The ride back to Flatulent Fatso’s lair was a jarring, sloshy ordeal.
Blue Boxer and Ken—still tiny, still naked—were jostled inside the jar like bugs in a blender. Each step the villain took sent them bouncing off the glass walls, occasionally colliding into each other or landing in an undignified pile. The muffled hum of traffic outside and the gentle squish-squish of Fatso’s thighs were their ambient soundtrack.
"You know," Blue Boxer muttered, clinging to a sticky gum wrapper lodged at the bottom of the jar, "I've been in a lot of weird situations. Mind-control gas. Vampire bikers. That time the mayor turned into a crab. But this? This is a new one."
Ken, covering himself with both arms, groaned. "And he smells like ham. Why does everything smell like ham?"
“It’s his cologne. Eau de Lunchmeat.”
Suddenly, the jar tilted. The world spun. Then—
Plop.
They landed on a marble countertop in what looked like a palatial bathroom. All chrome fixtures and overdone faux-gold trim, like a luxury spa smashed into an eccentric billionaire’s man-cave.
Fatso loomed above them, humming off-key as he lit several lavender-scented candles around the giant porcelain tub, which was already filling with steaming water and fluffy clouds of bubble bath.
“Ahhh, my favorite time of day,” he said, slipping off his tuxedo with theatrical flair and zero shame. His massive belly jiggled like a waterbed as he dropped his pants, exposing chubby thighs and a big thick fat man's penis, larger than either shrunk hero, with a curly mane of dark hair.
Ken whimpered. "No... this is a nightmare..."
Fatso turned to them with a grin that gleamed with villainous glee. “Now now, my tiny champions. You’ve been so brave today! You deserve a reward—a playful soak in the tub with yours truly!”
“You can’t be serious,” Blue Boxer growled, pounding on the jar. “We’re crimefighters, not rubber duckies!”
“Oh, pish-posh.” Fatso unscrewed the jar and tipped it. “You’ll float just fine. I won't let anything happen to my naked little playthings.”
He scooped them up into his chubby hands and carried them over to the tub. The fall was short but splashy. The heroes landed with soft splish-splats into the tub, bubbles and steam swallowing them up. The water was hot but not scalding, laced with what smelled like vanilla and... possibly bacon oil?
Blue Boxer surfaced, sputtering, his tiny limbs flailing through suds the size of beanbag chairs. Ken popped up beside him, hair plastered down like a drowned squirrel. “This is undignified!” Ken shouted.
“Understatement of the year!”
Then came the tidal wave. Fatso eased into the opposite end of the tub with a gargantuan slosh that swamped the tiny heroes. A rubber duck bobbed by like a menacing buoy. Ken drifted along Fatso's meaty thigh and treaded water. Boxer grabbed the nearest object for support and found himself clinging to the fat man's next of dark, curly hair. He groaned in humiliation as Fatso's dick cubbed up and stiffened beneath him, his bare tiny legs strattling his enemies man meat.
Fatso leaned back with a sigh of decadent contentment, steam wafting off his shoulders. His voice echoed in the tile-lined chamber.
“You know, I was always told I’d never be taken seriously. But look at me now! The mighty Blue Boxer, in my bath clinging to my pubes. With his little karate kid. Floating like a lost little toy. Marvelous.”
Blue Boxer glared up at him, treading bubbles. “You’re insane. One way or another, we’re gonna stop you.”
Fatso giggled. He stroked Boxer's wet hair with the tip of his finger. “Oh, I do hope you try. That only makes this more fun for me."
A burst of stinky bubbles burst under the fat villain and noxious gas wafted up from the water. "Admit it Boxer, you've never been more humiliated. Never been more completely helpless in all your career. I have you both right where I want you. And if you ever want to be big again, you'll do anything I ask."