Whipped Cream & Other Delights

“Come on!” Flitter whined. Knock, knock, knock, went her hoof against the door. “Come ooooooonnn...”

“Um,” Cloudchaser said, “the sign clearly says it’s closed.”

Flitter whirled to face her sister. “But it makes no sense! Sugarcube Corner is never closed at this time of day.”

“Yeah, but the Cakes are on vacation, remember?”

“But Pinkie Pie is still here to run the place!”

“Exactly. And if Pinkie, in her infinite Pinkieness, decides to close the bakery at 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday, we’re better off not questioning it. Nothing good comes from questioning Pinkie Logic, remember?”

“But, but...” Flitter turned back to Sugarcube Corner’s front door, desperately hoping that the Closed sign had disappeared while she was looking away. No such luck. She slumped her entire weight against the door. “I need one of those cream horns! That sweet, flaky pastry—that thick cream filling—I’ve been looking forward to it all day!”

“I’m sorry, but we’ll just have to get one later tonight. Or maybe tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait that long!”

Flitter flailed, and by pure chance her hoof struck the doorknob. It turned freely.

“Huh?” She stepped back far enough for the door to open, grabbed the knob, and turned. “Hey,” she said, “maybe Sugarcube Corner is actually open, but Pinkie put up the Closed sign by accident!”

The door opened. The interior was dark—all the windows shut, all the lamps unlit.

“Ooorrrr,” Cloudchaser said, rolling her eyes, “it really is closed, and Pinkie just forgot to lock it.”

Flitter snorted and stepped over the threshold.

“Flitter!” Cloudchaser whispered angrily, her words coming out as a hiss. “What are you doing?!”

“I told you. I need a cream horn.”

“I’m pretty sure this is wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna pay for it!”

“That’s not... Oh, fine!” Cloudchaser stomped and turned her back on her sister. “Just go, do whatever. And if you get into trouble, that’s on your head!”

Now it was Flitter’s turn to roll her eyes. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” She trotted away from the light, further into Sugarcube Corner.

In spite of her professed nonchalance, Flitter’s heart was beating faster. In this low light, the bakery’s normally cheerful interior now looked so ominous. As she stepped forward, she caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. She spun to face the lurking creature, and found it was just a table with chairs standing atop it. She let out a weak chuckle and took a step backwards. Something brushed against her tail. Instinctively, she bucked—then something crashed, and she leaped into the air. And then realized that she had kicked over another table.

“Flitter, you dummy,” she muttered to herself, “you’re literally jumping at shadows. Get ahold of yourself.”

She flew the rest of the way to the display counter, then landed—and groaned. The trays were empty. Where there should have been cream horns—and other, lesser baked goods like cupcakes, muffins, scones, doughnuts, eclairs, baklava, miniature bundt cakes, cinnamon rolls, croissants, bagels, kolaches, and all those others whose names she couldn’t be bothered to learn—there was just empty air. Flitter even stepped behind the counter, to seek anyplace her beloved pastry might be hidden away from customers’ eyes. All she found were cleaning supplies.

Flitter hung her head and steeled herself for the empty-hooved walk back out the front door that awaited her—a Walk of Shame if ever there was one. Then she noticed a faint light from the kitchen door, and a low but familiar voice.

“Pinkie Pie?” Flitter asked as she poked her head into the kitchen. All the lamps were off in there, too—but a light shone from an open door on the opposite side of the room. And Pinkie’s voice was definitely coming from beyond that doorway. Flitter trotted over, towards the beacon beckoning in the darkness.

It was the doorway to the basement. “Hello, Pinkie!” Flitter called down the stairs. Pinkie apparently didn’t notice, and continued talking to herself. No, singing to herself—Flitter could only make out a few words here and there, but it seemed to be a song about baking.

Flitter crossed the threshold and began descending the stairs. “Hey, Pinkie, what’s a mare gotta do around here to get a—”

Her front hoof landed on a foal’s toy, a wooden horse on wheels. “Whoa!” she cried as she fell forward, the stairs rushing up to meet her face. She bounced off the wooden slats and continued tumbling in a very sloppy somersault. “Owch! Eeech! Ooof!” Flailing her hooves, she tried in vain to grab onto something, anything, to halt her fall.

Just as she began to wonder how long the stairway was, she hit her head again...

