"I grow bored of you all..." The witch gloated to herself. She raised her palm and waved it over the audience in a sweeping motion. In unison the crowd were struck with the evil magic. Knocking the breath from their chests, they gave a collective, weezing squeal.
Carla, fast becoming a fat sow, gazed up to witness the audience's porcine transformation:
A group of boys, all about 13 or 14, grunted pitifully as their noses erupted into snouts. They struggled to speak and yell, but snorts only escaped from their elongating faces.
A middle aged woman, oversized bossoms competing underneath her t-shirt, jolted forward in her seat. Her already large behind began to ooze, wobbling, out of her jeans. She pitched forward even further and three more pairs of breaks crowded into her shirt. She shreiked, but already her womanly cry was becoming a squeal.