You're on the couch, sitting next to your mother while watching television. She drinking straight from a wine bottle after a rough day at work and apparently an even rougher train ride home. Thankfully tomorrow was the start of her weekend, but it was troubling seeing her drinking this heavily. The TV was tuned into the news, just wrapping up yet another story about a terrorist attack or whatever and starting a very troubling story.
"The United States in confused turmoil this morning as citizens start rapidly gaining weight for what appears to be no apparent reason," the news anchor begins, "Baffled and panicked bystanders swarmed both local authorities and news stations with alerts to this phenomenon as medical professionals scramble to find a cause. Affected citizens are reportedly ballooning up to elephantine size with a combination of both adipose tissue and bodily gasses, and have a near inability to control their gaseous emissions." The report was punctuated with footage of 30-foot wide swollen, sweaty people with varying degrees of discomfort on their faces. Most of them barely resembled people and looked more like jiggling blobs with chunky arms and legs and a pudgy head. Many of them were still able to walk, but about as many had become immobile due to their condition.
"Wound up trapped underneath one of them on the train home," you mother said, "Wound up right in between their steamy ass cheeks and had a monster of a fart blasted down my throat. Dang gasbags are probably gonna overrun the city the way things are going. Yeah, people have been calling them gasbags, on account of all that burping and farting they're doing all day. A couple co-workers blew up during a meeting and gassed us all out of the conference room. Crazy times right now." She took another swig of her wine, her brow glistening with sweat, "It's not that I hold anything against these people turning into big, fat, sweaty gasbags. It's just that now my mouth tastes like feces from that fart I was trapped into because a gasbag sat on me and laid it on me! It was a wet one too... It was awful..."
"It's *BWORP!* awful!" one of the affected had been brought in for an interview, "Everything feels so bloated and *BUUURRPP!!* no matter how much I let them out, I can't relieve the pressure! I fart and I fart and I fart, but my stomach still hurts. At the very least... the disgusting stench I'm making is starting to grow on me... like everything else. Maybe I'm developing some kind of fetish about being a gasbag?"
"All in the space of a day," mother groans, having drained her bottle. Of course, there's no way it could happen to me, anyway." The second she finished her thought, your mother let out an absolutely mammoth burp. Both of you went silent, waiting for something to happen.