After his day of work, he can’t resist the temptation of getting instantly bigger, a wish that his handy air compressor had helped him do countless times.
Years of air inflations made Richard’s gut as solid and inflatable as the tires in his garage. He would turn the compressor on, and feel his lower belly inflate like a toad’s neck. It was expanding like a balloon as the pressure was rising higher and higher. His guts were so thick and unpoppable that the compressor would do a high-pitch whine, signaling to Richard that he had won the fight: something would blow before the other, and surprisingly, this thing wouldn’t be the obese mechanic.
He never had the chance to test his maximum capacity before needing to turn the machine off before he was too big to reach the button. He would need somebody to assist him. Like, maybe his friends Oscar and Bob? What do you think?