Congratulations Human Stretch Armstrong!

You'll tell your friends it's cool as they hook you up between two trucks.

"The gypsy woman said I could do it," you'll explain.

"It seems like we should test it first," Steve, the reasonable one, will postulate.

"FUCK YOU STEVE!" everyone, yourself included, will respond.

Then they'll rev up the motors, get the trucks in gear.  They'll start driving, slow at first.  The pain will be agonizing, but the gypsy woman didn't say anything about making the process of being stretched out by cars pleasant, she just said you'd be able to endure it.  As the cars accelerate the pressure will increase, as will your pain.  Your arms will dislocate from your sockets, increasing their length slightly - you'll interpret this as the gypsy woman's spell working, so you'll shout:

"IT'S WORKING!"

Everyone will holler back, "FUCK YEAH!"

Except Steve, he'll just throw up his hands and call 9-1-1.

After the fuck yeah the cars will torque a little harder and you'll stretch a little more, just a tiny bit, but not too much before your body starts to tear.  It'll happen at your wrists, right where the ropes are tied.  They'll pull and burn and you, in a few seconds, will be reduced to whimpering as you bleed out of two stumps where your hands used to be, as your friends drag you behind a pick-up truck cheering, as you realize, under the sudden rush of adrenaline, that perhaps referring to homeless women as "gypsy women" isn't a particularly good idea and, at the very least, isn't a terribly nice one.

Congratulations Human Stretch Armstrong!