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In the sterile, white-walled studio, a lean, tattooed amateur, clad only in black briefs, awaits his inflation fate. The camera zooms in as the air nozzle presses against his flat stomach, the hissing beginning. His belly swells, the skin taut and shiny, the outline of his six-pack fading. He gasps, feeling the pressure, the fullness. Then, helium takes over, his voice soaring as he laughs, a high-pitched, alien sound. He runs his hands over his round, hard belly, a look of bliss on his face, before the inevitable deflation.