—————

“You were right all along, Flitter!” Cloudchaser said.

She and Flitter were somehow in a clearing in the woods. The surrounding forest was strangely colorful, impossibly bright, and incredibly hazy. But none of that mattered, because in front of Flitter stood a table, piled high with cream horns. A smile spread across Flitter’s face as she reached for the nearest pastry. She could already imagine how it tasted—incredibly vividly, in fact.

“Go on, help yourself!” Cloudchaser said. But apparently Flitter was reaching far too slowly, so Cloudchaser grabbed a cream horn herself and shoved it into her sister’s mouth.

Flitter closed her eyes and chewed, savoring the texture of the cream filling that squirted out. And then it kept squirting out. Wow, this one must have been double-stuffed! she thought. She swallowed and felt the lump of cream settle heavily in her stomach.

Cloudchaser shoved another one into Flitter’s mouth. “You deserve it!” she said.

Flitter swallowed again, but somehow her mouth still felt fuller than it should have. Thick cream continued spilling from the two pastries, now filling her cheeks. She chewed and swallowed once more, and this time she felt it completely fill her stomach.

“These really are the best, aren’t they?” Cloudchaser continued, pushing two more cream horns between Flitter’s lips.

Something wasn’t quite right, Flitter thought. No matter how much she chewed and swallowed, she wasn’t making any progress on eating these cream horns. Her belly was bulging to fit all the cream she downed: its diameter had already grown a full foot, and every gulp added more inches to its girth. But still there was more to eat—far more cream than could possibly have fit in four pastries. Flitter swallowed again and again, feeling her stomach swell several inches more. And she noticed the strangest look on her sister’s face as Cloudchaser picked up two more cream horns, just before everything went fuzzy...

—————

Flitter noticed the light first, as she drifted from her dream into wakefulness. She wasn’t under hazy sunlight, but bright, sharp lamplight. And she wasn’t in a clearing, but sprawled on a pillow on a stone floor. She was in Sugarcube Corner’s basement. And she wasn’t swallowing down impossible quantities of cream filling...

No, actually she was swallowing cream filling.

Flitter’s eyes snapped open. She was surrounded by the massive machinery of an automated pastry assembly line. Directly in front of her was a metal vat, easily tens of thousands of gallons in volume—maybe even hundreds of thousands. Flitter could just make out one word on the side: “Cream”. The vat whirrrred as it pumped its contents down a rubber hose—whose nozzle was lodged firmly in Flitter’s mouth.

Her cheeks bulged out from the volume of cream passing her lips. Every few seconds, she swallowed involuntarily—and with each swallow, she felt the cushion beneath her slosh and grow slightly larger. A glance downward confirmed: what Flitter thought was a pillow was actually her own belly, bloated with the gallons of cream she’d already sucked down.

She tried to call out for help, but it just came out as, “Mrrrmmmm—” Gulp. “—hmmrmmhmm—” Gulp. “—hmmmm!”

Next, Flitter tried to pull the hose out, but her hooves slid ineffectually along its too-slick length. The effort set her huge gut to shaking even more beneath her.

Finally, Flitter realized how to escape. She stood up, wobbling on her hooves as her still-growing paunch swung back and forth beneath her. Her stomach hung three-quarters of the way to the floor, and bulged at least a foot to each side. Then she walked backwards, away from the tank—sloshing with every step, her legs squishing against the soft embrace of her inflating belly. As she wondered just how much more slack was in the hose, she glanced down. For the first time, Flitter saw her gut bloat several inches further out as she swallowed a mouthful of cream. And she saw it happen again, and again, and again. And she picked up her pace, positively scrambling away.

Flitter looked forward again, desperately hoping to see the hose begin pulling taut. That was when her rear hooves hit the conveyor belt. It was short, just a few feet off the floor—the perfect height for a pony to trip over. Flitter landed on her rump, and as she did, something long, hard, and cold wedged itself between her cheeks. Her yelp of shock was muffled by the hose in her mouth. Without a thought she leaped forward, back on her hooves, but the offending object remained firmly stuck in her rear. And then she felt a soft but firm pressure from that end.

She had sat on another hose, and now it was pumping her full of cream, too.

