Prince Jack

I guess this is what you call fit to fat 🫣

Fit, strong, athletic dancer turned into an obese, lazy, addicted feedee only wanting to grow even bigger...

No. So I’m friends with artists, real artists not ai artists, whose work has been scraped and used without their consent to build ai image generators. The ai generated crap you’re calling “art” is built on the stolen labor of artists who put in the time and effort to actually improve in their craft, people who have put their souls and life and experience into their work. The same people who have devalued artists’ work to the point that it’s vanishingly rare to meet people who live on their art alone, are now stealing it so that myopic chuds like you can make a picture of the Statue of Liberty with her navel in the wrong place. It’s not a tool for artists, it is a tool for billionaires to cut artists out of their own industry, and you’re helping them.

Ai art is theft, it’s killing the fucking planet, and you’re clapping your hands like a child at a magic show for it. Talk to any of the artists you repost and ask how they feel about ai “artists” comparing what they do to what an actual illustrator does, or how they feel about their work getting fed into a grinder without so much as a credit, let alone proper payment.

Fuck ai, and fuck anyone who uses it.

A wink, a grin.

She sees me across the room and there’s an electric energy between us.

We talk, I make her laugh, and within a few weeks we’re meeting regularly for coffee or lunch and talking daily.

Within 6 months she moves in to my place and we’re spending the evenings drinking wine and eating richly.

The first few pounds are hardly noticeable, almost excusable. “Well, we did have quite a bit of pasta last night so we’re probably just bloated. It’s not that serious.”

A pound or two turns into ten. Double that for the two of us.

She’s now sporting a little chub and my potbelly is coming along nicely.

As the holidays close in she and I start stretching out our wardrobes until buttons start bursting off of softened bellies and thickened waists, seams tear and fabrics groan over fattened thighs.

The bed starts creaking louder when I make love to her, and the couch almost seems to groan in protest each movie night.

After a year, we’re both undeniably, unmistakably fat.

My belly has swollen from pot to cauldron and her hips have begun brushing against the doorframes as she passes. Still, we eat. Whether we realize it or not we’ve gotten ourselves into a routine of eating rich home cooking until our bellies are overstuffed, then washing it all down with dry red wine or sweet meads. Each night we cuddle and our guts are achingly taut with excess, in the morning we are slightly more swollen than the one before.

Now I’m starting to have trouble reaching my arms around her when we spoon and certain positions are nigh impossible for two big-bellied lovers.

She’s starting to struggle to fit into most clothes from the rack and I’m wheezing every time I come up the stairs to our apartment. We’re both approaching 300lbs and no one is manning the brakes.

This is the result of a sponsored stuffing...

You can clearly see how my belly looks full on the after pics 😵‍💫

I guess some of you really want to see me get fatter!

I'm so grateful for that because I enjoy pigging out so much! I was born to be an obese cow, constantly focused on eating...

The American way 🍃💨