It Does You Good To Laugh

2001 © Lupine

By Lupine

It was Saturday.

A dark shadow fell over the land, eclipsing the cheery sunlight. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath. If you listened, you might imagine that you could hear a dramatic drumroll.

And then, a humorous ‘bong’ from a bass drum. Terry winced slightly as he stepped on the bathroom scales, wrapped in a towel. The towel was having to cover quite a lot of Terry, and, he reasoned, that was why the scales were wrong. The towel added a lot because it was so big. Terry knew this because he was not fat.

Satisfied, the wolf shoved the scales back in the corner and carried on with his normal routine. He did not normally weigh himself; the scales were not even his. They belonged to his housemate, Rob. He showered, dried himself (with the same heavy towel), cleaned his teeth, and got dressed. Then, he stood in front of the mirror and gave himself the once-over. The mirror showed a grey, 5’11" wolf, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a loose T-shirt. It was quite snug over his chest and did not quite cover a small section of stomach, which bulged out of its confinement and just hid the top of his shorts’ waistband. Terry was not delusional; he knew he had put on a little weight recently. But then, he thought ruefully, petting his belly, who wouldn’t have? Rob was, in his opinion, a brilliant cook.

Terry pictured the tall, slim alligator. He had ‘classic’ looks, i.e. long, pointed snout with wicked fangs, traditional low forehead and no neck. His widely spaced eyes were a cloudy grey, which was quite unusual. He had muddy green scales that he kept polished and stubby arms and legs compared to his long torso, which made him walk in a distinctive waddle. And then there was the tail. Almost as long again, Terry had dreaded having to walk around catching everything it knocked over, but Rob had supreme control and had even been known to use it as an extra hand when cooking. He came from a family where good food was a habit, not a skill. And one where the news about calories had not managed to penetrate yet. And seeing as Rob enjoyed cooking so much, Terry had graciously agreed to let him. As a result, his appetite had grown enormously, pampered by a selection of delights. Terry squinted at the tubby reflection in the mirror, comforted by the knowledge that mirrors always made you look larger. Maybe he should think about cutting back a little, though.

Just then, his nose, which had been having a lie in, suddenly sat up and begged at the smell wafting through the house. Terry groaned, his stomach rumbling. It smelt as though Rob was getting breakfast…

The large kitchen seemed to be in chaos. Terry peered in from the hall, slightly alarmed. Breakfast was always a busy time in the cozy little suburban house the two shared, but today looked like his friend was overdoing it just a little. The old farmhouse range was covered by pots and pans, all bubbling and simmering. Terry drooled slightly as the mixed scents filling the air likewise filled his nostrils. Every surface seemed to have been utilised to prepare food. All this for breakfast? Terry panicked suddenly. It wasn’t Rob’s birthday or anything, was it? No, that was last month. Terry sighed with relief. Oh yeah, he had nearly forgotten that time, too. That cake had taken him all night. Shame it had burned like that.

In the middle of the culinary storm stood Rob, dressed in a well-fitting red T-shirt and a pair of shorts. There were three things that Terry found vaguely annoying as he watched the lithe alligator whirl around the kitchen. The food he prepared could put thirty pounds on a furson in one sitting, sometimes one helping, so why wasn’t HE fat? Terry had to only look at food to put on weight, yet Rob was almost like a line. Terry guessed it was because of his second niggle. Rob was always cooking up meals that would make food critics burst into tears and beg for another helping, but he seemed perfectly happy to survive on a diet of cold bacon sandwiches and bits of leftover vegetable. Rob had made some vague explanation about how being around the food all the time sort of took the magic out of eating it. Terry flatly did not believe that. The third curious thing was even more odd. Rob could be making money paw over fist as a first-rate cook, yet he scraped a living as a third-rate barman working in a hotel!

