My arse hates me.

It grows, like some forgotten, mammoth zuchini, hiding beneath the leaves of my clothing. I know it. I can feel it THINK about getting larger. It's the oddest sense.

These arse thoughts are pervasive. They intrude upon every waking moment. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. Cream Cheese anything. The entire family of Mexican foods. I'll be sitting here, working away, coding, creating images, in a meeting, driving-- WHEREVER-- and suddenly the arse thoughts begin. Images flood my brain while whispers of "Embiggen me," flutter in the background.

Lemon Merangue Pie. Coffee. Chocolate. Cream cheese anything again.

...embiggennn.... And it always sounds like such a good idea.