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Write on!

Finally, you decide to write the note. After all, you reason, if the pills are this bad, they probably aren't even in business anymore. "Nothing", you answer Fred. "Just thinking."

"Well, stop thinking and start writing", he snarls, hanging atop his belly like a moored life raft. You'd like to take offense at his peremptory tone ... but the fear in his eyes lets you know he's just terrified. You have to hurry!

Taking the paper off one of your dry cleaning company's hangers, you sit down on the edge of your bed to compose a note, the springs and wood creaking beneath your weight. You turn the pencil in your hand to bring the point around ...

Suddenly, disater strikes. Your fat fingers tangle with each other, and the pencil bounces off your belly to rest on the floor!

With a whine of distress, you ignore Fred's panicked questions. What now? You might be able to find another pencil in the nightstand, but can you lift yourself from the bed before another 'fatquake' hits?

You could try to reach the pencil you can see on the floor, but you probably won't be able to get up afterward ... how will you get the note out?

From the feeling in your stomach, you can tell you don't have much time to decide.


Written by Wanderer

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