A Cap Fitted to a Chub

I tell you, I’m not sure whether this is a cautionary tale…because man did it feel nice. But anyway, don’t trust random packages and especially don’t wear anything with a label you don’t recognize. 

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So, it started a few days after my birthday. I hear the doorbell, and when I open it there’s a package. The shipping label just has my address, and there’s no USPS or UPS or FedEx or any log on it. It says “Happy Birthday” in big lettering on the front, and something about the font looks…I dunno, fat? Anyway I pick up the box and take it inside. I figure, I was just too slow to catch a glimpse of whoever delivered it or something. There’s no postage on it or anything, so whoever it’s from must be who delivered it too, right? 

Anyway, I take out my pocket knife (it was a little hard to get it out of my pocket, what of it, I’ve gained some weight in quarantine, so sue me) and start to slit the tape. The box is warm in my hands, but I figure that’s ‘cause it was in the delivery person’s trunk or whatever. I get the thing open, and inside there’s just this black fitted cap. The one I’m wearing in the picture. It’s a nice one, just solid black no logos on it or symbols. 

I pick it up, the cap is warm too almost hot really but I shrug that off, then turn it over and look for a brand logo or something on the inside of it. There is one, at first I think it’s the “Champs” logo, you know the company that makes all those fitted caps that douchebags love so much. I stare at it for a minute or two before I realize that it actually says “Chubbz”. 

“Chubbz?” I mutter, sitting back, still holding the cap in my hand. I’d never heard of it, but the cap is well made. And the fact that it isn’t Champs is a mark in its favor as far as I’m concerned. Something about the hat is just begging me to put it on, I mean…it’s a hat that’s what they’re for anyway.

I pull it down onto my head, at first it’s tight. Like…really tight, it hurts. And I can’t pull it off. But after a few seconds it start to feel warm, not too hot, but like a nice warm, and then it doesn’t feel too bad. 

It got warmer, and nicer, and the hat felt soft…almost silky on my head. Weird way to describe how wearing a hat feels but like, that’s what it felt like. That’s all I got. I sagged back in my chair, it creaked and groaned under me. I told it to shut up, I’m not that fat. 

Now, the hat didn’t feel tight at all, but my clothes. Man my clothes were feeling snug, way more than a few minutes ago. My pants start to pop, making cracking sounds as seams start to pull away from each other. I start to tell them to shut up too, but as soon as I open my mouth the button on my jeans goes flying off and hits the wall with a loud thump. My zipper shoots down with a sound almost like a scream and I look down for the first time. 

My gut, man…it’s looking huge to me. My small, small to me…my friends called me fat but I maintained that I’ve always just been pleasantly plump, ‘cause…come on 350 is barely chubby. Well, I was 350 then quarantine happened and I had all these snacks, and anyway…shut up. 

But one thing was certain now, whether I was 350 pounds that morning or not…I wasn’t anymore. My round belly made a big muffin top at the waistband of my underwear, which were crackling and tearing as my belly expanded before my eyes. 

I was thinking, what the hell is going on?!?! I put my hand to my head, where my fingers brushed the bill of the cap and I made the connection. The hat…Chubbz, but how could a hat make me into such a butterball???

Then, suddenly, I felt absolutely stuffed. My stomach bulged up, and my poor underwear snapped. It just kept swelling bigger and bigger until it pushed into the table and started to shove it away. Just when I felt like I was gonna explode, I let out a huge belch and my fullness went away. Well…it didn’t go away, it just moved.

My already fat arms and legs puffed up with more flab, the legs on my pants practically exploded off of my thighs like the cardboard on those canned biscuits you can buy at the grocery store. My thighs even looked like that kind of dough, bulging out of the tears and splitting the tortured denim of my jeans more and more. The chair creaked louder and louder under me until finally it collapsed and dumped me to the kitchen floor. 

And man, I swear the whole house shook when I landed. Stuff fell off the counter and all the cabinets opened, the fridge too. And here’s the weirdest thing. It was like I’d just gone to the grocery store or something and spent a few thousand dollars. Snacks and food of all kinds poured onto the floor, more than you’d think could even fit in them. Piles and piles of food, and all I could do was stare at it as it mounted higher and higher. 

Well, at least at first, after a few more seconds my stomach started to feel really uncomfortable again. But this time, I was HUNGRY, fricking RAVENOUS! I rolled myself onto my stomach and dragged myself toward the nearest pile of food. I didn’t care what it was, I just wanted to EAT! I dunno how long I stuffed my face, but there was always more there for me to grab. And I never got full, not even a little bit. Well, I did get a little tiny bit full now and then. But whenever that happened my stomach would rumble and then I’d just gain another 50 or so pounds. 

God, I was getting so fat. I was enormous. Bigger than any chubster I’d ever seen before, and still getting fatter. I just, stopped giving a damn completely. Where did these dinner plate sized donuts come from? Who cares! They’re delicious!! Next snack please! 

I don’t know how much I weigh now, but the food is still coming, and I’m still hungry. The only problem is…it’s getting hard to move my arms. So, if you get this message, come over, now! I need to keep eating!

The End?