Hearing a noise, Rob paused from his work and glanced behind him at the door. What he saw made him smile. His friend had his head poked 'round the door, eyes wide, nose working, and tongue lolling. He had wondered how long it would take the smell to draw Terry out of bed on a Saturday. The wolf saw him looking over and sheepishly wandered into the room, his claws clicking gently on the terra cotta-tiled floor. Rob’s grin widened as he took in the plump wolf. His pal was seriously beginning to put on weight. Rob did not mention it, though, because he knew his friend was a little sensitive on the issue.

"’Morning." This much conversation exhausting Terry until coffee time, he padded over to the marble-topped counter and sat.

"Afternoon, you lazy mutt" grinned Rob in his deep, Caribbean voice. He and Terry only used proper names in an emergency, or if they could not think of a more interesting one. Rob automatically filled a mug with the brown liquid (double strong, double sweet) and pushed it over to Terry, who only just caught it. Terry moaned, took a long sip, and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It’s ten in the morning, you weird reptile!" This was a calendar event. Terry never usually rose before midday.

"Like I said. Afternoon."

Waking up some more, Terry noticed the absence of ready food. Odd. Rob always seemed to have breakfast ready without his even having to ask. Visions of crusty, freshly baked bread smothered in melting butter and honey swam before his eyes. So did something else. He pointed with his mug and grunted in enquiry. Rob looked up.

"Oh, the box? I need some special spices. That was my Nan’s box. She taught me everything I know about cooking." The box contained dried up leaves and stuff, along with a few other weirder looking ingredients. Once again Terry wished that he had met Rob’s grandmother. Especially during a meal. That thought began to loom large in his stomach, the absence of breakfast becoming acute.

It seemed to Rob that Terry was looking around with an expectant, slightly puzzled expression. "Something up?"

"Wha? Oh no, not really." He paused, obviously expecting something. When nothing happened he carried on. "I was just wondering, um…. Maybe some..?"

Tumblers clicked in Rob’s brain. "Oh, breakfast!" He shrugged. "Sorry, pal, I ate ages ago. I think there’s some cereal in the larder."

Cereal! Terry’s eyes went wide. He had never been reduced to that before.

Rob caught the slightly upset overtones in his friend’s expression. "Sorry. I’m a bit busy." He indicated the culinary construction work around him.

Terry gaped at it with renewed interest, his stomach rumbling. "What’s going on?" Almost unbidden, his paw snaked out to taste a jug of vanilla cream. He yelped and jerked back as a wooden spoon was brought down sharply on his poor fingers.

"Oh, no. Bad boy!" Terry growled softly. He hated it when Rob talked like that. "No taste-testing today. This is for my boss."

Panic resumed in Terry’s mind. He knew that Rob was inviting his boss to dinner in an attempt to grease his way to promotion through buttering him up. Based on Terry’s experience, it could not fail. "But that’s tomorrow! Isn’t it?"

Rob smiled, "Yep. But I’ve got to get things ready. These desserts all need to rest a while before eating. And that means," Rob advanced on Terry, waving the spoon, "don’t touch!"

Terry laughed. "Lighten up, handbag features! Relax a little. You wouldn’t miss just a teeny bit, would you?" He fixed Rob with a large, well-practised puppydog gaze, tail a-wagging, but he shook his reptilian head.

"I’m serious, Terry. I don’t want there to be any risk of messing things up. And you have a bad habit of doing that."

Terry backed away from the food, hurt. "Hey, it does you good to have a laugh."

Rob sighed. One of the few things that irked him was Terry’s catchphrase.

More seriously, Terry continued, "Besides, I wouldn’t do a thing like that."

Rob sighed more deeply. He liked his canine companion, but knew him all too well. "The Cherry Pie Caper?"

Terry looked uncomfortable. "Y’shouldn’t have used brown sugar on it," he muttered to his feet.

"The Meringue Moment?"

Terry blushed furiously and shuffled his paws.

"The Episode That Shall Never Be Spoken Of Again?"

"All right!" yelled Terry. "I’ll keep away from your dumb food. Anyway, there’ll be something on TV by now." He snatched a box of cereal and slunk sulkily from the kitchen.

