The Lecherous Leprechaun hovered above the dockyard, cackling like a lunatic at an open mic night. “Oh, lads… lads! You thought I was done? That was just the appetizer! Let’s move on to the main course of mayhem!” He raised his glittering cane, and with a flash of eldritch green light, another wave of magic slammed into the half-naked heroes.
Blue Boxer barely had time to groan. “Oh no—”
POOF!
In an instant, his tall, muscular frame rippled and shrunk, his toned torso deflating like a leaky punching bag. And the world suddenly felt bigger. Much bigger.
When the light cleared, Blue Boxer stood—wide-eyed, bare-footed, and unmistakably eleven years old. His shamrock-patterned briefs hung loose, slipping awkwardly on his smaller hips. His abs had vanished, replaced by the slim, wiry frame of a pre-teen boy. He stared at his knobby knees and smaller hands in disbelief.
“Wh—what the hell!?” His voice cracked, youthful and panicked. He grabbed his face, poking at the soft, rounder cheeks beneath his now oversized domino mask. “You turned me into a kid!”
The Leprechaun wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “A wee sprout you are now, Blue Babbler! Maybe you can go back to school and learn how not to monologue every five seconds!”
Then he turned to Lumberjack. “And as for you, mountain man... let’s give you a makeover!”
BLORP.
Lumberjack didn’t shrink—he expanded. Instantly.
His brawny lumberjack frame ballooned outward with a grotesque squelch. His pecs turned to pudding, arms jiggling like sacks of wet dough. His belly swelled, round and wobbling like a beer keg strapped to a waterbed. His shamrock briefs clung for dear life, practically swallowed by the canyon of his gut as it bounced forward.
“URRRRRRP.” Lumberjack blinked, disoriented, one hand resting atop the immense curve of his belly. “What the heck did you—BRRAAAAP!—do to me!?”
The Leprechaun doubled over in laughter. “You look like you wrestled a stack of flapjacks and lost! You’re more lardjack than lumberjack now!”
Blue Boxer stared up in disbelief. “Oh man… Jack… you’re—”
“Don’t. Say. It.” Lumberjack growled, trying to peer over his stomach and failing miserably. “I can’t even see my feet…”
“You’re barefoot,” Blue Boxer offered helpfully, then winced. “And uh… bouncing.”
“BRRAAP! I feel it,” Jack groaned. “Every step jiggles like a busted waterbed…”
The two stood awkwardly in the moonlight—an 11-year-old kid and a 300-pound flabby brute—both wearing ill-fitting shamrock briefs.
Blue Boxer crossed his skinny arms, cheeks reddening. “This is… deeply undignified.”
The Leprechaun twirled mid-air, clapping with glee. “Oh, I haven’t had this much fun in ages! Tell you what, boys—I’ll leave you like this for now. Gives you time to reflect! And jiggle. And squeak through puberty again!” With one last burst of mocking laughter, the Lecherous Leprechaun vanished into a twinkle of magic and glitter, leaving the transformed heroes stranded on the dock.