You're looking at a poster for Sea World. It's mascot killer whale is at the center of your vision. Your mouth tastes like dead raw fish. You double over and upchuck fish guts. You'd had pizza and ice cream for lunch, not fish.
You stumble backwards. Your clothing seems to bind. It's too tight. You fumble with the buttons, buckle and snaps loosening your garments. You fingers seem to be fusing together as your body bloats. You turn back toward the aviary, you've got to make the parrot break its spell. You smack your swelling lips, or maybe you can just eat the bird.
In spite of the loosening, your clothing is still painfully tight. You see your reflection in the glass covering the sign by the aviary exit. Your whole belly is exposed. Your shirt looks like its from the toddler department, but you somehow managed to get it on your torso, barely. As you waddle, the sound of seams ripping can be heard. Your body is huge, you have to duck your head slightly to re-enter the aviary's screened doors. The outer door has to close before the inner one will open to keep the birds inside.
You fall on your face as you realize your thighs have fused together. You're a naked flesh colored blob. You bounce on the ground, as blood and teeth gush from your mouth. Your face feels broken as it expands to accommodate your new orca features. Your skin begins to mottle. Your belly is becoming pure white and your back is turning black. Your hands resemble the seal boy from the freak show. You really are turning into a killer whale.
The parrot on his stand squawks, "You're a fish outta water!"
"Not a fish, chum!"
"Chum?" squawks the bird nervously. He leaps from his perch and tries to fly away, but the chain around his ankle yanks him back toward his perch.
"Okay, you three hundred year old freak, change me back or you're not getting any older? Underst-eeeeeaaaaa!" your words become a high pitched whale screech.
The bird stares at your enormous bulk and growing sharp toothed maw and then ...