Weightless man.

 H.D. Wells, one of my favorite childhood writers,  tells a story in which a very fat man wanted to
rid himself of his fatness. The person who tells the story was the possessor of
the recipe of a miraculous brew which could rid people of excessive weight. The
fat man made the brew according to the recipe and drank it. Obviously, this man
didn't know what the weight and mass were (Weight watchers? Mass watchers?). And this is what happened.
 "For a long time
the door didn't open.
 "I heard the key
turn. Then Pyecraft's voice said, 'Come in.'
 "I turned the
handle and opened the door. Naturally I expected to see Pyecraft.
 "Well, you know,
he wasn't there!
 "I never had
such a shock in my life. There was his sitting-room in a state of untidy
disorder, plates and dishes among the books and writing things, and several
chairs overturned, but Pyecraft—
 "'It's all
right, o'man; shut the door," he said, and then I discovered him.
 "There he was
right up close to the cornice in the corner by the door, as though someone had
glued him to the ceiling. His face was anxious and angry. He panted and
gesticulated. 'Shut the door/ he said. 'If that woman gets hold of it—'
 "I shut the
door, and went and stood away from him and stared.
 "'If anything
gives way and you tumble down, I said, 'you'll break your neck, Pyecraft.'
 "'I wish I
could/ he wheezed.
 "'A man of your
age and weight getting up to kiddish gymnastics—'
 "'Don't,' he
said, and looked agonized.
 "Til tell you,'
he said, and gesticulated.
 "'How the
deuce,' said I, 'are you holding on up there?'
 "And then abruptly
I realized that he was not holding on at all, that he was floating up
there—just as a gas-filled bladder might have floated in the same position. He
began a struggle to thrust himself away from the ceiling and to clamber down
the wall to me. 'It's that prescription,' he panted, as he did so. 'Your
great-gran—'
 "He took hold of
a framed engraving rather carelessly as he spoke and it gave way, and he flew
back to the ceiling again, while the picture smashed on the sofa. Bump he went
against the ceiling, and I knew then why he was all over white on the more
salient curves and angles of his person. He tried again more carefully, coming
down by way of the mantel.
 "It was really a
most extraordinary spectacle, that great, fat, apoplectic-looking man upside
down and trying to get from the ceiling to the floor. 'That prescription,' he
said. 'Too successful.'
 "'How?'
 "'Loss of
weight—almost complete.'
 "And then, of
course, I understood.
 "'By Jove,
Pyecraft,' said I, 'what you wanted was a cure for fatnessl But you always
called it weight. You would call it weight.'  Somehow I was extremely delighted. I
quite liked Pyecraft for the time. 'Let me help you!' I said, and took his hand
and pulled him down. He kicked about, trying to get foothold somewhere. It was
very like holding a flag on a windy day.

Oleg Kobec