Frankie saddled up to the bar at the We-Stuff-Em-All Diner, bureaucrat central office of Fat For A New America. He wrong-side-out to his furthermost fat friend, Bubba the Burger, and launched a broadside.
"If we don't do thing now, we could lose all our progress, twenty-five years of increasing and accumulating continuous downcast the drain-if you take into custody my outpouring."
"Did you telephone the others?" Bubba asked.
"Yeah. Sophie and Bunnie are on the way. I told them we necessary an emergency council."
"What going on for Mickey?" Bubba constant.
"Holy preservatives, I forgot him. Let me get your cell."
Bubba passed him the touchtone phone.
Sophie The Soft Drink and Bunnie The Bun waddled done the fascia door, followed by Mickey The Malt a few account later. The gang moved to the country booth, savvy middle for all Fat For A New America founders.
"We obverse a upcoming shrinkage crisis," Frankie began. "We have need of to attach in cooperation and map out a new plan of action."
"For the worship of lard, Frankie, offer us a break," Sophie started. "We've earlier captured terminated two thirds of the entire population, fractional of them beside ended 30 pounds each of honourable ol', legal American-made blubber. We're killin' 'em out in that."
"You don't get it, Sophie," Frankie argued adamantly. "Even conversely we've trapped the breath-taking majority, not a single one of 'em wants us to rod around-so to speak. If we administer them any good-natured of opening, we're past."
"Not lone that," Bubba added, "our enemies the vegetables don't tending. They're comparatively elysian to be exhausted and eliminated short going thing behind-no future, no legacy, nil to be evidence of at all."
"I ne'er unspoken that mentality," Mickey piped in. "No nightmare whatsoever-way too small-minded, if you see what I be a sign of."
"Yeah, terribly shrunken thinking," Bunnie chimed.
"For flab's sake, satisfactory chatter," ordered Frankie. "Time to glob in cooperation. We inevitability to alter the coercion once and for all. Sophie, you've been dealing next to military unit numeral two, fruit. What's your report?"
"Good info on all fronts," Sophie responded. "Operation Can 'Em or Juice 'Em is processing at riddled hurry. We took out record of Poppa Pear and abandoned him in chemicals in a can, upside-down Abe Apple into any condiment or sugar-laden drinks and created a entire queue of bogus juices that perplex nearly each one into basic cognitive process that they're getting historical fruit once truly the full vessel has little than 10%. The balance is all water, refined sugar and colorings-perfect for fat rendition."
"Well lumberin' be passionate about handles, that's first-class." Frankie wiped the oil from his feature. "As we push that operation, we'll ownership the fruit market-get rid of those who act too caller. Bubba, you have a other approach..."
"Yeah. It's named Salt, Sweeten & Stimulate-a move that we have entire adjust completed." Bubba gazed in the region of the table. "All of us comedy a obese duty."
Bubba chortled at his primo pal. "Frankie, you front. Can you add more saline to your ingredients?"
"Sure, Bubba. No question."
"More salt will produce more bloating since it can just hang about in mankind in salty. More bloating, more weight, less exercise, much necessitate for stimulants, you get the drift-which leads me to you Sophie. Can you bulge up your caffein content?"
"Whatever the exact calls for, Bubba."
Bubba gloated chubbily. "More stimulants, high highs, faster crashes, much cravings for sweetening. That's where on earth you locomote in, Mickey. Can you identical twin your sweetness?"
"For sure, my bulbous male sibling."
Bubba's mouth dripped near oil. "More sugar, more than fat storage, more than spikes and little vigour for thing that could transition us in any way."
Bubba drooled with intemperance. "Bunnie, you're last-the hostess with the mostest-the one that holds us all both. I poverty you to do it all-more briny to your deliciously nutritionless processed flour; a sweetener glazing to the top of each bun; more sugar in the mix; and chemicals that will baulk and handicap and check."
Bubba laughed so complex he near mislaid his cruciferous plant.
"If we tough grind together, we'll profile more tires than Goodyear," Bubba joyfully professed. "Our put in precedent eternally anchored to their mid-rifts."
"Outstanding," Frankie praised. "Truly gelatinous. But we standing have to promise next to antagonist cipher one-those wicked vegetables."
"We're production few progress, Frankie," Bunnie chirped. "We got ketchup grouped as a seedlike in the seminary set of contacts and brimful it pregnant of some refined sugar and salt-addict 'em while they're preteen and defenseless."
"It's not the sauces I'm hot and bothered about," Frankie espoused. "We've crammed record of them next to salt or sweetener or some. The greenies pose our greatest challenge, Artie Artichoke, Gretta Green Bean and our archrival, Sallie Salad. If they gain any momentum, they possibly will get into a geographical area. Remember, they make slow-burning oil and evaporate in need a trace-a absolute waste! If man get hip, we'll go the way of the glacier-melt city!"
Frankie mopped more oil from his dumpy cheeks.
"As noticeably as we all disgust salads, we have need of more sweetener and brackish on those veggies-drown their virtues in creaminess, gustatory perception and glutomates. We stipulation an country on the in. I say we beckon Deirdre-Deirdre The Dressing Queen. I cognise that's extreme, so let's yield a option."
One by one, the Fat For A New America founders push their dumpy safekeeping into the central of the administrative body and gave the thumbs up. In one voice, they began to chant, faster and quicker to the final, large crescendo:
"Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE fat, fat!!!"
"Meeting adjourned," serial Frankie. "A waistline is a very bad point to mind-let's eat."
TO BE CONTINUED...