left. "Of course not," you say truthfully, convinced that since the pizza you have is technically dinner that it does not count as snacking. "I'm just building muscle, I can't help it if my fat is in the way." You take a seat on the bench as you pull off your shirt. There is a huge creak before the bench bends and snaps under your weight. "See! Muscles weighs more then fat!" you say, convinced that that must be the reason. you wobble from side to side to gain some momentum and roll over to get to your feet before getting your work out shirt, which barely covers your chest. "Dude, your almost a ball, that's not muscle, that's fat." says Albert. "I've been working my but off, you can't say I havn't, you've been there to see my progress."
"Yeah, and I seen you 'progress' to a... geez do they even make anything in your size?" He says, apparently stumped as to how many Xs he needs to add to get an accurate size on you. You feel hurt, as if Albert was making fun of you, "Hey! I'm trying, I mean, I didn't ASK for this," you grab a double handfull of belly and shake it, having more then enough to spare, and leave in wobbling for a full minute after before settling, "I was just trying to help out a friend and got screwed over by magic in the process, and I'm doing everything I can to fix it, I thought you were supporting me with that!?"
"Well... I do... but," says Albert, suddenly looking a bit hurt himself, "...I... um..." he seems to try and think of something to say, unsure of how to proceed. "Well... maybe, I guess, it could be because of the magic..." he says, seemingly admitting defeat. "I'm not trying to rip on you or anything, but, I'm just worried, okay. I guess we'll just keep at it, and hopefully we'll see some results." He heads for the doors and you follow, your mass drawing stares of a few of the newer gym occupants before you sit down on the weight lifting bench... which buckles under your weight with a metallic crunch.
Written by an anonymous author
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