You tried to tell me you couldn’t eat three fast food combo meals, but here we are with you chewing and swallowing the last mouthful of fries. I told you that you could finish them all, didn’t I? Because I know exactly how much of a fat-ass you are. It’s so amusing to watch you—to see you all bloated and uncomfortable after I’ve shoved your face full of food, to follow the progress of your body from just chubby to dangerously obese, to think about all the reactions other people have to your disgusting and ever-fattening form. More than anything, though, I love how I can spend eleven minutes after a feeding degrading you, telling you how sick and perverted you are, and not only do you stand there and let me do it—you look at me with acceptance in your eyes because you know that every shameful thing I say is true