The sunlight filtered through the open picture window, and Shilva yawned, slowly sitting up as his back popped several times. What the fuck happened last night..? The pink fox could remember Alan coming over, to comfort him after the horrible day he had. They’d went down to watch Netflix… and… after that, he… I must have passed out. I don’t even remember what we were watching. He yawned again, gagging a bit at the horrid taste in his mouth. God, I need to brush my tongue more often, morning breath is killing me.

	The pink fox squished a bit as he leaned forward, grabbing the remote. It struck him as a bit odd, but… he didn’t dwell on it. Instead he flipped on the bigscreen, curious as to what he fell asleep watching. His half-amused smile faded as he saw what was on the television, and his heart sank to his belly. Porn. Not the good porn, either, the type he guiltily watched on his phone when he thought his parents wouldn’t notice, a man and a woman. It was two men, musclebound and fucking on what looked to be a park bench. Moans and cusses filled the air as the two fucked, and Shilva almost couldn’t look away.

	Something else occurred to him, as well. He picked up the remote, clicking ‘info’. Motherfucker… Pay-per-view. Almost fifteen hours worth of pay-per-view porn on a cable network, which… He did a little math in his head, but it was uncharacteristically hard. Two hundred and… fifty… no, sixty… He screwed his eyes shut, concentrating, but sighed, giving up in moments. Fuck, I don’t give a shit, it’s too damn much! And my parents are going to see the bill!

	The fox half-stood up, but plopped back down on his ass with a squish, holding his head in his paws, unsure what to do, what happened. Wait… squish? He glanced down in confusion, his horror only growing as he took in the condition of his body. 

	The poor fox looked disgusting. Normally lithe, his belly was bloated and gurgling, a few buttons missing in his shirt from the sheer stress of his over-taut tum, the massive bloated thing hanging low over his unbuttoned pants, which were in poor condition themselves. The entire upper half of his slacks were doused with what was presumably piss, and the crotch and ass was straining with shit, brown and green. Little holes spotted his ass here and there, where his formerly white undies poked out. Gooey ooze drooled down the fabric, brownish as it pooled on the ruined couch.

	His upper body was somewhat better- aside from the ruined shirt, the only thing wrong with him from the chest up was his face- it was absolutely coated in green, chunky shit, a mixture of snot and scat oozing from his distended, stuffed nostrils. He slowly stood, feeling sick as it occurred to him what must be filling his belly.

	He felt on the verge of tears, little sobs bursting up through his shit-smeared lips. What the fuck is going on? What’s wrong with me? He staggered around the house a little bit, looking for any other signs of defilement. Nothing. Just the couch. Letting one real cry burst out, he buried his head in his hands and plopped down on the filthy couch with a squelch.

	He didn’t leave that spot for a few hours, slowly crying himself to sleep. He woke up again when the sun was high in the sky.

	A little more composed, he began the long laborious process of cleaning- both himself and the room. First thing he hopped in the shower, letting the hot water thread through his fur, washing away every stain of shit and piss. Stepping out of the shower, he looked unhappily at his body- almost back to normal, only the disgusting, straining stomach remained as a reminder of what had happened. Second he tossed his clothes- there was no repairing them. Finally he got out the bleach and simply doused the couch. There was no other way- thank god the fabric was white. He turned the television to a more appropriate station, and slipped into some loose clothes to accommodate his temporarily bloated belly. 

	The television didn’t interest him, but he was desperate to distract himself from how he’d woken up, so he watched the stupid drivel that passed as a history show these days, letting theories about aliens and Nazi superweapons permeate his mind- and, unknowingly to him, become fact as far as he was concerned. Even as he snickered at the stupid idiocy pouring out of the television, his still-receptive mind was accepting it as fact, kicking out the old reality and replacing it with the new one. 

	Meanwhile, the clock ticked closer and closer to the debate.