You notice that most of the stalls are filled with cows. There is a banner announcing a milking contest at
noon. You hear horns blare, and the few people in the stables go outside to hear the King of the Faire's
proclamation. You're feeling queasy, so you stay behind leaning against an empty stall. The gate swings open
and you tumble into the straw. Your body feels sore and weird. Your chest is crawling, it feels like your
nipples migrated down your chest, then across your abs and down to your crotch. You must be hallucinating.
You seem to have passed out, as you struggle to your knees, your crotch feels like it wants to explode. You
look at the impossibly huge bulge in your jeans. You open your fly, and sigh in relief as your udder hangs
free. Udder? You strip completely, and see that your skin is completely covered with white hair with black
spots. You feel your head, you're sprouted nubby horns.
"What the -ooooh-mooooo?" you say.
That gypsy she said something about cursing you, and something about cows.
You hear someone moving behind you. You turn, and see the gypsy woman retreating with your clothing. She
slams the gate and cackles.
You moo loudly at her, but she says nothing to you. Last time you looked at your watch it was 9:30 AM. The
milking contest is still at least two hours away. Damn, your udder is huge. You really need somebody to milk
you soon.