TV was made for canines, Terry reflected idly. He was lying full length on his stomach on the sofa in front of the box, mesmerised by the pictures. The sofa was the other great battleground in the house, with both of them competing for sole ownership when watching TV. It was the comfiest seat in the lounge, placed for perfect viewing and sound. Having been abruptly blackmailed out of the kitchen still hungry, he had lifted out of his sulk when he had realised that it was the Fur Network’s comedy marathon weekend. He sprawled over the soft cushions, guffawing loudly in between mouthfuls of dry cereal. Well, mostly in between. The cereal was the only dark patch in paradise, he reflected sourly. Huh! Well, who needed all that food anyway? Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Rob opened one of the pots on the stove, sending clouds of savoury steam into the house. Terry cursed his sensitive canine nose once again and tried to concentrate on the TV. It was getting harder.

A few hours of long-distance torture later, Rob emerged from the kitchen. Having had time to build up a really good grievance, Terry didn’t deign to notice him. Rob reached the sofa, and looked over the weighty wolf in residence. "You’re starting to fill that sofa up more and more."

Terry’s ears flicked back, and he growled, "Not funny, Rob."

The ‘gator noted the official Use of his name, and didn’t press his luck. After a few more minutes of standing, he tried again. "You going to move up and give me some room?"

Terry ostentatiously shifted himself into a more comfortable, and more space-consuming, position. Rob shrugged, sat on the small of the wolf’s back, draping his tail up and over Terry’s shoulders and settled back to watch TV. Terry growled ominously. Rob stubbornly made himself comfortable on the wolf’s padded back. Casually, he offered over the bowl he was carrying. Terry’s nose went on alert. Nibbles! Rob was REALLY good at those. He deliberately ignored the plate, but Rob noted the sudden wagging of his friend’s tail with a smile. Hah, who needed to read minds when you could read rumps?

A few minutes later, Rob felt the wagging redouble and heard the quiet but distinctive ‘gronf’ of a canine enjoying a meal. Pretty soon they were both chuckling at the gags: one of the attractions of their sharing a house was their common sense of humour. Rob smiled to himself, and lazily stood, taking the chance to stretch. He popped the plate down by Terry’s nose and ruffled his ears. Terry looked back up at him with a grin, head still on the sofa, all grudges forgotten.

"I’ve got to go and get some more ingredients for tomorrow. See you later, hound." Terry nodded absently, still working on the nibbles. Chuckling, Rob made his way out. He liked Terry. The wolf sulked and acted childishly at times, but he had yet to make one of them last five minutes. Or until the next meal. His cooking and that furball’s eating went well together. Oh, sometimes Rob thought he laughed at more than was good for him, and you had to watch him when cooking, of course. But despite these little frictions, Terry was also genuinely cheery and likeable. You felt good to be around him.

Back in the lounge, Terry was arguing. With himself. He had thought himself through the worst, but that plate of nibbles had reawakened his taste for Rob’s cooking. And one plateful was hardly much, considering the mammoth effort being expended in the kitchen. Maybe Rob had left some more lying about. Compromising on this line, Terry and Terry’s Appetite went out to investigate the kitchen…

Half an hour later, the kitchen was a mess. Of the food, there was little sign. Apart from the stains. There was also a suspicious shortage of wolf. He was in fact cowering upstairs in his room, rubbing at his hugely bulging, aching gut, which was now eclipsing his clothes. The disadvantage of waiting until someone was out, he had come to realise, was waiting for him or her to get back. His imagination was getting really intense about what Rob was going to do to him. What had come over him? He had only meant to taste. And he could hardly claim complete innocence, could he? Not, he prodded his belly, with exhibits A to E here. His acute hearing picked up the sound of the door. He wished he did not have his hearing.

