Mike, your brother walks slowly past the room, not noticing you in front of the mirror. He scratches the back of his head as he walks by, yawning. You take a sip of the wishing powder and mutter, "I wish Mike gained one pound per second seconds."
You follow him down the stairs to see him sitting on the couch flipping through channels. Blurps of programmes peep through. "-onty Pyth-Doh! Y-ther Ted? H-don't believe it-ding dong the-oops, oh no-I'll be there for-"
You watch from the banister as Mike munches on peanuts. His shirt is moving a bit, ever so slowly growing tighter and tighter. Mike settles in and begins to watch Friends, not noticing his stomach. You creep down the stairs, your belly swaying, and sit in a chair behind Mike, then watch. His shirt grows tighter, wrinkling in the back. You look at your watch; thirty seconds has gone by. It is now 11:02 AM, precisely. You continue to survey the progress, his double chin very slowly developing a sidekick. His belly peeps out from under his shirt. His legs grow thicker very slowly.
You recall reading about that if you place a frog in boiling water it will jump out, but if you put it into tepid water, and slowly turn up the heat, the frog will sit there and happily boil to death. Mike appears to not notice the change. Five minutes goes by, and Mike's weight appears to have doubled, but he remains unknowing to the fact that a wall of fat is slowly blocking his view. He stretches, and stands up as a procession of jingly adverts dance across the screen ("Oh, my! Water-free cookware!" and "A carbless apple? That's right, folks..."). He walks past to the kitchen and pulls a big deli sandwich out of the fridge, and plops it down on a plate, and takes out a huge bag of chips, and a litre-bottle of Coke, and walks back to the seat, belly growing three inches in the process. He places the plate on his belly, which continues its slow growth.
You think to yourself the famous jingle from 2001: Dahhh, dahhh, dahhhhh, DAH dahhhhh (bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum) dahhh, dahhh, dahhh, dah DAHHHH! Bee dee dee, dee, de de de... The sandwich rises slowly on its soft pillow-like monolithical belly. You begin to hum it unconsiously, and catch yourself at the third note. Mike is unaware of this, and nearly spews a mouthful of bread and meat and other unlucky vegetables as Monica and Phoebe cause a traffic accident.
"Haa haa haa!" He laughs, and the plate and remnants of the sandwich wobble precariously. Finally, though, Mike begins to realize that the chair is groaning nearly continuously. It's now 11:09, and Mike has put on...you do mental calculations...60 times 9...540 whoppingly huge pounds. His belly is high and mighty, drooping down and covering his knees. His stomach is completely exposed, his shirt ridden up to his neck, man-boobs drooping to his sides, rolls of fat enveloping his sides, his arms have become huge lumpy things, his legs swollen thickly.
He tries to get up, heaving himself about, and finally gets up, gaining thirty pounds in the process. His belly slaps his thighs and slams into your chest as he rounds on you and pins you against the wall. He grabs your collar and shouts, "DID YOU DO THIS!"
You manage a microscopic squeak of an unintelligble being. He stamps a foot, belly jiggling. His fingers beging to lose hold of your collar as his belly pushes him further and further away.
He leaps back and trips, whirling around and crushing a chair. He rolls round on the floor, and manages to pick himself up. Bits of wood cling to his fat. They're shaken off as he climbs the stairs after you, panting and sweating, and chases you into his room. He sits on his bed, sweating and panting. You notice that he'd barely squeezed in. Could he get out? You stay for a few seconds, then he stands up, and you run away through the door. At the end of the hall, in front of the stairs, you watch a bit of belly peep out of the doorway, and a string of curse words as he finds himself trapped in his room. You pant with relief, and saunter back over to the door, and peep round the corner. Mike is sitting on his floor, legs spread by his venturing fat belly, leaning against the wall. You watch as the belly slowly overtakes a book, a pencil, and several square inches of carpet. He looks nonplussed, reading a copy of some book or another.
You walk down the stairs and clean up the mess your brother made, starting with the plates, and then sweeping up the chair pieces. After about ten minutes, you venture back up to Mike's room, sweaty from dusting and cleaning. His belly his gigantic now, his face resting on top of six chins, his chins resting on top of giant man-boobs, which are situated on the belly. The belly is spread in front almost five feet, round and soft, slowly creeping along. He seems content, so you sit down to watch.
An hour later, and Mike is still reading the book, and the belly has reached the ceiling and three walls. His man-boobs reach round to his back, and his arms are lifted high up on his rolls of flesh. His love-handles are gigantic, each looking like three tyre halves. He finishes the book, and looks directly at you, and says, "That was fun, now turn me back."
You oblige, and take a sip of powder, and wish your brother
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