You've joined the milking crew

"As you know -BWUOORUP-, MLAC is one of the top producers of dairy products and fertility enhancers not only for the city but the entire country."

He pauses to gnaw on his massive turkey leg and grunts as another noxious -FFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBRRRRTTT- Erupts from his massive ass, filling the room with even more toxic fumes. He grabs a stack of papers from his desk, which were liberally splattered with food stains, and reviews them.

"I was looking over your application to become one of the milking crew and the lab boys looked over the samples you -OOOUURRRPAAAPPP- submitted and we all thing you'll make a prime milker for the company." He shoots you a look from behind the stained pages. "Of course, you'll have to get much bigger than that before -BBRRUUAARRPP- you'll be of any real use to the company." He chuckles a bit and lowers the papers as he gives you an almost threatening grin.

Even with his face swaddled in fat and sweat his stare still sends a chill down your spine. He did have a point though. Even though you had to be at least 500 pounds, that seemed to just be the average weight in this new world. You'd have to get a lot bigger like Mr. Crosby or even Ted before you start to command respect here.

"Unfortunately, while enjoying the free donuts from DC Donuts this morning" You can hear his stomach rumble like thunder and a trickle of drool escape the corner of his mouth as he thinks about those donuts. " I accidentally -BBBBUURRROPPP- got chocolate fudge on the part where you specified whether you wanted to be on the Milk Crew or the Semen Crew." He pauses once again to take a massive bite out of his snack. "If you could just mark which one you wanted again I, or rather my assistant, can take you down to the lab. The boys already have your production booster cooked up for you."

Mr. Crosby hands the papers over to you with a pen, coincidentally branded with the DC Donuts logo, topped with a little pink frosted sprinkled donut and smudged with frosting. The handwriting is yours, no doubt about it, your name, age, height, and everything else is right too, even your favorite food. The only major differences you notice is that you put your weight as 547 lbs, which again seems accurate given your new form, and your address is 7100 Hog Fat Lane. You spend a minute looking through the papers. It's strange to read something that was clearly written by you but some other version of you. Attached to your application is a lab report that notes your high potential for "**** production" and "hyper virility".

"Ahem, I don't have all -UUUURRRRARRPP- day." Mr. Crosby says impatiently.

You immediately speed up your reading and finally find the section where it asks you which team you want to be on, and sure enough the check boxes are hidden under a thick smudge of chocolate fudge icing.