"Ah, good," said your host, "I see it has begun. You should be ready in time for the contest."
You look up and groan, "I don't feel so good."
"Nonsense," he replied grinning down at you. He pulled out a pocket knife and popped the blade open, "You're a healthy shade of pink."
"Pink?" you squeal.
You raise your hand to your throat, and discover your fingers have fused to form a hoof.
"What's happening to me? What contest?" your voice is frightened and confused.
"Why the greased pig contest of course. Surely, you saw the flyers and posters all over town."
"Oink, I don't want to be a pig. Was it that Piggy Pilsner?"
The man looks offended, "My beers are all the absolute best. It was just a coincidence that you picked the Piggy Pilsner. The formula that's changing you into a pig was already in the beer mug. Because it was frosted you couldn't see the liquid at the bottom to which the pilsner was added."
"Why-oink?" you shake your head your collar is too tight.
"Oh, your clothings already binding you unconfortably," he says bending down he cuts you out your shirt, trousers, but he leaves you in your grey boxer briefs, "I'll cut you a hole for your tail, but the elastic looks stretchy enough, and it'll allow me to keep track of you until you're properly marked." He pulls your corkscrew tail out of the slit he's cut in the back of your boxer briefs.