You don't give up,
You sneaky twat!
We'll just have
to see about that!
You've lost your junk,
Then your fingertips.
Now on your face
are some other lips!
Andy groaned in defeat. He'd gotten another weird change! The poem was more vulgar, was the machine getting angry?
But the change was upon him. His whole head felt fuzzy, like he might faint. The flesh of his face felt melty and he could feel it shifting around. He staggered, dizzy and off balance, to a crane machine that had a mirrored back panel. He watched in horror as his liquid flesh creeped around, reforming his mouth. He felt his jawbone recede, changing shape. His teeth were already gone. For a while his mouth gaped as his nose melted away. But suddenly it clenched up, tightening rapidly as his lips re-formed vertically. Where his nose once was, there emerged a little nub of flesh that buzzed and thrummed as even air passed over it until is was concealed by a fleshy hood.
As the changes finalized, he realized he'd known what was coming as soon as he saw the poem. Instead of a mouth and nose, he had a perfectly-formed feminine slit dividing his face. He worked his jaw, or what was left of it. The two little nubs of bone didn't seem to do much but make his orifice gape a little. He sighed, and realized he was now breathing through a little hole at the base of his neck, a stoma. He tried to groan, but he couldn't make any noise at all. He didn't even have a tongue anymore. Andy was now a fuckfaced armless udder-thing.