Flitter froze, unsure of which direction to go, which hose to deal with first. In those crucial seconds, she inflated twice as quickly as before, her diameter increasing a full foot. When her belly swelled large enough to rest on the floor, the coldness of the stones against her belly snapped her out of her panicked indecision. Flitter turned parallel to the conveyor belt and scurried forward with all possible speed. Which wasn’t very much speed at all, because she was dragging a stomach filled with four times her normal weight in cream. She had to press her leg into the side of her gut with every step she took, her whole body wobbling with the motion. And with every step—and every inch she inflated—her gut pushed back harder on the insides of her legs.

Her belly wasn’t the only part that was growing. Thanks to that second hose, Flitter’s rump and haunches—formerly lean and muscular—were rounding out, swelling to twice as wide as before. Her butt shook and bounced atop her hind legs; her still-expanding cheeks rubbed lewdly against each other as she walked.

After moving only a few feet, Flitter tried to take another step, but her left forehoof met nothing but air. As she felt another tendril of fear in the back of her mind, she stretched that leg, trying to reach where the floor should have been. Then one of her rear hooves also left the floor, and then the other, and finally, her right forehoof lifted into the air. Her belly, stuffed full of seven times her weight in cream—rapidly approaching eight times her weight—was just too large for her to reach the ground anymore. Flitter shouted into the hose, “Hmmmm—” Gulp. “—mmmmmmmm—” Gulp. “—mrrrrm!” and flailed her hooves, trying in vain to touch the floor again. This made her bounce up and down atop her jiggling, swelling belly. Her haunches slapped against her legs and gut from the motion, rounding out as they inflated larger than a pair of beach balls.

As she surpassed nine times her normal volume, Flitter stopped flailing and went limp. Her legs, resting against the side of her stomach, sank a few inches into its softness. As she laid her head down, she found the front of her gut to be a squishy and surprisingly comfortable pillow. In fact, now that she didn’t see any way to escape from this predicament, she had to admit that it actually felt pretty good. The sensation of her stomach swelling—eleven times its normal size now, and still growing—was almost like a good post-workout stretch. The gentle pressure of her legs squishing into her belly was amplified, and far more pleasurable than it had ever been before. The hose in her rump... well, she didn’t see herself doing it again in her own free time, but it didn’t feel bad, either. And the cream in her mouth was as delicious as always—just as good on the ten thousandth mouthful as it was on the first.

Then a familiar voice drew Flitter out of her thoughts. “La, la-la-la, la-la-la la la-la!” Pinkie Pie sang wordlessly, her voice drawing closer.

Flitter turned just in time to see Pinkie round the corner—and prance with her eyes closed, straight towards her. “La la-la, la-la Oomph!” Pinkie collided face-first with Flitter’s massive stomach, squishing in up to her neck before she bounced back. Her generously proportioned rump cushioned her landing. Then she opened her eyes—and could do nothing but stare, awestruck, at the bloated mass that Flitter had become. She was a belly, stuffed with thirteen times her weight in cream—and counting—with a rump the size of an apple cart and a tiny pegasus attached to both.

Pinkie shook her head. “Flitter? Are you trying to become a balloon?” she asked.

“Hmmhmm!” Gulp. “Mmnmm hmm!” was all the reply Flitter could manage.

“Oh, right!” Pinkie slapped her forehead. “Silly me, how could I forget! You love my special Sugarcube Corner Cream Horns! More than anypony else in Ponyville! I could even say...” Pinkie prodded that huge gut, her foreleg sinking halfway in. “You’re our biggest fan.”

Flitter blushed, then rolled her eyes, wishing that Pinkie would just get on with it. Not that Pinkie’s hoof in her side didn’t feel good—it felt very good—but as that pony kept yammering, she was still inflating. Flitter was fifteen times her old volume now, her cream-stuffed belly pushing her legs further apart with every inch it bulged outward, with every mouthful she gulped down.

“So it’s not a surprise at all that you’d get such a huge hankering for our special cream,” Pinkie continued as she cantered over to the side of the tank. “I mean, it is a surprise, but it shouldn’t be! All the signs are obvious in hindsight.”

Pinkie was normally the most hyperactive mare in Ponyville, but now her movements were maddeningly slow. Or perhaps she just seemed that way to Flitter, who was still getting pumped larger with every moment Pinkie dilly-dallied. Casually, the baker grabbed a flat, metal box, then carried it back to Flitter’s side. The top was covered in buttons, levers, and dials: it was a mobile control panel of sorts.

