Don't Laugh at Me, Don't Call Me Names / Don't Get Your Pleasure from My Pain
“People who love themselves, don’t hurt other people. The more we hate ourselves, the more we want others to suffer.”
Pearce, Dan. (2011). Single Dad Laughing. CreateSpace Independent Publishing.
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Jacob wasted a few more minutes making small talk with Emily until, inevitably, Michael – that lunkhead of a jerk Emily fancied – pulled up and stole her away from Jacob.
With a heavy sigh and a heart laden with self-pity, Jacob shuffled indoors … and was immediately body-slammed to the smooth, linoleum floor by his own mother!
“You!” growled mom in a menacing tone Jacob had never before heard her use. “You're that stupid twerp from school: Jacob, right? That fat toad of a loser I beat up last week. Did you do this to me? Answer me you turd: did you change me into a chick?”
For a moment Jacob was too befuddled by the bizarre turn of events to even speak. Then it started to sink in: Kaitlyn's ridiculous copper ring was behind all this! That stupid magic doughnut they'd found had somehow been activated and … and … oh, shit! Kaitlyn's dumb Toroid of Transformation had changed Jacob's mom into that pimply-faced, musclebound dick from school that was always picking on people and beating up Jacob and his friends. Mom had become Josh Miller?!
“Y-Y-You're Josh?” gasped Jacob, struggling to free himself from the grip of the forty-year old woman who currently had him in a choke hold.
“Yeah, shit-for-brains!” snapped Josh. “And somehow I could changed into … what … your mom?! What the fuck is going on? Change me back, right now!”
The two wrestled for a moment in a surreal exchange of familial violence. The body of Jennifer Smith was older and a bit out-of-shape: pudgy and plump around the thighs, hips, and breasts in the fashion usual for middle aged, middle class housewives in this neck of reality. But she fought with the crazed, frenzied fury of a pissed off, hot blooded, regular teenage boy who'd just been bodyswapped against his will into a frumpy soccer mom. It was clear Jacob (never that well adapted for physical challenges in the first place) was outclassed and could do little to extricate himself from the grappling arms and legs (clad in designer label apparel) of what, for all practical purposes, appeared to be his own materfamilias.
“Change me back, shit head,” snarled 'mom.' “Change me back right this motherfucking minute, or I swear I'll beat the living shit out of you, loser!”
From his prone position on the kitchen floor, Jacob was able to do little more than passively scan the room with his eyes: the tarnished ring of bronze responsible for this mess had fallen to the ground not more than two feet from his current location. If Jacob could just free his left arm, perhaps he could snatch the Toroid and quickly wish things back to normal (assuming that's even how the cursed thing worked – still, it was worth a shot).
What happens?
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