You do remember you're a reporter, right?

You wake up, and find yourself still sitting on the couch, bathed in light from the TV. You must've fallen asleep without realising it. A phone rings in another room, and you groan. After several attempts, you manage to heave your stupidly massive body out of the chair, then lumber to the phone and answer it.

"What."

"You're late. Again. Did you sleep in or something?" It's your boss.

You check the time: 10:27. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, are you coming to work or not? I'm still waiting for that 'report' on Castle Bathory."

"Uhh..."

"Look." Your boss says. "If you're not here in an hour, then I'll come to you."

"But-"

"No buts! This report is important. I'll see you in an hour." And with that, the line goes dead.

Naturally, you panic. What are you going to do? You can't let your boss see you like this; he'll freak out, and you'll lose your job for sure. Plus, he'd probably call the police or the RPCA and then you'd have the government after your ass. Your mind races to find a way out of the situation. The Leprechaun? No, he'd just make things worse. Maybe you could hide - but then you'd get fired for sure. Then again, maybe being fired isn't too bad...

A sudden rumbling noise jolts you out of your stupor. It sounds like a car; is he here already? You rush to the front door as fast as you can (which isn't that fast, really), and stare out at the road. Surprisingly, there are no cars parked outside the house. Then you hear the noise again, and realise that it's your stomach grumbling for food. "Not now..." you mutter, but your gut just growls louder. You sigh and stomp to the kitchen, grabbing enough food to sate your appetite. But, after several bags of chips, twenty cookies, a dozen sandwiches and a bottle of soda, you're still hungry. Stupid Leprechaun and his stupid curse...

After emptying most of the pantry, you finally feel full. Your already-tight shirt has ridden up your gut and now sits around your chest, and the waistband of your pants is noticeably tighter. You growl and heave yourself away from the table, and try to remember what you were doing before you got distracted. Then the doorbell rings, and it all comes flooding back. You check the time; it's now half-past eleven. You wasted almost all your time eating! The doorbell rings again, and you desperately think of what to do next...

Written by Pyronator

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