Pinkie’s hoof hovered over the panel, and she smiled up at Flitter. “Are you ready?”

Flitter nodded enthusiastically, her whole belly wobbling with the motion.

“Okey dokey lokey!” Pinky mashed her hoof down and cranked one dial all the way to the right.

Even more cream rushed into Flitter’s mouth. Her eyes widened as she gagged it down, swallowing continuously now. The whirrrrr of the pumps grew louder as both of them worked twice as fast as before. Flitter rapidly bloated to seventeen, eighteen, then nineteen times her old size. As she rose into the air atop her inflating gut, she waved her hooves frantically, in what she hoped was a Stop! gesture. She couldn’t remember what the right gesture was—the sensations from her stretching belly were intensifying and making it hard to think straight.

After Flitter had swallowed twenty times her weight, Pinkie punched a button on the console. The flow of cream mercifully slowed, then stopped. Flitter relaxed, slumping atop her huge cushion of a gut.

“There!” Pinkie chirped. “Wasn’t that fun?”

Flitter mumbled and shrugged.

“Somepony doesn’t sound very excited. I know what’ll cheer you up!”

Flitter bolted back up, her eyes wide, shaking her head as hard as she could.

Pinkie punched the On button, and both hoses resumed pumping cream into Flitter. Her stomach squished out to every side, pushing against the conveyor belt as it swelled larger and larger. She bloated up to twenty-two times her old size before Pinkie hit the Off switch again.

“Now how about that?”

This time, Flitter nodded vigorously.

“Great! And since you like it so much...” Pinkie punched the button again.

“Nnnnnnn! Nnnmnnmmnn...” Flitter tried to protest, and got cut off by the mass of cream forcing into her mouth, down her throat. Her face flushed and her eyes rolled back in her head as she rode her wobbling, inflating belly higher and higher. When the pumps shut off, they left her filled to twenty-five times her old size.

Pinkie beamed up at the cream-filled behemoth. “Alright! Is that enough, Flitter, or do you want more? Yes or no?”

Flitter groaned and facehoofed.

“I have no idea what that means!” Pinkie mashed the control once again. “And when that happens, I err on the side of keep going!”

Flitter’s legs were spread nearly horizontal now, and her growing belly was a squashed sphere beneath her. She had spread over the conveyor belt, crushing the machinery under her increasing weight. With every snap and crack, her gut jiggled, and she bobbed up and down atop it. Flitter moaned softly into the hose inflating her, but the whine of the pumps drowned out her vocalizations.

After Flitter had been pumped full of thirty times her weight in cream, Pinkie glanced down at her right forehoof and exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, look at the time!” She wasn’t wearing a watch on that hoof. Still, she mashed the button to stop the pumps one last time—then she slid the control panel over, right next to Flitter. “I wish I could stay and give you all the cream you want, Flitter, but I really gotta go! There’s muffins in the oven and I left a cake out in the rain! But we should do this again, sometime. It was fun!”

With a smile and a wave, Pinkie turned and bounded away—up the impossibly long staircase leading out of the basement.

Just how big was this basement, anyway? And for that matter, how the hay did a room this cavernous fit underneath Sugarcube Corner? From this vantage point atop her swollen gut, several times her normal height, Flitter still couldn’t quite make out the room’s dimensions. She sighed, then rested her head once again on her belly.

The sensation made Flitter blush, harder than before. The skin of her stomach had grown ever more sensitive the further it stretched; now, the gentle pressure of her head resting on her gut, pressing into it slightly, just felt so good.

A guuurgle came from somewhere deep in Flitter’s belly, which she felt more than she heard. She gave her stomach a wry look, then slapped it with one hoof. It sloshed gently from the slap, and the feeling made Flitter’s face light up even brighter. For the briefest moment, she considered whether or not to play with her belly any further, but it was really no decision. She poked one forehoof into her skin, then both of them, grinning at the symphony of pleasure that played as her limbs squeezed into the soft, yielding cushion of her gut.

