Stomach, you are full. Trust me, Stomach. Trust me. I know it doesn’t feel like you are now, but you are. No. No, really, you don’t want anymore pancakes. I know. I know the last few bites have been very delicious, but believe me, you are full, and if I put more pancakes inside of you, you’ll complain later. Stomach. Stomach, stop that. Stop controlling Hand. Stomach, leave Hand alone. Stomach, I swear to God don’t put this bite of pancake in me. Stoma– mmph. Mmmgrgh, phmmph.
(gulp)
Well, I hope you’re happy. You’ve made me eat another bite past full. What’s more, there is now so little pancake left on the plate, that I may as well finish it off.
Wait. That’s really stupid logic.
Brain! Brain, stop with that sort of logic. We should stop eating when we are full, not when the plate is empty necessarily. Well, I’m sorry, Brain, you’ll just have to get over that. No. No, there are not starving children who would– well, I mean there ARE, but how does me eating this food help starving children elsewhere? No. No, Brain. No, that’s just something that was repeated over and over to you when you were young. Is that all you are, Brain? Some mindless Pavlovian autamaton? Who helplessly repeats and carries out orders it is given, in spite of the fact the orde– mmph. Glmmmphmmm, glmmmgrh.
(gulp)
Well, great. We’ve finished our plate. Happy now, Brain? Are you happy that, despite not at all needing to eat something, we ate it? Is that some sort of triumph? Why did we even order pancakes in the first place, Brain, you KNOW we’re trying to eat less carbohydra– “Because we never order pancakes”? That’s not a good reason, Brain. We never order genocide either; should we ask for a steaming pile of genocide next time we’re in a restaurant? We never order pancakes, Brain, because we are sort of fat and pancakes don’t help that situation.
Look, let’s just get the check and get out of here.
There’s the waitress. Hand, do that little thing– OK, she’s coming over.
What’s that, Penis? Yes, I suppose she’s cute. I mean, I don’t know, it really doesn’t matter, does it? What could possibly happen? She’s a waitress at an all-night diner in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. We’ll never be here again. Or if we will be, it will just to stop for food like this time. And we’re on our way out right now, so we couldn’t even ask her to do something tonight.
Not like we’d ever have the guts to, anyway. Yeah, I’m talking to you, Guts.
So, yes, Penis, she is sort of cute, but– what is Mouth doing? Penis. Penis, why is Mouth ordering dessert? We just had fucking pancakes, we don’t need– Penis, did we just order dessert so you could talk to the waitress longer?! Jesus H. Christ, Penis. Of course it seems like she’s into you, she’s the waitress. You’re such a dick, Penis.
What? No, fine! We already ordered the pecan pie, I guess, and we’ve already sat here and waited some. We can’t look like a jackass and cancel now. Yes, I know it’s a “sunk cost”, Brain. And Brain, we do not “always order pecan pie”. In fact, we never do, we just always almost order it, and then don’t because you say we always do. If you want someone to complain to: meet Penis. I bet you two would get along.
Hand, what time is it? Midnight. Well, looks like we won’t be to Raliegh before 1am. Heh. I can’t believe we’re sitting here waiting for pecan pie. You guys… you guys are hilarious.
What’s that, Stomach? Oh, you’re full now?
(sigh)
Eat me, Stomach. Eat me.