tomorrow you'll be in the hands of another feeder for two days and one night, dear, and you're all giddy about it.
didn't you notice that in the last 24 hours you barely made 10 steps, dear?
you have rolls and creases on your ankles, dear... you're so soft, so squishy, so heavy, so tired...
didn't you realize this is the last year you'll be barely mobile, dear?
you still think you're going to be able to waddle next year... dear, oh dear... i may have some news for you...
do you see those puffy feet of yours? ah, my bad... you can't look at them since a while, can you, dear?
well, my dear, let me tell you: the reason they ache so bad is that they are almost about to give up on supporting your lovely weight; and the only cure is to never use them again, dear.
i will share your gains with whoever i want, then... my dear caged piggy, precious and tender and fattened and fattened and fattened and fucked up...
helpless, and defenseless, your eyes devoid from anything that isn't hunger and terror and arousal, powerless against my total control, and so, my dear...
...tell me more about what you're gonna eat tomorrow with this colleague of mine, dear. tell me more about what this feeder wants to stuff you with. tell me more about your gluttony and your greed.
i'll wait for your heavy breath to return to be the soundtrack of our home; until then, remember to eat everything.