You've become insufferably bratty as of late, taunting and teasing me every chance you get. I've put up with it for awhile, if only because you've gotten so deliciously fat for me as of late, but when you use my card to order almost $100 worth of takeout without my permission, I finally snap and decide to put you in your place. I grab you by the throat and pin you down to the couch, but that's still not enough to shut that bratty little mouth of yours, so I decide to shut it for you by making you do what you do best: swallow. I open a fresh case of Boost and pour carton after carton into your mouth, swelling you up bigger and bigger with each swallow. You beg me to stop, whining and crying for mercy as your overstuffed belly swells up like a big, bloated cream balloon. When I finally do, you're an absolute mess, with thick, creamy sludge all over your cheeks and chins and your too-tight T-shirt completely soaked from the spillage. You think the punishment's over, but to your shock, I decide not to cancel the order you placed, and I tell you I'm going to make sure you eat every last crumb of takeout when it arrives, no matter how much your belly is aching.