My nightmares are different from your nightmares

* make us famous

As a member of the gloriously well-respected and glamorous profession known as nursing, I have been well trained in the ways of cultural and bariatric sensitivity. I am aware that many medical conditions can lead to obesity, but I looked in your chart, and you don’t seem to have any of those. It took five people to hold apart your legs and the flap above your vulva for me to attempt to shove this plastic tube up your pisser. I mean somebody is feeding you, because you can’t fucking move yourself, and I daresay since Tammy and Billy are clearly giving you the Popeyes and Double Big Gulps you’re asking for, they at least care about you, or they’d let you live on your own blubber like a hibernating bear.

f they’re kind enough to do that, it should be hospital policy that they are the ones to remove the semi-hardened pool of pus and yeast three inches deep above your love flaps that I swam through to care for you medically. As I dog-paddled my way toward your urethra, I couldn’t help but notice the cheese nip, tiny Barbie hanger, and gum tablet floating in the morass. I smiled as I thought to myself, at least your dolls are well-dressed, and you have fresh breath.