Take Care Of Your Fucking Body

I hate walking. It wastes precious calories that could’ve become even more fat on my growing body. It wastes time when I could be eating instead.

I hate standing upright. A good pig should be laying on all fours, their face buried in a trough, gorging on their latest meal.

I hate the idea of being “full” after eating. There is no such thing. There is always room for more. Always. A piggy should never stop eating.

I hate exercising. I need my body to be soft and wide, not the opposite.

I hate being able to move around. It’s nothing but a reminder of how I’m not fat enough when I should be hundreds of pounds past that point.

I love eating. Tasting wonderful flavors and filling my belly feels incredible.

I love gorging. Nothing feels more amazing than feeling my stomach stretch as I lose all self control and continue eating, and eating, and eating, never stopping until I physically cannot squeeze another bite in… only to start all over again a few hours later.

I love being lazy. Knowing I’ve done nothing but lay around all day and stuff my face makes me so happy.

I love being fat. I love growing fatter. It means my body is growing softer and sexier. It means I’ve been a good piglet.

I don’t just want to be so fat that I can’t move, I need it. I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything. There is nothing that would make me happier than knowing I’ll never have to walk again, or stand, or exercise, or move. I’ll be physically incapable of doing anything other than the two things I love most: gorging on food and growing endlessly fatter.

Aaand here my love handle + hip marks! There are actually more of them, but some are a little lighter already or not that well photographed. And some butt x3