Mmm, I know you’re tired, baby, but feeding a spoiled pig like me isn’t cheap. I’ve gotten too fat and lazy to cook—I need greasy fast food, constant calories. You’re not just my feeder, you’re my provider. Keep earning while I keep growing.

Fitness is obsolete—no more chasing prey or fleeing predators. Comfort is king now. Fat is evolution’s triumph, and you’ve embraced it in all its soft, glorious perfection.

This weekend is all about indulgence; Friday-Sunday, I’ll keep you stuffed beyond reason—your belly taut, your body growing softer, heavier. You were meant to be enormous, my overfed prize, too massive to move. We’ll push your limits and break them.

Life isn’t about reaching the grave in a flawless, well-kept body—it’s about diving in headfirst, sliding sideways with a drink in one hand and dessert in the other, completely spent, worn out, and shouting, “Wow, what a ride!”

Soft, heavy, and ready for more—your favorite overfed cow is lounging and letting it all spill out. Every roll and ripple proof of my insatiable appetite. How much fatter do you want me?

Worship these rolls, adore this softness—because there's no such thing as too much of a good thing. Feed me, praise me, and watch me expand into your wildest dreams.