#I've just realised it's not an international company (I think) so yeah that reference might go over some people's heads

[sporco-filth]

Halloween Costume Curse - Chapter 2

Ok I guess I lied. I wrote this today after I just said I wasn't in the mood.

In fairness, this has to be the coldest I have written a slob story. I mean, I wrote this one two-handed which I pretty much never do.

It's also not that slobby and maybe it's a little too story-focused but I'm not sacrificing narrative quality for increased concentration of slob stuff. There's slob stuff, but it's a long chapter and it's spread out a bit.

Things will get hotter in the next chapter. That is 100% a one-handed story.

Synopsis: Jason wakes up after the Halloween party and finds himself transformed into a fat slob. He hopes it's just a bad dream, but everything seems to suggest this is his reality. Maybe one of his friends can help shed light on things...

"Ugh… my head…" Jason rubbed his eyes. The afternoon sun peeked through the shutters and he grimaced. He'd drunk way too much the night before and was paying for it now. "I barely remember anything," he muttered. His mouth tasted terrible, and his breath smelt even worse, like stale beer. He knew he should get up and try to clean himself up but he felt so sluggish and tired, all he wanted to do was sleep. It must've been all that alcohol and partying, he thought. I overdid it a bit, I guess. He tried to get up, but his body felt… bigger, and softer. He looked down and rubbed his blurry eyes. "Oh, that stupid fat suit," he muttered. "I must've fallen asleep in it." With a bit of effort, he managed to overcome his rebelling limbs and the bulk of the costume and stumbled out of bed. It feels a lot heavier than it did last night… His stomach growled in hunger. He couldn't recall the last time he ate, but his bladder was a little more insistent and he decided to deal with that first. Heading into the bathroom, he undid his fly and went to remove his costume, but… "What the fuck?" He felt his body. "There's no way…" He looked up into the mirror and saw it. It was true: he was now fat. Despite his headache, Jason's mind raced. He had no idea what was going on. "I must be dreaming," he said to himself, clutching his forehead. "This is all some sort of dream. Did that fucking Darius bring some shit to the party? Am I just hallucinating?" Whatever it was, the pressing need to pee was real. He sat down and tried to think. OK, well this all seems real, he thought, feeling the folds of fat and sagging lovehandles. A weird thought came to mind. What if this is reality and the old life I remember was the dream… He shook his head. No, it couldn't be: he had no memories of being fat.

When he was done, Jason's head has cleared enough that he could properly take in his surroundings. He'd never been that great at keeping house, he'd never seen the point in dusting or making the bed, but he had never been this bad: Take-away boxes, chip wrappers and empty soft drink bottles littered the room; the bedsheets looked like they hadn't been washed in years, and reeked of stale sweat and farts; and spread across the floor were his clothes, all covered in what he hoped were just food stains. What was weirder was they weren't his clothes, or at least, not any he'd bought and they were all much, much bigger than his normal size. Staring at the mess, his stomach grumbled again. Hunger was beginning to gnaw at his mind, but there was something he had to do first. He went back into the bathroom and found his scales. He stood on it and watched the numbers steadily rise. "Fuck," he swore. "138 kilos." (to save any Americans in the audience the effort, that's ~304 lbs) As he stood there, staring at the empirical evidence of his new form, he heard his gut crying out for food once more and decided that maybe if he'd be a little more clear-headed with something in his stomach.

The kitchen was just as filthy as his bedroom, if not worse. There was a leaning tower of pizza boxes so high he could charge tourists to come see it, the sink was full of murky water in which dirty plates and bowls floated like the carnage of a shipwreck, and every surface was coated with a layer of grease and grime and crumbs. Putting that aside, he opened the fridge. The only thing in there was a bottle of beer and two packets of sauce. OK, that's actually pretty normal, he thought. Jason had a habit of forgetting to go shopping, but surely there was something edible around here. He opened the pantry and found it was, thankfully, stocked with food, but when he looked more carefully he saw it was all junk food. "Who eats this shit?" he wondered aloud. Sure, Jason would indulge occasionally on nights out with the boys, but he was a personal trainer; he had to keep himself in shape and his diet at home was meticulous. The collection of empty calories, salty snacks and sugary sweets was a far cry from what he usually ate. With nothing better to eat, he opened a pack of doughnuts and began to chomp away at them. His stomach capacity seemed to be larger than it had before, further proof the change was real, and he soon found himself having eaten them all. "BEELLCHH, excuse me." Jason opened the bin to throw the packet away, but finding it full, he decided to just toss it wherever. After all, the place was already a pigsty.