Down in the kitchen, Rob was standing very still and breathing deeply, taking back everything nice that he had ever thought or said about his erstwhile friend. Had he still been holding that stupid grudge? Or was this just naked gluttony? It did not really matter. This went beyond the pale. That fat fleabag had done some stupid things before, but this-- He took another deep breath, but now he just felt like he was going to explode. He wanted to scream. No, he wanted to bite! Rob’s eyes fell on his Nan’s box, untouched. Another thing that she had taught him floated up into his mind. He breathed out, slowly and deliberately. Don’t get angry, get even. Yes. It would be… fitting, too. If he had looked nasty before, his smile was terrifying. Calmly, he picked up a clean plate, opened the box, and set to work on a special family recipe.

Terry had the covers pulled over his head. Why wasn’t he dead? Rob had been down there for almost an hour, and he had not even heard a scream. Just then, he heard the measured, slow treads of scaly Death coming up the stairs. Terry put his paws over his muzzle. Could you die from terminal idiocy? At least he had had a good last meal. The footsteps stopped outside his door. There was an agonising pause.

"You could have at least had the decency to finish the job." Terry very slowly pulled the covers off his head. Rob had not sounded angry, just… tired. There was a muffled clank, and then the footsteps retreated downstairs. Incredulously, the chubby canine crept to the door and opened it a crack, hampered by his vast gut. Outside was a plate of nibbles! Shame burned his cheeks. Was that all that he had missed? But the wicked aroma caught him once again, and his paw took the plate inside. Downstairs, Rob was beginning to regret his decision. He had never done anything like that before. But, he hurriedly reassured himself, the mutt deserved it, just this once. He began clearing up and chuckled softly to himself, "Laugh this one off."

Sunday dawned. To Terry’s surprise, the door to the kitchen was unlocked and free of boobytraps. Rob was in the middle of a frantic storm of activity, trying to lever the lid off a huge pot of treacle. The gator seemed charged with energy. You expected to hear a crackle as he moved. He looked up, but did not stop working. He was not smiling, but he had not leapt at his housemate with a cleaver, either. Rob watched as Terry sidled guiltily into the room. The wolf was still in an old pair of pyjamas, which were the only things that vaguely fitted. The ‘feast’ last night had had a fairly dramatic impact on his belly, which still bulged out a foot or so. He stood near the door, shuffling his feet. Eventually, he spoke to them, or at least, to where his belly blocked his view of them. "I’m really, really sorry about yesterday. You… you aren’t mad, are you?" He flinched automatically, expecting divine wrath to fall on him.

Now it was Rob’s turn for surprise. He had apologised? Now that was worrying. Terry never, ever apologised. Especially if it was his fault. Rob found that he really could not keep his temper up any more and turned to forgive Terry. Unfortunately, at that moment the lid of the treacle tin gave up its battle and flew into the air. Along with the tin. For Rob, everything went black. And sticky.

In the dead silence that followed, there was a muffled snorting noise. Terry put in a supreme effort, but he could not stop himself. He burst out laughing. All thoughts of forgiveness gone, Rob glared at him. Breathless, Terry tried to stop, but one look at Rob’s expression set him into fits again. He laughed so hard that he clutched at his belly as it shook.

Then, it grew. It expanded smoothly and evenly, bulging outwards and then sagging down as gravity claimed the increased bulk. The laughter died in his throat as he gaped. As his giggles stopped, the growth did, too. Even taking that binge into account, he had still gained about twenty pounds. A soft, round belly strained at his pyjamas. They now felt uncomfortably tight, and Terry realised that more fat had appeared everywhere. His exposed sides rippled and bulged with baby love-handles; his rump now pressed the material out to its limit and even his limbs were fatter. A small whimper struggled in his throat, and his paws rubbed over his new bulk, having decided that his eyes were on something.

Rob’s scowl faltered, and then broke into a toothy grin. He watched Terry poke at his belly with wide eyes, which widened further when his finger sank deep into the furry mass. The wolf looked up at him in alarm and confusion, and Rob’s grin became wicked. "You know what they say, Fuzzball: ‘Laugh and you’ll get fat!’"

