chapter 1

Alan woke up with a groan. As usual, the first thing that caught his eye was the massive mountain of a belly towering before him, the rays of the morning sun peeking out from above it. His gut gurgled quietly as it woke up along with him, hungering for breakfast. Giving his tummy a small pat to quieten it, with his generous flab jiggling at the impact, he turned his jowl-hefty head to look at the bedside clock radio. The clock read 7:59 a.m., and below that was the date--September 13th, 2086.

As he looked at it, the clock ticked over to 8 a.m., and immediately a brass fanfare blared from the speaker.

"Good morning, citizens of Corporalia!" a voice proclaimed. "You're listening to the Corporalia News Network, your only source of current events. Our top story today; the nation of Iran was formally annexed into the Federation yesterday, making it the second nation after India to join the Corporalia-Asia Coalition. As was the case with India, the Iranian government will be allowed to remain in power, but will of course answer to the greater Corporalian Federation. Happy citizens took to the streets of Tehran to rejoice in entering this new era of prosperity..."

Yawning, Alan slapped the clock with a pudgy hand to shut it up. He'd never paid much mind to foreign affairs. All he was really concerned with was providing for himself and his wife, Christine. As he thought of her, he realised he had better get up if he was going to be on time for work.

Groaning, he yanked the bed covers aside, his enormous belly coming into full view--over five hundred pounds' worth of flab. He was certainly grateful for the bountiful food that being a Corporalian citizen provided him. Nobody ever went hungry under their benevolent leaders. He'd seen the news pictures of those poor people in India, once so hungry and thin, now waddling about with massive guts and asses. That was the Corporalian way--prosperity and comfort for all.

Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, Alan pulled himself into a sitting position. The bed frame beneath him creaked, bowing out as he sat on the side of the bed, idly scratching his flabby C-cup moobs. Heaving himself to his feet, he set about getting dressed in his usual work attire; an enormous white shirt and equally capacious pair of grey pants. Even at their size, they were becoming a snug fit on him--it would soon be time to go clothes shopping again. The last shirt button struggled to fit over his belly, with Alan having to suck his massive gut in in order to fasten it, and even then, little ovals of belly fat poked out from between the buttons where the shirt was strained to the utmost. He quickly pinned on his name badge, which identified him as an employee of the Department of Youthful Integrity, the government organisation responsible for ensuring that Corporalia's children upheld their way of life from a young age. He'd already prepared a report on an exciting initiative for a high-fat food paste to be used in school lunches. With these thoughts in mind, he lumbered towards the bedroom door.

The floor trembled beneath his every step, his belly smacking against his hips as he walked. His hips and love handles bulged out over his waistband, jiggling slightly with every step he took. Heading down the hall and into the kitchen, he was greeted by the love of his life, Christine. She weighed in at around 450 pounds, her enormous belly and F-cup breasts straining against the pink floral-patterned dress she wore. She was currently munching on a bowl of Sugar Slammers cereal ("300% of your daily dose of sugar: approved by the Corporalian Department of Sustenance) and reading the day's paper. The headline was about how Iran had been taken over, as expected. She smiled upon seeing her husband enter the room.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she said, struggling to her feet and giving Alan a kiss. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Like a log," Alan smiled back, grabbing a mug of coffee as he rooted around for some breakfast of his own. "The kids gone to school already?"

"They left about ten minutes ago," Christine replied. "They were very eager to go. Apparently, they're having a special assembly today on the dangers of being too thin today." She chuckled. "Any excuse to get out of class, right?"

"And get taught some good values in the process," Alan agreed, greedily ripping open a tin of Ultra Pop-Tarts ("twice the sugar, twice the fat, twice the taste") and shoving three of them into his mouth. "Alright, hon, I've gotta go. I'm running late as it is."

"Have a good day, sweetie!" Christine called after him as he waddled to the carport, where his car was waiting. It was one of many models designed for maximum comfort for the expanded waistlines of the new order. The front seat was a single row, where the driver could sit and enjoy a snack on a handy fold-out table. Two rows behind provided plenty of space for hauling one's hefty children to school and back, with no less than twelve drinks holders, each capable of holding a 128-ounce soda mug.

Alan and Christine lived in one of many planned neighbourhoods in Corporalia, with rows of bungalows arranged along uniform, grid-like streets, all with the best mod cons available such as moving paths, double-wide doors, jumbo fridges and personal snack machines. Plenty of residents were waddling about, quite a few of them in the buff. Nudity was permitted in Corporalia, since low-hanging bellies covered most genitalia and bras could be used to cover breasts. He was just in time to see his neighbour, Jane Keller, leave on the school run, happily munching on Ultra Pop-Tarts as she drove.

Above the Kellers' house was a billboard--one of many of its kind, extolling the virtues of Corporalian life. This particular one featured a beaming young woman, both hands placed on her capacious gut. Underneath was a call to action: "Don't just pinch an inch. Go for a whole foot!"

Squeezing into his own car, Alan pulled out of the driveway and into the street, before setting off on the morning commute. All around was the usual sight of the town's citizens going about their business; driving to work, school buses loaded down with their passengers, some people simply laying in their gardens in a stupor, too full and lazy to move. Immobility had been on the rise in recent months, with entire families becoming trapped within their own homes. This had given rise to the Waitron robotic assistant, advertised on yet another billboard, bringing food to a smiling, bedridden couple; "Relax and let Waitron do the work!"

As Alan turned a corner and into a different street, a speaker van drove past him. There were several of these vans throughout the city, broadcasting the virtues of Corporalia to all its citizens and reminding them of their duty to eat up and get fatter.

"Remember, a fat family is a happy family," the van proclaimed. "Submit your family weight gain forms to your local authorities at the end of the month, and receive subsidies on all groceries purchased."

Printed on the side of the van was a picture of a malevolent-looking masked man, impossibly thin, snatching candy from a distraught child. The legend below it read, "Spotted a thin activist? Call 1-800-REPORT-THIN immediately!"

Alan snorted and shook his head. Thin activism--the very idea! Why would anyone want to resist their perfect lifestyle? And it certainly was perfect. Their leaders had gone to such great lengths to keep them fat and happy, and these ungrateful thin activists sought to undo all that? What utter lunacy! The Corporalian government would sort them out. The government always knew how to handle things for them.

And so Alan drove on, as content and happy as every other loyal Corporalian citizen was.

(Is there anyone or anywhere else in Corporalia you'd like to read about? Comment and let me know!)