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“I’ll have the um… the Blueberry Blaster Tart, the Cherrybomb Bakewell, and the Triple Terror Donut, how much is that?”


Thomas dutifully lifted the glass partition, and sleeved the complexly shaped pastries into a paper bag emblazoned with the Biggs Bakery logo. A large, cartoonish explosion, and the eponymous Mister Bigga Biggs illustrated front and centre. Pictured enjoying one of his enterprises specialty donuts with a Cheshire smile. The exuberant logo gave customers an inkling of what to expect from the aeronautic giants new baking enterprise, as it soon became clear that – like everything else in toontown – the confections themselves had cartoonish repercussions upon consumption. Thomas smiled, dreamily considering a midnight gorge of the store’s colourful stock. All the way his body would expand, change, stretch, and differ from his norm. His new norm… which was still taking some getting used to.


The cash register dinged, and Thomas rung up the total. Ten Inkington Dollars, the local currency. He reached forward to receive the money, and stopped dead. His hand was smooth, and technicolour. All the fine hairs, microscopic pores, and realistic elements of his human identity had been erased last week as part of his induction to Mr. Bigga Biggs company. Ballooning to the size of a zeppelin, and exploding into bright confetti was all it took to transform him from a human into a toon. And even though it was a welcome transformation, he was sometimes staggered when he remembered the permanency of the change.


He wondered if it really was permanent. Everything moved at a breakneck pace from the moment he stepped off the bus. He wandered without a way to support himself financially, and ran headfirst into the silver tongued Bigga Biggs scheme to use him as a human advertising balloon. Then he inflated and watched his human edges smooth out in real time, until he popped. Literally. Which felt quite freeing, he remembered. After which he woke up in his employer’s limo, and was then ferried to his new apartment in East Inkington.


Where he was told that in addition to being a weekly ad balloon, he would be working three days a week at Biggs flagship bakery.


“Um… is something wrong?” His customer, a large green fox-like toon, wider than tall stood there confused for the entire length of Thomas’ mental recollection. He held a ten ink-dollar bill in his paw, and graciously waited for Thomas to come back to reality.


“Ah! No! Sorry, sorry sir!” Thomas said with an anxious start. He quickly made sure to take the gentleman’s money, and gave him his bag of piping hot baked goods. The fox looked at him carefully, before a toothy grin changed the entirety of his face into something equal parts friendly and cunning.


“Yer a new convert, aren’t you? Still getting used to life in technicolour?” The fox said, his voice was deep and resonant. Thomas swore it shook the glass.


It was a slow day, and they were the only two people in the small East-end storefront. Thomas didn’t see much harm that could be done by a quick chat with a customer.


“Only a week, last Friday. I stepped off the bus and forgot my wallet, hah… then this big blue cat in a red suit—“


“Ah wait, let me guess. Gold eyes, pinstripe pattern on his suit, big talking boss man. Suckered you into being his new boom-boy?”


Thomas widened his eyes. He knew his boss was a stand-out character, but he had no idea that he had such a reputation; and a devious one at that…


“Exactly! He picked me up right off the street, and before I knew it I was getting fitted with one of those stretchy shirts to advertise this place! Like… don’t get me wrong, sir, it’s a great job. It’s just, you know, so overwhelming? Just last month I was working in an office, the most exciting thing being the drive home. Now I’m—a cartoon! There’s so much I don’t know yet…”


“Eh. Don’t rush it mate. Everything happens in Inkington for a reason. So long as it’s part of an entertaining plot, you can do almost anything. I’m surprised you still look the same as you did when you got here, usually Biggs employees get their re-design as an introduction.”


“Redesign?” Thomas replied.


“Yeah. Y’know… like, I used to be a human too. Bout five foot something, messy hair, I was fat but I wanted to be fatter. Like, a lot fatter. Now look at me! But hey, don’t worry about it, keep your chin up. Just go with whatever feels right for you.”


“Whatever feels right for me…”


The fox nodded at Thomas and left the shop. His fat, blubbery body, bulging through the doorway like dough. Once outside, he took a bite of a Blueberry Blaster. The pastry literally bulged once it was cooked, and had the bizarre effect of turning a person into a walking blueberry. His nose instantly turned a shade of violet, and his fur changed hue very slowly from green to blue, and deeper and deeper shades of blue therefore. He walked off, and Thomas was left to think.


“A redesign. I can be anything I want?”


Hours went by in a daze. Thomas kept up with the lunchtime rush without incident. Proffering pastries that made people taller, fatter, blew them up like balloons, shrunk them, stretched them, coloured them funny colours; twisted them into funny shapes; and some which were just innocently plain but lively with taste, judging by his customers faces. At the end of his shift, around six o’clock, the instigator of his wacky new life came by when the shutters were down. Bigga Biggs seemed to be in especially high spirits. Thomas remained unnerved.


“My boy, my big pumped up boy! You’ve really come into your own, the customers love you. Love you. ELL OH VEE EE. WHY OH YOU. Why I think we can promote you to manager, and have you quit doing your ol’ balloon and rope trick every week. Whaddayasay? How’s your first week on the job been sonny boy?”

“Err… it’s been good. Though I guess I feel…” Thomas muttered.


“What do you feel my boy? Elated, happy, excited?”


“Boring.”


Bigga Biggs was taken aback by that. He lit up a cigar, which cast a deep orange glow over his sharp sartorial pinstripe suit in the low light of the closing bakery. He snapped his lighter shut, and gave Thomas a critical once-over, before piping up.