Understanding slowly worked its way to Terry’s brain, and a look of horror spread on his face, which had also become more rounded, and had acquired a definite double-chin. "You…. You?" he stuttered, pointing a plump, shaking finger at him.

Rob nodded with ill-concealed glee. Well, he might as well make the most of this opportunity, he decided. "Yep. An extra special recipe of my Nan’s." His grin became slightly more normal. "You see, every time you laugh now, you’re going to get just a li’l bit fatter." Seeing Terry’s expression, his smile softened and he said, "Aww, c’mon! You must see the funny side? On second thought," he snorted, "that wouldn’t be a good idea. Don’t worry, it isn’t permanent. It only lasts for about a day. But until then…" Moving like lightning, he stepped over and tickled Terry under his arms. The wolf giggled, then stopped dead as he actually felt his body grow larger and heavier. He heard a loud ripping noise and felt his body sag out of the pyjamas, now a good three or four sizes too small all over. His belly had expanded another inch or two, and there was nothing baby about the love-handles he sported. Several of the seams had burst, and his chubby arms were being pulled out by the tension in the material across his plump chest. Terry’s surprised expression, coupled with large cheeks and bulging neck, made him look like an overgrown cub. Rob reached over and placed a tray of goodies into his plump paws. "Now, I’ve just got time to replace all the food you scoffed yesterday. So you’re going to be a good cub and stay out of the kitchen with these snacks. OK? Of course, if you aren’t a good cub…" his fingers hovered threateningly close to Terry’s rolling sides. Rob turned him towards the door and swatted him on his round backside. "It looks good on you. Oh, and don’t think any funny thoughts!"

Stunned, the round, overflowing wolf nodded and allowed himself to be gently shooed out of the kitchen, still clutching the plate. Out of habit he went to the lounge. The sofa beckoned. With the extra weight, his legs were beginning to complain slightly. His balance felt a bit strange, too. Still half-convinced that he was dreaming, Terry’s free paw explored the new flab. He had never have thought Rob capable of revenge like this. If he had not been the target, he had have been quite impressed at his friend’s deviousness. It was kind of funny when you-- Oh, no; he stamped on that thought as a smile twisted his mouth. He sat down heavily on the sofa. So, all he had to do was not laugh for a while. No problem.

Terry put the snacks down (who knew what they might do to him?), assumed his accustomed position on the sofa, and tried to make himself comfortable. He suddenly discovered that his skin, now very stretched by his blubbery form, was incredibly sensitive. The itchy material of the cushions scratched and rubbed against his corpulent sides, sending tickly tingles across his skin. Terry laughed before he could stop it. There was a loud tearing noise. His rump suddenly felt a lot freer and expanded to fill the space. A loud series of ‘pings’ signified that the buttons of his top had been fired--across the room, he noted sourly. Terry lay very still on the sofa, his ridiculous, fat body spreading out to fill the seats, and trying to not be happy in any way whatsoever. He found it quite easy. To help pass the time, he switched the TV on. His fat paws mashed at the buttons, but he finally got the TV turned on just as he fumbled the remote. He sighed and turned his attention to the screen.

"And now, as part of our Comedy Marathon Weekend, an hour-long special with Mr. Eddie Lizard and--" Terry lunged desperately for the remote, trying to shut his ears off. Not Eddie Lizard! The guy always made him crack up. His paw stretched for the fallen device, pulling his plump body with it. He rolled with distressing ease and plopped belly-first onto the carpet. The plush wall to wall, deep-pile, tickly blue carpet. Oh no! He struggled to reach the remote, but that only made it worse. He clapped a paw over his mouth as the shakes overtook him, sending his flab wobbling and jiggling against the carpet. His cheeks bulged and his face turned purple with the effort of not laughing. Then Lizard launched into his routine. There was a sound like an over-pressured steam-train, and Terry burst out in helpless, racking laughter. His body ballooned outwards, barely slowing as his pyjama’s ripped and tore off his flabby form. He felt his limbs and neck bulging into thicker forms, pushed out by his sides and locked into place. His belly spread and pressed into the carpet, which only made him laugh harder. The growth accelerated, forcing him up onto the growing ball of his gut and rolling him onto his back. The ball sagged and became a rapidly growing mountain that tingled as it grew. Which, of course, tickled him pink.

