“Just another bite,” I thought aloud to myself for the benefit of my family.
Surely finishing what was before me was the best honor I could give in thanks for everything those before me have allowed me to have…
But… the body cried out… it screamed “Foul! Foul, that which once nourished now overwhelms and destroys! By Othar Tryggvassen, Gentleman Adventurer’s left nut, if you take one more bite, we will all die!”
“I can do this,” I murmured, more to convince myself than anyone around me.
This is bad. This is so very very grim, but I can do this.
My soul shrieked “Have done with this! It would be better had you beaten your pancreas to death with your spleen!†”
I chided my insides… Ok, now you’re just exaggerating.
My stomach growled at me, with pure hatred and no supplication.
With an agonized expression I looked at Cruel Wife. “Huh. Maybe not… maybe I can’t do this.”
The mashed potatoes had loosed some of their bounty upon my stuffing, which was in turn smothering my turkey. This would be no mere bite, not even a Herculean bite. It would be the work of many bites.
“I can’t do this,” I said around a huge mouthful of turkey, stuffing, and potatoes. A rivulet of butter ran down through my beard, bringing with it promises of a portable snack later, as long as I didn’t wash my face.
Oh geez, I’m doing it. I’m really doing it now.
My stomach did the only thing it could do, which was to push food through the scanners… errr… my digestive system faster than it could handle otherwise because the protesters… uh… food just kept coming. And then it blew up. I rapidly slipped into a coma, and died.
And still, I ate more.
And finished it despite being recently departed.
A feeble croak escaped my lips, piggy-backed on a titanic belch which did nothing to relieve the pressure,”I’m dead… uh… full.”
I got up from the table and staggered the 23 feet to my chair and haven’t moved since.
Mmmm. That’s good butter.
†The idea of beating anything with your spleen was inspired by “Bolt”, a line from Rhino the Hamster.