Heart: I’m sorry to do this, but I have to signal distress.
Lb. Control: We’ve seen this coming.
Stomach: Almost everything coming down here the past 6 months is complete garbage.
Major Tongue: But it all tastes soooooo gooood! We love food, don’t we? Don’t we love it? Yummmmmm. Num num num num num!!
Stomach: Idiot. If we can find enough cookie dough for you, will you secede the union?
Lb. Control: Lungs, slow her down. She’s clueless. Alert her.
Lungs: Done. She’ll feel tired soon.
Major Tongue: Yes! Chocolate! Here it comes, tum tum! She eats it when she’s stressed.
Lb. Control: Okay, we need more support. Butt, double yourself.
Butt: Huh? Did someone call me? I was sleeping. So tired.
Lb. Control: Double your fat.
Butt: Listen, she won’t even care. She doesn’t ever work me, doesn’t know I’m here. I’m just sat upon.
Lb. Control: DO. IT.
Eyes: We’re looking at the mirror. This is awful. Why couldn’t we belong to a body in a poorer country? We’d rather see a war-torn horizon before us than this gelatinous entity in the reflection…. Super. She’s decorating us. Hey lady, you can doll me up with shadows and mascaras but I still see the crime you’re committing against yourself and the rest of sighted mankind.
Lb. Control: [Sigh.] I’m announcing commencement of Operation Fatsuit.
Stomach: No, not the cover of shame! I have outer muscles that are hidden as is. Now they’ll never see the light.
Heart: This just makes everything harder on me. You know this, right?
Lb. Control: Focus on the long-term, Heart. She has a brain in there somewhere, and a bit of will power. I think. Sometimes it takes a fatsuit to find it.
Eyes: Nooooooo! Are we even attached to the same woman?? Honestly. Have we been donated to another human?
Major Tongue: Chocolate? Cookies? I sense stress but nothing is entering.
Lungs: So tired.
Major Tongue: Oh! A latte! This is ok I guess. Could be a little more sugary….
Heart: Oh, God. Here it comes! #Beatbeatbeatbeat! #Falselife #Can’tslowherdown! #Wheeeeeee! #Sofun!!! ……. Oh. #Blip. Crash. Crashing hard. Anyone else here sleepy?
Eyes: Wait! She’s looking at exercise videos, putting one in the DVD player. Oh, please. Oh please.
Butt: Oh! Whoa, I’m moving!
Legs: Me too! Jumping! I FEEL SO ALIVE!
Butt: Legs, I would high-five you right now but I’m just jiggling all over the place. Just going with it!
Heart: #Happiness! #Workit!! #Yes! #Beepbeepbeep! Sweat! #Yippee!
Eyes: It’s so refreshing to see fit people, even if they are on a DVD. I hope this workout lasts forever.
Major Tongue: I am soooooooo bored. Ugh. Can she at least exercise with a lollipop on me? Oh, great, now just plain water. Ugggggh. Dullsville! Oh, really! A CARROT?! Grrr. I hate Operation Fatsuit. And there’s nothing I can do.
Lb. Control: Let’s crank up the metabolism, just a bit. Reward her. For the sake of our own survival. But nothing serious until she’s shown us effort for like 4 weeks or so. She has to earn this.
Major Tongue: Oooooh! Cream cheese!! Num num! Boo yah! Guess who always wins?! I always win! BOOM.
Eyes: Oh for God’s sake. The carrot was garnish next to carrot cake. How can we gouge ourselves out of this mess?! Who is in control here?!
Major Tongue: I am! I’m in charge! I drink your milkshake! I DRINK IT UP!!
Lb. Control: Cancel the metabolism changes. I’m open to suggestions here. I don’t have the authority to shut down this body, but I recognize we’re all miserable captives. Except…. Major Tongue. How can such a small and fairly useless organ rule a whole body?
Eyes: Wait, she’s focused on an old photo of herself. You know, a skinnier Her.
Lb. Control: That’s it! Eyes, try to keep her focused there. After awhile, vanity HAS to take over. She has to remember being thin.
Eyes: Focused. Oh, great, drowning. Tears.
Lb. Control: Tears! That’s progress!
Major Tongue: Where’d the carrot cake go? It just stopped. ARGHGH! So salty! So salty!
Eyes: Cake’s in the trash, baby. In the trash! And now that’s a calorie counting app we’re looking at.
Lb. Control: There may be hope. We may all survive. Let’s keep focused, guys. This is a new year, and we outnumber the lone idiot.
Major Tongue: Not over! Not. Over. Yet. Never over. I always get the last word!