Rob slid the final tray into the oven and sagged against the counter. He had done it! A record-breaking dinner, if he didn’t say so himself. A jaw-cracking yawn split his scaly features. Well, he could go and put his feet up whilst this lot cooked. He grinned to himself. Maybe he could go and have some fun with Lard-Mutt. After he forgave him, of course. Still grinning, he strolled into the lounge.

The grin stayed in place, but the rest of his features moved away from it. Finally, it gave up and left, too. Lying on the floor in front of the dark TV was the fattest wolf he had ever seen. A planet-sized stomach reared up halfway to the ceiling and spread out in a vast hillock, easily wider than the sofa. Both that and the TV had been shoved backwards by the tide of wolf-fat that had risen against them, and were now almost hidden. Two grey foothills could be seen at the base of the belly, and these rested on what looked like a badly over inflated waterbed that bulged out in a series of large rolls and spare tyres. Two mountainous legs were half-buried under the spreading gut, pushed out wide by the swelling thighs. The tail could barely be seen. The chunky arms had been pushed outwards by the belly’s swelling sides and pinned under as it had overtaken them. They were topped by paws as wide and fat as soup bowls. Thick layers of fat swaddled the neck, pushing the head up and back from the chest. Two moonlike cheeks eclipsed the face. Every now and again the whole shape quivered, accompanied by a weak cough, or maybe a grunt.

Rob managed to pull his jaw off his chest after a few minutes. "Terry?"

There was another spasm from the blimp, and the head craned against its collar of fat. Rob hurried over and squatted down by his stricken friend. "What happened?"

Terry’s eyes flashed fire from behind his cheeks. "When you’ve helped me up," he began in a tightly controlled voice, "I am going to sit down again. On your tail." His voice became more heated as he elaborated. "Then, I’m going to roll over. Over you. Up your body, starting with your toes. Slowly. And then I’m going to bounce on you! Repeatedly! Until I’ve worked this fat off! Then I’ll go get the blunt saw and the rusty razorblade and really get angry!"

"That all depends on whether I help you up to start with." Rob replies evenly. "I warned you not to laugh!"

"Fat lot of good that helped! Mwaha!" Terry barked a brief, bitter laugh at the joke. A faint ‘gloop’ from his middle indicated the added calories.

"Do you want to tell me what happened, or not?"

Well into his stride by now, Terry settled into a silent, gold-medal sulk.

Rob heaved a sigh, and glanced at the TV. "Where’s the remote?"

"Somewhere under me." The sumo-wolf muttered unwillingly, "It turned the TV off when I ‘leant’ on it."

Rob leaned over Terry’s equator and turned the TV on manually. The wolf whimpered at the sound, but Rob was not in the mood for comedy. He switched over to the blessed seriousness of a nature documentary and sat on the sofa. After a few minutes of staring at a wall of wolf-flesh, Rob got back up and sat on Terry. He bounced experimentally. "Mmm, comfy. And I’ve always wanted one upholstered in grey fur." His new sofa glared at him. After a while, Rob began to relax again, and he unconsciously leaned back into the curving surface and yawned. Actually, this was really comfy. Warm, too. Shame about the smell, of course, but it didn’t notice much after a while… Without realising it, Rob slipped off into a deep sleep. He nuzzled the furry flab beneath him as he dreamed, his tail twitching occasionally. Terry sighed dismally and tried to crane around his chest to see the screen.