As Flitter poked and squished herself—and rode the jiggles and wobbles that she was causing—her eyes wandered lazily around the basement. Just when the pleasure began clouding her mind, she saw something that made her stop. That sign on the side of the cream vat: Flitter could read the whole thing now. It said, in glittery pink text surrounded by hearts and smiley faces, “Pinkie’s Proprietary Self-Whipping Heavy Cream!”

Self-whipping.

Her stomach gurgled again, louder. Flitter had bought a can of Pinkie’s self-whipping cream, once before, and now she tried to remember just how large it had fluffed itself up. Twice its original volume? Three times? She gurgled once more, and this time she could feel the pressure building inside her.

Flitter resumed inflating. As her bellyful of expanding cream pushed her higher, she rolled her eyes—though she was grateful that her throat was getting a rest this time, at least. Larger and larger her gut swelled, and not just her gut. The lighter, fluffier cream spread through the rest of Flitter’s body, and with it, the pressure built inside. Where the natural slope of her back had been concave, it grew convex, bulging out from the confection filling it. Her wings unfurled of their own accord, pointing straight up. Blushing, Flitter tried to fold her wings back at her side, but found they wouldn’t respond any more. She tried to reach back with her forelegs, but they wouldn’t obey her, either. They merely jutted straight out—and inflated under Flitter’s gaze, swelling with cream. Her shoulders bulged out, first like a body-builder’s muscles, then larger and rounder, swallowing the base of her legs as they grew. Her hind legs were also inflating, as were her wings, each individual feather growing into a thick oval.

Flitter was forty times her old volume now. With her entire body inflating and not just her stomach, she was growing more spherical by the second. Slowly but surely, her swollen shoulders were merging with the great curve of her growing torso. Her bloated rump and haunches were doing the same. Her legs had sunk one-quarter into her massive body, while her wings had ballooned up enough that a foal could fit inside the largest feathers. Her torso was even beginning to envelop her neck.

Part of Flitter wondered what she could have done differently to not wind up as some kind of whipped-cream-filled blimp. Another part of her wondered if there was still some way to escape, even with all her limbs completely immobilized—her legs were sinking deeper into her inflating sides by the second, while her wings swelled thicker, rounder, and stiffer. And yet another part of Flitter couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed the pressure building up inside, her skin stretching as she bloated larger and larger. It was like a massage all over, with extra special attention paid to the spots where her torso was swallowing her neck and legs. Flitter’s limbs had inflated to twice their normal thickness; where they sank into her bulging sides, they sang with pleasure from the sensation of her body enveloping them, of skin pressing tightly against skin.

As Flitter inflated to fifty times her old size, and the base of her jaw sank into her billowing body, she felt a shudder and heard a crack. Several more feet of conveyor belt collapsed beneath her expanding belly. Then she felt something to the side—a much smaller piece of metal, lying on the floor, which her gut was spreading across as it inflated. With a sinking heart, Flitter realized: it was the remote console that controlled the pump. And if her stomach triggered the On switch...

Flitter’s best hope to avoid doing that, she decided, was to roll away from the remote control. So she writhed as best she could, throwing her weight in that direction. And it worked—slowly, she tipped to the opposite side. But she was too bottom-heavy: after just a few degrees, her motion slowed even more. Her eyes widened, and she frantically tried to push herself further, waggling her hooves as far as she could, which wasn’t very much, since her legs had sunk two-thirds into her ballooning sides. “Mrrrrrrrrrmmm...” she moaned.

But it was useless. Flitter came to a complete stop—then rolled back, towards the remote control. Thanks to her forward momentum and her continued inflation, she easily covered the entire console. And when her weight pushed the biggest button down, that motion sent a vibration through her entire bloated body.

The vats turned back on, and Flitter had enough time to whimper before the cream resumed pumping into her from both ends.

She inflated faster than ever now, quickly surpassing seventy-five times her old volume. Her wings were massive: the largest feathers were almost blimps themselves, and even the smallest feathers could have comfortably fit an adult mare or two inside. Her sides squished around her hooves as her bloating torso completely swallowed her legs. Likewise, Flitter’s head was sinking deeper into the immense balloon of her own body. Her torso flattened her ears against her skull, squashed her carefully styled mane, and squished against her puffed-out cheeks as it inflated further around her head.

Flitter’s last thought before getting completely enveloped was that, in spite of everything, the cream still tasted incredible.

