Don't drink the paint water

You want me fatter? Then I'm going to need money for food—and good food, too. None of this "cook at home" nonsense. I want delivery showing up at my door multiple times a day, every day. Burritos. Pizza. Subs. Cheesecake. I want to be blissfully swollen and stuffed with delicious, calorie-packed meals every few hours.

And don't forget about clothing me. A blossoming belly deserves beautiful dresses, soft fabrics, sparkling jewelry, and everything fit for a goddess. I'm not about to waddle around the house in the nude when I could be resplendently adorned.

* I must devour a cake. An entire one. Do it. Mindless consumption. Brain empty. Cake. Yes.

* My stomach has knocked me out of sleep to be like "AWAKEN MY PIG, AND EMBRACE THE GLORY THAT IS YOUR APPETITE. KNOW THAT I AM YOUR STOMACH, THE ETERNAL DRIVE OF YOUR BODY. AND THAT YOU HAVE BEEN AWAKENED TO FEED ME."

* I'm gonna need to start taking regular pictures of this belly. For my own sake, and to show people how much she's grown.

* I need patrons of the fat arts.

>> In the span of them eating a single slice, I knock back 3/4 of my pizza. (Pepperoni, Garlic, Feta on NYC style crust)

>> "DAMN, did you finish all of that already?"

>> Me: "no, there's still two more slices, I think I'm gonna save them for breakfast tomorrow morning."

>> Absentmindedly grazed on the last two pieces later on. And a chocolate lava cake too.

Belly and Boobs? Check. Thighs and Upper arms? Check. Ankles, Neck/Chin, and Fingers? Check.

It really makes me wonder what I'll look like in another 25-50 lb. Will I be wider? More belly focused? Or will I just keep filling up and outward like a human shaped ball of dough rising on the counter?