Rob jerked awake, tired and fuzzyheaded. He smacked his jaws together. Boy, that had been a good nap. He reached out and stretched, grabbing handfuls of his warm, furry mattress…

He leapt upwards even as Terry giggled at the unintentional tickling. His body spread a little further. Rob slid off his side and rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Just then, his nose alerted him to something. Terry smiled innocently up at him and said, "I think something’s burning." Rob bellowed as only an alligator can and hurtled into the kitchen, where clouds of smoke were beginning to pour from the oven. Choking, he opened it and dumped the contents into the sink. Ruined! He glanced at the clock, and his worst nightmare came true. There wasn’t even time to whip up something simple. He would not even just not get promoted. He would probably be sacked for this.

The world took on a vaguely reddish tint. He could not do much about the food, but he could do something about the blame. He stormed into the lounge, nearly kicking the door off its hinges. He was so angry that he actually hauled Terry onto his feet, and nearly off the floor. He glared at the doggy-dirigible and snarled "Why didn’t you wake me?"

Terry glared back, "Have you ever tried waking someone that’s fast asleep on your own belly? Especially when you can’t even reach them." A small smile twitched his features. "C’mon, you must see the funny side in this."

Gravity suddenly caught up with Rob’s arms, and Terry teetered vertiginously. Just then, the doorbell rang, possibly saving Terry’s life. Rob froze, and then, with a rictus of appalled horror on his face, dropped Terry on the sofa, and went to open the door.

Two hours later, he was leaning on Terry’s side, tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked at him. The wolf snorted, and the two of them collapsed into giggles again.

"And wha… and wha… what did he say again, exactly?" asked Terry, trying hard to speak around the aching in his chest.

"He said… that you were… were living proof as to the excellence of my culinary skills!" Rob cracked up again and slumped to his knees. Dinner had not been what he had expected. His boss had taken one look in the lounge and immediately offered him dinner at one of the best and most expensive restaurants around. Which he happened to own. The meal had been wonderful, but Rob could not really remember, because after admitting that he did cook, and that Terry was in that state because of him, he had been offered a place as head chef. And he could choose the menu. It was possibly the most dramatic, and most laughable, promotion in the history of business.

"Rob?"

The big gator wiped his eyes and looked over at his chuckling canine pal. "Yeah?"

"I’ve stopped growing." It was true. The pair of them had been laughing like drains for fifteen minutes, and Terry had not grown any more.

"It must have worn off then." Rob thought for a minute, then patted Terry’s bulk. "I’m sorry that I did this to you. It kind of got out of hand."

Terry snorted, but one ham-sized paw reached up and laid on Rob’s hand. "It’s all right. I shouldn’t really have eaten that food." He looked up at his body with a worried expression. "Looks like diet time for this cub. But I’m too big to get up, now. I’m stuck."

Rob sat for a bit in deep thought, then started laughing again.

"What?" Terry smiled despite himself.

"I think… I think I know another recipe that might help."

It was Saturday again. Terry smiled as he wandered into the kitchen and sat at the counter, his rotund belly pressing against it. The only thing he had lost during the week was his desire to lose weight. Rob had whipped up something he referred to as ‘Nan’s Everstrong Stew’. Terry had nervously eaten some and had suddenly felt his legs unfold and haul him upright. He had no trouble in getting around, now. And he had discovered that things were a lot more relative at this size. Mainly, he could eat as much as he liked without it having much visible effect on his already massive frame. Plus, he had a great advantage in the sofa war. Unfortunately, Rob had announced him comfier than the sofa and used him for preference, but Terry decided that he could live with that.

It had been a good week, Rob decided. He had found himself a screaming success as a chef and had been given this month’s wages in advance. A lot of that had been used to buy some outsized clothing and a few large, strong chairs. Terry was overflowing both at this moment as he eagerly watched his friend prepare breakfast, rubbing his massive paunch in anticipation and setting his massive frame a-jiggle.

Rob had also started experimenting for new dishes that he could use for the restaurant. And guess whose expertise in food tasting he had turned to? Terry drooled as a truly massive plateful of special eggs and bacon was placed in front of him by a grinning Rob. Well, it only proved what he had always been saying: it definitely did you good to laugh.