Mrs. MacArthur, the landlady

I emerged from my basement apartment with a mad gleam in my eye. I had sunk all my funds into developing my genetic rearranger, forcing me to live in the cheapest place I could find, subjecting me to the scrutiny of Mrs. MacArthur, a nosy busybody who was constantly hassling me for rent. She was such a cow! And now, I was ready to tell her as much.

I knocked on the door marked 'Manager'. The 40-something woman opened it and looked at me with contempt.

"Do you have the back rent now, then?" she asked.

"No, I have this," I told her, holding up my creation. I pulled the trigger and bathed her with the purple energy that would re-write her very DNA!

"What the hell is...ooh....oooooooh....ooooooooooh!" my land lady moaned. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She seemed to be enjoying the process immensely. I had not anticipated this. But her pleasure was a distraction from the spectacular effects of my device. Horns were growing from her forehead! Her mouth and nose were elongating and merging. Her ears were shifting up her head and growing long. Her eyes were becoming big and dewy.

And her chest. Good lord, her chest. It was swelling and buckling beneath her blouse until buttons began popping off violently. Massive utters had replaced her once understated rack.

Another ripping sound and a tasseled tail swung down between her legs. I had taken her as far as I wanted too. Any further and she would loose all traces of her humanity.

Panting, she stared at me with her big cow eyes, confused.

"What...what did you...that was...moo..." she said.

I cackled with glee. It worked brilliantly! My sheer genius had me sporting major wood. What ever would I do next?