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Who's the biggest of them all?

The throne room disappears, along with Peter's stone cold grip on your wrist. You look around, finding yourself in what appears to be a large ballroom. The walls are completely covered in mirrors, and everywhere you look, you see your reflection. You search the walls for a seam, or some other exit, but there are none. You bang your fists against the glass walls, but to no effect. They don't even shiver. You give up, and stand in the centre of the room.

You realise that nothing's going to happen, and let out a small chuckle, which quickly turns into a deep-bellied laugh, suitable for your large size. You stretch happily, causing your shirt to rise up your torso and expose your generous beer-gut. You scratch your wide chest with your flabby arms, and let out a loud burp. You look over at one of the many mirrors, and instead of seeing your normal self, you see some sort of stick-figure person, in clothes at least two sizes too big. You let out a hearty guffaw, turning around and watching as the shrimp does the same. That leprechaun; trying to trick you by making your reflection thin.

The surroundings change again, and you find yourself in your living room. When you look outside, though, it's still the ballroom, only bigger. You shrug and go to the kitchen for a beer, turning in order to fit your wide body through the door. You open the fridge, and place your hands on your knees as you look for the beverage. This causes your gut to ooze out from underneath your shirt, but you don't care. You find the right can, then take a large swig from it, feeling it fizz and rush on its way to your stomach, which grows a few inches. You smile, and the grin is exaggerated by your extra chins and fat cheeks. You put the can on the bench, and your surroundings change again.

You're in what appears to be a wrestling ring, surrounded by screaming people. At the other end of the ring, there stands a man who looks to be about the same weight as you. His gigantic stomach hangs over his loincloth by quite a few inches, and he doesn't appear to have a neck. You inspect your own body, and find that you're about the same. Then a bell rings, and you move toward each other, colliding and bouncing away. The scene changes again, and you realise this is your fate - to relive the moments in the lives of fat people forever. You don't really care, though. You don't even acknowledge the fact. You just roll with it, taking whatever the leprechaun throws at you. At least it's better than your job as a reporter.

Written by an anonymous author

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