—————

“Flitter!” Cloudchaser called. “What’s taking so long?” She descended the stairway into Sugarcube Corner’s basement, stepping carefully to avoid the numerous tripping hazards. “Flitter!”

Upon reaching the floor, she looked around. To one side, there were conveyor belts and all manner of heavy machinery for producing baked goods in massive quantities. To the other side, there were more of the same—plus a huge, round... thing... that stuck out like a sore hoof among all the pipes and stainless steel. It was nearly the size of a three-story house—with two hoses filling it, making it even larger. And it was the same grayish lilac color as Flitter’s coat, oddly enough.

Cloudchaser shrugged and turned the other way. “Flitter! Where the hay are you?” she called, but the only answer was the whirrrring of the pumps. Cloudchaser darted back and forth, scanning the rows of equipment for any sign of her missing sister. She went airborne to get a good look from above—but still she found nothing, and soon enough she found herself back at the bottom of the staircase.

She spared another look at that balloon-thing. It was larger than a three-story house now, and wider than it was tall, squishing out under its own weight. As it filled larger, it pressed up against the surrounding machinery in a way that didn’t look very safe. In fact, it had already crushed a conveyor belt under its bulk—and, as Cloudchaser watched, one of the adjacent tanks dented like a tin can from the massive, round weight pressing against it.

She gulped and resumed searching at a quicker pace. “Come on, Flitter! We gotta get out of here, now!” she called, but still received no answer. She made another circuit of the basement, much faster than before, and found her gaze once more drawn to that great inflating blob.

Then she noticed the word Cream printed on the side of the tank—the tank that was pumping up that balloon-thing. Cloudchaser hadn’t forgotten Flitter’s reason for coming down here in the first place. Now, as that suspiciously Flitter-colored globe inflated even larger, a theory came to Cloudchaser, which was at once absurd yet strangely plausible. She flew around that great round mass, noticing for the first time the huge oval shapes at the top—brushing against the ceiling—and how much they looked like inflated wing feathers. Then she reached the far side, and her heart sank. There, on the side, was an emblem of blue and white dragonflies—stretched until it was twice or thrice the height of a pony, but clearly Flitter’s cutie mark.

“Flitter, um...” Cloudchaser gave a reassuring pat to the blob that had been her sister. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this! Somehow.”

She zipped over to the base of the cream tank. “Come on,” she muttered, “where’s the Off switch?” After about thirty seconds of fruitless searching—with Flitter bloating even larger behind her all the while—she gave up and grabbed the base of the hose. She tried to dislodge the hose, bracing her hind legs against the tank and pulling, but it refused to budge. Though she strained until every muscle in her body burned, it was clear that it would take some kind of tool to remove this hose. Cloudchaser glanced again at Flitter; she had swollen larger than a four-story house, and now her belly was looming ominously as it inflated further.

Cloudchaser turned back to the tank—and finally noticed the power cord. “Aha!” It only took a few seconds to follow the cord to the magic generator and disconnect it, and all the other cords for good measure. All the pumps shut down; the chamber was now silent, save for the rumbles from Flitter’s massive stomach and the occasional groan of buckling metal. Cloudchaser’s wings flared in alarm as she realized: Flitter was still inflating, even with no more cream pumping into her.

Cloudchaser flew up to her sister’s head... or rather, to the divot where her head had sunk into her huge, round body. She reached in with her hooves and pushed out, peeling back the inflated skin that had once been Flitter’s neck—and revealed Flitter’s face. Even with the hose still lodged in her mouth, surprise and relief were clearly written across her face.

“Oh, Flitter...” Cloudchaser said. “Are you okay?”

“Mmmnnhmm nnmmhmm. Hmmhumm.”

“Right... Let me get that.” Cloudchaser released her sister’s side to grab the hose, and Flitter’s ballooning body swallowed her head again. Bracing against the inflating pegasus, Cloudchaser pulled on the hose. At first, the only motion was her hind hooves sinking several inches into Flitter’s bloated side, but eventually the hose slid out with a wet Pop!

“Cloudchaser,” Flitter said, as soon as her sister had uncovered her face once more. “I may have made a mistake.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Cloudchaser briefly gave her a wry smile before continuing, “I don’t know how to stop the inflation. Will you be okay?”

“I think so. But can you pull the other hose out of my butt?”