As Dr. Clowngoggles pulled out his trusty screwdriver, placed both it and the Yo-Yo Ray on a nearby table, he asked, "If you boys want to have some fun, why not go to the malt shop, my treat!"
With that, he pulled out several dollar notes and a handful of coins. After a beat, the boys shrugged, took the spare change from the old man, and strolled toward the gym's exit, talking amongst themselves.
"Malt shop? Do those even exist any more?"
"Not since the 50s. Why don't we go to the mall? We can get some new threads there."
"Not with this pocket money, we can't. How about the cinema? We could sneak into an R rated flick, just like old times."
"Hey, why don't we go to the arcade? They're retro, nostalgic and fun. I think there's one on Harbor Boulevard."
"Sounds like a plan! I'm gonna cream you guys at Polybius!"
"Shouldn't we do something about our clothes first?"
As the conversation drifted away, Dr. Clowngoggles muttered "Yes, yes, a malted shake will do those lads good." He was too focused on his Yo-Yo Ray to even pay attention to their inane chatter. "Hmm. Yes. If I shift this doohickey, and jigger this pokery..."
----------
About an hour later, Dr. Clowngoggles held up his hairdryer-like device with a beaming smile. "At last, I should have you boys back to men in just a jiffy!" He spun around, only to encounter a cycling class currently in session. "Huh, I must have been recalibrating longer than I expected... Now, where did those lads get to." He scratched his head, then snapped his fingers. "Of course, the malt shop! I gave them enough change for a malt and a burger each. Oh wait, I forgot to adjust for inflation... I hope they don't mind sharing."
Dr. Clowngoggles hopped into his patented Giggle Car, powered by his very own laughs and the laughter he often heard around him, and drove down to the malt shop. To his dismay, it had closed 3 decades ago. "I could have sworn it was here only yesterday!" He declared with a kick of the heel. In its place was a boldly colored, neon-streaked establishment. A large, flashing sign read RETROVILLE ARCADE. "I can't fathom where those lads might have jetted off to," the doctor said in dismay. "Maybe someone inside this game parlour could provide some assistance."
Dr. Clowngoggles instinctively covered his ears and eyes as he entered the arcade, bombarded by a cacophony of sound and light. Sure, he was eccentric, but even he wasn't this loud! It was a safe haven for kids of all ages. Maybe they decided to stick around here. Though, come to think of it, he wasn't entirely certain who he was looking for. He should have committed their faces to memory! He wandered the arcade machines in a daze, hoping to find a hint of who he was seeking.
Finally, he came across a group of boys gathered around a booth with attached plastic guns, shooting at oncoming pixelated zombies. They looked to be the appropriate age group. There were, by his count, about seven lads altogether, also the appropriate number. They were wearing oversized tank tops, baggy pants, and shoes far too big for their own good, another appropriate observation. Surely, these were the lads he was supposed to help! And just in time, as a big flashing GAME OVER appeared on the screen.
"Ah, there you boys are!"
"Dr. Clowngoggles?"
"I believe that I've fully recalibrated my Yo-yo Ray! All it took were a few tweaks. I adjusted the doohickey and switched the goober with the thing-a-ma-jig. With any luck, I've bypassed the current time limit, and accelerated the process of reversion. Now, allow me to unyo-yo the yo-yo!"
"Yo? No, I think-"
"Oh nonsense, you've had your fun." Dr. Clowngoggles tapped a few commands into his keypad, twisted a knob on the side of the device, and pointed it at the gang of boys. "Now, time to turn you back to your meathead selves!"
"Doc, We're not-"
The lad's voice was swallowed by the erupting cannon of blue light that burst from the device, and enveloped each boy with its glow. Dr. Clowngoggles smiled proudly as he stood back to allow them space to return to their proper selves. The changes were near-instantaneous as the pre-teens suddenly found themselves being pushed through puberty at a rapid pace. Their light groans dropped in octaves into guttoral grunts. Their growing bodies filled up their baggy clothes until they were being pushed to their limits by their stupendous growth spurts, and bulging brawn. Thick, unbridled body hair cropped up all over their bodies, and the unmistakable stench of sweat-glistening muscle filled the air. Within seconds, they were back to being beefcake adults who should have been frequenting the gym rather than an arcade.
Although, looking at them now, Dr. Clowngoggles conceded that he had made a mistake. What were once young guys in their twenties and thirties were now middle-aged men in their forties and fifties. They were brawnier than ever, with hefty muscles piled underneath padded layers of fat. Bodies built for size instead of aesthetics. Not to mention the multitudes of body hair teeming from their extra-tight tank tops, each being stretched out by bulbous pecs and rounded stomachs. There was a variety of facial hair on display from rounded goatees, to trim mustaches, to bushy beards. Each face fuzz was stained with varying degrees of prematurely greyed hairs. Not a single one of them had their original hairline, with only two of the lads still maintaining some form of hairstyle at all. The rest were shaved bald with what remained of their locks merely a shadow on their scalp.
"Oh dear, it appears I may have spun my gears a bit too far to the right. You're more seasoned weightlifters than amateur bodybuilders. But not to worry, I can always make adjustments!"