Just then, an idea came to him. "That's it! I'll call the guys. Maybe they'll know something that can help explain what the hell is happening here." He pulled out his phone and rang Brad. He didn't answer. Jason tried again. After the third attempt, Brad finally picked up. "Eh, Jase," he murmured. "Bro what's… what's up mate?" "Hey, Brad, OK this is gonna sound crazy but I woke up today and I'm a fucking fatass." "Uh… uhuh…" Brad slurred. "I mean, I wasn't fat yesterday, right, so what the fuck happened last night?" "Huh?" "I mean, I'm not fat, but I am now. What happened?" "Jason," Brad sighed. "I've got a fucking massive headache and I'm hungover and you're just saying fucking words man. Like I don't get what the fuck your saying. I mean, what is your question?" "How did this happen? I'm fat! Did Darius spike my drink or something? Am I hallucinating?" "Bro, chill. I'm… I got no idea and I don't think I… yawn ugh, I haven't got a fucking clue. I dunno call Darius if you think he's… I honestly I don't remember what you said. Hey do you think―" Jason hung up. It didn't seem he would be getting anything useful from Brad anytime soon. He dialled Darius' number. "Hey, Darius, quick question." "It better be quick," Darius said. "I'm kind of in the middle of something buddy." Jason her a female voice giggling in the background. "Sorry, but I can't remember last night at all." "Yeah, it was a wild one." "You didn't bring anything, you know…" "I did, but only enough for me Why?" "Well, I'm like… fat. And I didn't go to bed fat, so I don't understand what's going on." Jason could hear the woman's voice again, this time asking Darius a question. Darius covered the receiver, his voice becoming muffled as he answered her. "Listen, Jason, I can't deal with your fat fuck problems today, all right mate? I've got more important shit to do. Call Light n' Easy or something I don't fucking know." Before Jason could say another word, Darius had hung up. Jason frowned. It almost sounded like Darius already knew he was fat. He shook his head, maybe he just wasn't paying attention. He decided to try one more person: Hayden.

"Hey, Jason," Hayden answered. "How are ya?" "Alright, alright…" he paused. "Say, Hayden, do you remember last night?" "Well, I'm still a bit hungover, and my memory's a little hazy, but yeah, mostly, why?" Jason explained his story: waking up, the mirror, the scale, the house, the phone calls. "And it seems like even Darius thinks I was already fat. I mean, there's no way I went from being fit to fat overnight: it's ridiculous." Hayden laughed long and loud. "Oh, man, that is ridiculous! That's the funniest shit I've heard all year!" Jason smiled. "I'm glad that someone else agrees that it's impossible." Hayden caught his breath. "Yeah, no shit it's impossible: you've been a fat blob for years." "Very funny. Stop fucking with me Hayden." "I'm not," Hayden replied, chuckling. "Wow, you really must've overdone it at the party." Jason's face dropped. "Hey, I'll be over in… a half hour? If you want?" Hayden continued. Not sure what to say, and still reeling, Jason just said OK and hung up. Maybe in person they could sort things out.

