All of your clothes are starting to fit a little differently, aren't they? Especially around your bloated belly. Shirts riding higher, fabric stretched tighter, struggling to contain your lower belly oozing out from under it.
Your pants, they're starting to dig in. Hips spreading, waist thickening. They didn't used to do that. But they do now. Because you've turned into a proper fatass.
It's not just your clothes that are a reminder of how far you've let yourself go. It's your body. Everytime you sit, that belly settles heavier into your lap, protruding out further. Taking up more space than it did before.
Every laboured step you take, you can feel the effects of your gluttonous tendencies, the plush pounds, wobbling everywhere, reminding of all of your hard work.
You can't get enough. You want more. You need more. When you play with your belly wouldn't it feel better if there was just more? More to squeeze, grab and fondle. You'd love that, wouldn't you?
You never used to be like this. But now, all you can think about is more. You're addicted to fullness. Obsessed with the pleasure that comes from stuffing yourself silly. If you're not eating, you're thinking about what you're going to eat next...
You've surrendered to your own appetite. The softness swallowing up any discipline you had left. Engulfing your body in layers of lard.
Because you can't put the fork down anymore can you, fatty?
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