"What did you do to us, Doc?" One of the men grumbled in a gruff bass. He appeared to be the youngest, in his early forties, with a dark brown beard that transitioned to white at the chin. He was also the buffest, with boulder-like biceps and a flatter stomach than his exceedingly wide torso suggested. he was rubbing the top of his nude scalp with a look of disgruntlement, albeit with a faint smile.
"I think he turned us into men!" Said another. He was somewhere in his fifties, with a suave chevron mustache, and one of the lucky two to still have hair for him to clumsily comb a hand through, slicking the thinning locks back in a failed attempt to cover his bald spot.
"He said weightlifters, is that why we're so big?" Spoke up the largest of the group, who also happened to be the oldest by a mile. He was somewhere in his sixties, the doc noted close to his own age, with a white goatee and a large belly that protruded out like a beach ball. Even the rug of hair that swamped his torso was a brilliant white. Not that he seemed to mind. He rubbed his inflated gut with a slight smile that deepened the wrinkles across his weathered face, and creased his much expanded forehead.
Dr. Clowngoggles frowned as the brawny blokes examined their new furry bulk with curiousity. He had a feeling he'd made more than just a slight miscalculation.
"Yo, Dr. C!" A young voice piped up from behind him. He spun around to see a group of seven pre-teens in age-appropriate clothes storming towards him. They stood hands on hips, arms crossed, shaking their heads, or tapping their feet impatiently. "What are you doing, Doc? That beam was meant for us!"
"You mean you young lads were the ones I yo-yo'd into boyos?"
"Exactly!" Declared the smallest boy in anger. The former gym nuts were gazing up at their middle-aged counterparts with a mix of awe and envy. Why did they get to be so strong and brawny without putting in the effort, while they'd been reduced to puny weedlings with nary a muscle to flex? It was an injustice! "What are you doing giving those kids all of our hard earned muscles!"
"Now now, boys. There was no transference afoot. Your muscles are still safe and sound in your future bodies. There was just a slight miscommunication. Can you blame me? You've all changed your clothes since last we met. How was I suppose to know those baggy clothed brats weren't yourselves? What kind of ninny intentionally dresses in such a fashion?"
"We're right here, you know," said one of the extra beefy men with a pair of pecs that jutted out from his chest past any sense of normalcy, and a belly to match. He was currently fondling the large salt and pepper beard that engulfed his chin and neck with its furry wonder, in direct contrast to the expanse of smooth skin across his bald pate. It gently brushed along his globular, hirsute pecs as he turned his head this way and that, gazing at his mature appearance in his phone camera with a look of infatuation.
"Yeah, we tried to tell him we weren't who he was looking for," piped up another, incredibly hirsute weightlifter, the other lucky lad to still be clinging to what remained on his scalp. Albeit, his hairline had receded several inches into the classic M shape that complemented his grey-stained goatee. He was scratching at the overgrowth beneath his armpits, before smiffing his fingers, face cringing in disgust. "Ugh! Why would we want to be hairy, smelly, old brutes? I don't like this one bit." A few of the large men murmured in agreement.
"You heard them," the leader of the pre-teens declared in his crackling falsetto. "Use that Yo-Yo and fix us, yo!"
"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that," Dr. Clowngoggles sighed. "As I said, the ray is a prototype, and thus unpredictable. I was hoping my recalibrations would bypass the wait for you to yo-yo back to your original forms. Instead, I think it merely accelerated the effects on those lads, which is why they've become such hairy, middle-aged strongmen. Who knows how else it affected them." The Doc tugged on his eccentric braces, then stroked his double chin with a long hum. "Hmmmm, I'm going to have to return to the lab and work out the kinks, I'm afraid."
"But what about our muscles!" An exceedingly wimpy boy squeaked out. "I've got a date tonight, she's gonna think I've been catfishing her!"
"Forget your muscles, what about our youth?" A bald-headed, grey-mustachioed, craggy-faced weightlifter growled, his voice particularly gravelly. "I can't go home looking like this! My mom's not going to believe I'm her son when I look more like my grandpa!"
"All things in due course, my boys!" The Doc delcared. "Your musculature will return in time, even without having to touch a hair on these manly gentlemen's chinny chin chins!" He reached up and plucked a silvery hair from the man's horseshoe shaped 'stache, who glanced at it with trepidation. "And you gentlemen will also return to your original, youthful selves eventually too. I hope. I'm afraid things have gotten all topsy turvy..."
The boys and men all grumbled amongst themselves. "Uhm, question?" A man who looked to be about fifty, with a stomach that extended over his waistline, and possibly more hair on his shoulders and back than he ever would have had on his shiny, bald head, stuck a meaty hand up into the air. "What if we don't want to turn back? I like being big and fuzzy. I feel like a human teddy bear." The man squeezed himself in a big hug with a haughty giggle.
"Good question," Dr. Clowngoggles said with a nod of approval. "I'm afraid your reversion is entirely dependable on the Yo-Yo Ray working as intended. What goes up must come down and what not. I could find a way to decelerate or even halt the effects on your bodies. But there's no guarantee it'll work."
"Aw," the man sighed dejectedly and hung his head down, his curly greying beard tickling his even greyer chest hairs. Dr. Clowngoggles noted a few other crestfallen faces, both man and boy. Maybe there was a way to satisfy everyone...
"Well, there's no use standing around moping, lads. Why don't we all call it a day?"