You waddle to the snack bar and sit down on a seat for both buttcheeks, glad to get your weight off your feet though you fear the creaking wood underneath you. You know you best eat soon and fast before you have to pay for another pair of chairs so you're quick to order several hotdogs with the works and large sodas.
It takes you only a matter of minutes to devour your snack, greedily finishing off hotdogs in two or three bites each and washing them down by gulping your sodas. Content as you'd be to sit here and eat for as long as you can, you realize you've just arrived and haven't done a whole lot.
You stand up and wobble a bit while you get your bearings, the stools practically sigh in relief at no longer bearing the burden of your butt. Though your snack, like most things, are free, you give the chef your compliments in the form of a gurgled belch, knowing you'll be coming back for fifths later...
Then you remember. /This/ isn't you. At least, not how you're supposed to be. You notice your hand, looking at your fat palms and sausage-like fingers, pudgy, short things. Your arms are round and thick, like trees growing out of you, hard to lift or move around. Your stomach is the most noticeable thing about you, a bloated ball-shaped giant sticking out in front of you, left revealed by the comparably tiny bit of fabric you call a shirt which only really covers your upper chest now, though you can see through the folds that you've got an impressive set of moobs on you. You can't see your legs but you can tell, from what you can feel, that your rear is at least a whole yard wide.
You waddle as fast as your thighs allow you to back to the funhouse and stare into one of the more normal mirrors. Your body is all you imagined it to be and more. Your face looks affected too, your neck long gone under an extra chin and cheeks that make you look like a squirrel or chipmunk.