(This made more sense when I still had a preschooler.)

Lb. Control to Major Tongue

Circuits are dead, there’s something wrong….

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.

Butt:  Done.

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!

3 Responses to “Lb. Control to Major Tongue”

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