"There's no way I've been fat for years…" he muttered. He opened his photo app, hoping there he'd find evidence of his former body. Scrolling through all the photos of boys' nights out and overseas holidays he saw himself but he was different: in every single photo he was fat. "What the fuck…" he scrolled furiously. Here was one from a year ago, at Kyle's birthday: Jason looked like a pig, his shirt barely holding on as his bulging body pushed at the seams, the tight fabric making him look like an overfilled sausage about to burst from its casings. "What's up with Hayden?" he wondered. In most of the candid pictures, Hayden seemed to have his eye on Jason or would be touching him in a way that seemed a little too friendly. But Jason put this out of his mind; there was something more concerning: all of his gym selfies, the footage of him working out that he used to post online to show off his adonic body, had gone and in their place were endless photos and videos of his fat belly, of him stuffing his mouth with food or drinking litres of soft drink. He furrowed his brow. Maybe this was all some sort of elaborate Halloween prank all is friends were in on. Maybe these photos were all fake, after all, with photoshop and AI shit, you can make any nonsense look real. Jason decided he needed an impartial witness. He rang his gym. "Good afternoon," a chirpy voice said. "How can I help you?" "Hi, I'm Jason, Jason Adams. I wanted to make sure I'm a member of your gym." "No worries, may I ask why?" "It's… complicated." The woman put him on hold for a minute. "Hmm… there's no Jason Adams in our membership list." Jason rubbed his brow. "But I work there, I'm one of the personal trainers!" "Hang on…" she hummed as she looked again. "Nope, still nothing." "Please, surely I'm on the records! I've been going to this gym for ten years!" "OK, calm down sir, I'll check the past member records." A tense few minutes of waiting followed. "Yep! Found you: Jason Adams. You joined us ten years ago and then it says here you quit five years later." "I… see…" "I'm not sure why you think you were a personal trainer here though… Perhaps it was a different gym?" "Yeah, maybe… Anyway, thanks for checking." He hung up and sighed. Either this was the most elaborate prank ever or it was real life. He looked around his house and then at himself. "I guess it is real life: I'm a slob." As he sat there, trying to come to terms with this change, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Hayden:

almost there picked up something along the way 😈

What the? What's with that emoji? With a growing sense of dread, Jason scrolled up to read their previous exchanges. His eyes widened; his mind spun. No. No way. No fucking way is that possible.

Just then, the door unlocked and in walked Hayden. He has a set of keys to my house, Jason's mind raced. How does he have the keys to my house? In Hayden's hands was a white box. "Hey, sorry to make you wait," he smiled. "You ready?" "Hayden," Jason said, voice shaking. He stood up, balancing himself by holding onto the table. "What's going on here?" Hayden shook his head. "Man you really got messed up last night. I knew you drank a lot but usually you can handle your alcohol better." He chuckled and placed the box down on the table. "OK piggy, sit down." "I'm not going to sit down." Jason stared at Hayden, feeling his blood pumping in his ears. Hayden smirked. "Oh is my little piglet being rebellious now?" His face darkened. "I said, sit down you fucking slob." A weird sensation ran down his spine and, despite his previous bravado, Jason sat. "Good." Hayden opened up one of the boxes, revealing the brightly coloured cupcakes inside. Jason knew what was coming next. "Hayden, I'm serious. I'm straight, and so are you. What the fuck are you doing?" Hayden laughed, taking one of the elaborately iced cupcakes out of the box. "Bro, what are you on about? We've been fucking since first year uni." This assertion hit Jason like a blow, but Hayden continued. "Sure, it was just casual flings here and there," he said, licking a bit of icing off his thumb. He looked Jason in the eye with a smouldering gaze. "But once you started to put on weight and become more and more of a lazy slob, well, it wasn't like you had anyone else who'd be willing to fuck you," he grinned. "Aand lucky for you, I enjoy having a pet hog." "Hayden, please," Jason begged. "I'm fit, I'm a fucking PT for crying out loud." Hayden laughed even harder than before. Soon he was bent doubled over, wiping his eyes. "Oh wow, sorry," he said, catching his breath. "Phew, sorry I didn't realise we were role playing today. You need to warn me beforehand." "I'm not fucking role playing what the fuck is going on here?" "You seriously don't remember any of it?" Hayden said, putting the cupcake back down. "The past five years?" jason shook his head. "No." Hayden sat down down in the chair across from him. "I'm kinda groggy still anyway so maybe a bit of storytime won't be too bad. The food's not going to go cold, though not like that'd stop you scarfing it down, would it?" When Jason didn't respond to this, Hayden shrugged and began his story.