Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
"No", Fred replies, crossing his muscle-swollen arms, "I won't."
"But Fred ... "
"Look", he interrupts, "it's a bad idea, okay? I mean, the tape has to come off sometime, and if you're half-starved you'll just eat yourself into a stupor. Besides", he adds with a mocking smile, "I am not, I repeat, not handling bedpans."
"Great", you groan. "Instead, I'll cut out the middle part and just get straight to the eating. Look at me, Fred! I'm a gray, hornheaded blob!"
"Eighty-six the pity-pot", he scoffs. "There's another reason I'm not going to tie you up."
"Look, Fred", you snap, "either you tie me up, or I'm just going to keep eating until I fall through the floor!"
"So do it."
You blink. "Huh?"
"Go ahead", Fred shrugs. "Eat yourself into a coma. Gorge yourself until you qualify as a continent, blubber-butt. Stuff that prehensile-lipped mouth of yours until you sweat butter and bleed gravy."
"But, Fred ... "
"But me no buts", he replies. "You just march straight into that kitchen, and don't stop eating until you've got your belly in the oven and your backside in the bedroom."
You look pitifully up at him ... but Fred only points a single strong hand in the direction of the kitchen, silently telling you to go exactly where your rumbling gut wants you to be.
Maybe it's hopeless, you think. I guess he's just given up on me. Miserably accepting your fate as an uncontrollable appetite with legs, you plant your arms against the floor, lean to one side, and shove off from the complaining surface beneath you.
Written by Wanderer