“Guess it’s time for your redesign buddy, from how well you took to expanding into the clouds like the biggest darn blimp I’ve ever seen, I thought you might be settled with the ol’ ‘amazing human balloon’ gig. Guess even a fat cat like me gets it wrong sometimes.” Bigga Biggs exhaled a ring of grey smoke. “So… you given any thought t’how you want this to go down?”


Thomas shifted nervously on the spot. He scratched an itch on one ankle with his opposite foot, and took a deep breath. He knew exactly how he wanted to be redesigned, but instead of feeling the same trepidation as before, he felt deep uncertainty. Quietly, he went to his backpack behind the counter, and pulled out a sketchbook. A friend had once drawn a cartoonish character, whom Thomas frequently envisioned himself embodying. The obese fox toon from earlier reminded him just how much he wanted to become the image printed within his sketchbook, and having confirmation that it was possible was… a dream come true. Though, like any dream, Thomas was worried that it could be snatched away by some hidden clause or rule that he hadn’t discovered.


With an unsteady hand, he flipped the pages, and showed the image to Bigga Biggs.


His boss’ eyes lit up. “You suuuuuure? That’s an awfully big redesign. It’s easier to add on, than it is to take away. If you’re committed, we can get started right away. Right here, right now, but you gotta be sure.”


Thomas steeled himself. He placed the sketchbook on the counter, and answered his boss with a loud, and unstoppable “yes.”


What happened next was, at the time, the strangest and most wonderful thing to befall Thomas.


Bigga Biggs clicked his fingers, and his cronies – the mechanic cats in their overalls – flooded in through the doorway. They took Thomas, and measured him, squeezed him and prodded him. He barely had time to protest before one of them jammed a triple stuffed donut into his mouth as a gag. He bit into it by mistake, and felt a wave of euphoria shake him down to his socks. A loopy state of mind took over, and the sound of tearing fabric. He was fed another, and it went down smooth. Then another, and another. It became a constant conveyor of overall wearing toons stuffing donuts into his mouth, expanding his cheeks when he couldn’t fit any more, and swallowing them in a gargantuan gulp.


The taste was so overwhelmingly sweet that it took him a long time to notice that he was growing. Both in height, and width. Like the fox from earlier had once he left the store. He looked down to see the spaces between his shirt buttons billow outwards like windsails, pressured by the bulging ovals of bare flesh from his rapidly fattening midsection. It felt good when the first button popped, so Thomas let out an involuntary sigh. Then the shirt didn’t so much pop open, as explode off of his behemothian body.


“You still sure about this?” Bigga Biggs asked, as Thomas was fed an entire tray of cream eclairs that pushed him beyond the size of a regular man. His stomach almost hitting the floor, as his thighs made quick work of his smart work trousers and continued to form new rolls of fresh blubber with each magical calorie he consumed. Bigga Biggs decided he didn’t need a verbal answer. The way Thomas was now readily accepting ascending sizes of cakes and donuts to fatten out like a human landmass, was a prompt, and satisfying answer. The cat’s eyes gleamed with ideas of new business ventures he could use Thomas for at the end of his transformation.


“Mmph. More, more please. I wanna be the biggest thing in Inkington!” Something snapped inside of Thomas. He felt his old identity starting to drift away with the loss of his clothing. He was a great, naked, parody of a man. His hair brushed the ceiling. Feeders were setting up ladders to reach his greedy maw, almost eclipsed by blubbery cheeks and double chins. His arms, and legs, were round, thick, pudgy mimicries of their former selves. It felt wonderful. Total freedom. His stomach pressed against the cool glass of the bakery front window, and like he had managed with his first inflation, his rapid growth attracted a crowd.


Bigga Biggs graciously exited the bakery before he became trapped by the human cartoon’s wall of fat, and instructed his boys to connect a hose of the ‘good stuff’ before they too followed suite outside.


Thomas clamped his mouth around the feeding hose, and let a sugary grey substance pour into him. He blew up, ballooned, and grew. Until the glass promptly shattered, and exposed a strangely grey belly instead of the peach hue his human skin had been. He glugged and drank deeply, entranced by the warm fuzzy feeling spreading up from his toes. His skin was changing colour, to shades of grey, black, and white.

It was the oddest sensation to grow a muzzle. The ears popped out easily, and the whiskers tickled. He tried to close his hand, to find his claw tips now pressing against his paw pads. From above his buttocks, he felt tails sprout and grow to full length. The ends of which terminated in white furry hands.


The floor shook, and the ceiling began to come away. Thomas in his new anthropomorphic state had filled the bakery to capacity, and was squeezed into a rectangular shape while his blob-like body pushed through the fire exit, windows, and doors for release. He glugged, addicted to the transformation. Cracks were forming in the walls, and debris fell as Thomas’ wobbling body powdered the bricks and mortar.





Thomas tensed, and spat the hose out. He sucked in his gut… some of it, a part of it, or whatever he could really. Then flexed. His royally fat body surged, and blew the bakery apart to reveal his redesign to the world. He towered over everyone, he was a blob of colour, fat, and fox-like features atop a body rippling with the exuberance of his new existence. He was a great fox, with full lips, fat cheeks, green eyes, and a hungry stare. His tails spread out, finding new treats for him to devour. His fur was illustrated to resemble a tuxedo as an optical illusion, adding a touch of sophistication to his design.


Bigga Biggs applauded, while others stared in horror, or awe. Thomas didn’t particularly care at this point. A single thought dominated his mind, free from the constrictions of his diminutive human concepts.


“Good work my boy!” Bigga Biggs yelled. “What do you want to do now, the toon world awaits, this is the time to define your character after all.”


Thomas didn’t hesitate, gluttony took the wheel.


“I want to be BIGGER!”