It was the end of another stressful day at the office for Roland. He'd recently gotten promoted to head of the department, but that meant he just had so much more on his plate. Before, he was fine, but now he felt like he needed an extra set of hands just to make a dent in his mountains of paperwork. As luck should have it, he found an ad in the mall for this peculiar set of coats that could help with just that. So without further delay, he bought himself one Shortstack Collection and went home to his apartment to try it out.
"Now let's see here," Roland read from the pamphlet provided, "It says here to put the trench coat on first. Okay... well, if this works, then I guess I'll eat my own hat. Here goes nothing." He put the trench coat on, snapping all the buttons closed. It was too long for his body, to be sure, the bottom hem sweeping the ground, and the sleeves covering his hands. Nothing seemed to be happening, however.
He was just about to call this a bust when suddenly his center of balance went out of whack. He fell over with a mighty thud onto his butt... his much more bulbous butt. He stood up to find that he had become incredibly short, with a butt and thighs that were triple their old size, and genitals that were double. It actually worked! The coat actually did work! But... that would mean there should be two clones of himself, right?
"Yeesh! That could've gone better," said a crimson skinned Roland with little white horns, "Guess it worked, though. Look at me! I look like I belong on a whiskey bottle!"
"Yeah, well, look at me!" added a Roland looking anthro beagle, "I'm a dog with a big butt! You don't see that every day!"
"Okay, listen up now," Roland addressed his clones, "We got a lot of stuff to cover now that we know apparently magic is real or whatever. First, we can't all be called Roland. That would get confusing quickly. So, what should we call each other?"
"I propose we call me Rowan," the red skinned one suggested, "and listen, I know we're doing this to split up the workload at the office, but do we really need all three of us up there at once? How about one of us stays here, huh?"
"Uh, that is a bad idea," the beagle chided, "because I know me, and you'd just blow through my life savings on porn. As for me, I would like to be called Logan."
"Well we gotta think of something," Roland told his clones, "because we still need to figure out how we're going to explain this to everyone back at the office."