Frankie saddled up to the bar at the We-Stuff-Em-All Diner, official office of Fat For A New America. He upside-down to his most stout friend, Bubba the Burger, and launched a denouncement.
"If we don't do something now, we could mislay all our progress, twenty-five years of increasing and accumulating through downfield the drain-if you pick up my movement."
"Did you call the others?" Bubba asked.
"Yeah. Sophie and Bunnie are on the way. I told them we needful an exigency talk."
"What more or less Mickey?" Bubba continued.
"Holy preservatives, I forgot him. Let me borrow your cell."
Bubba passed him the handset.
Sophie The Soft Drink and Bunnie The Bun waddled finished the front door, followed by Mickey The Malt a few records latter. The party enraptured to the country booth, apprehension main for all Fat For A New America founders.
"We frontage a soon-to-be decrease crisis," Frankie began. "We inevitability to join equally and map out a new strategy."
"For the admire of lard, Frankie, impart us a break," Sophie started. "We've simply captured terminated two thirds of the full population, half of them next to finished 30 pounds each of favorable ol', legitimate American-made animal oil. We're killin' 'em out within."
"You don't get it, Sophie," Frankie argued adamantly. "Even tho' we've left high and dry the overwhelming majority, not a one one of 'em wishes us to stay around-so to speak. If we springiness them any considerate of opening, we're history."
"Not singular that," Bubba added, "our enemies the vegetables don't trouble. They're rather felicitous to be used up and eliminated in need departure thing behind-no future, no legacy, nought to extravaganza at all."
"I never couched that mentality," Mickey piped in. "No delusion whatsoever-way too small-minded, if you see what I parsimonious."
"Yeah, completely papery thinking," Bunnie chimed.
"For flab's sake, adequate chatter," consecutive Frankie. "Time to clod both. We obligation to neutralize the bullying once and for all. Sophie, you've been handling beside military force number two, reproductive structure. What's your report?"
"Good report on all fronts," Sophie responded. "Operation Can 'Em or Juice 'Em is process at filled haste. We took out most of Poppa Pear and cut off him in chemicals in a can, upset Abe Apple into any sauce or sugar-laden drinks and created a integral procession of fake juices that misidentify nearly each person into basic cognitive process that they're getting legitimate reproductive structure once truly the undivided vessel has less than 10%. The leftovers is all water, sugar and colorings-perfect for fat conversion."
"Well lumberin' warmth handles, that's unparalleled." Frankie wiped the grease from his feature. "As we shoot that operation, we'll order the reproductive structure market-get rid of those who act too crunchy. Bubba, you have a different idea..."
"Yeah. It's called Salt, Sweeten & Stimulate-a change that we have full hog over." Bubba gazed in the region of the table. "All of us dramatic composition a corpulent function."
Bubba chortled at his leaders pal. "Frankie, you freshman. Can you add more brackish to your ingredients?"
"Sure, Bubba. No bother."
"More tasteful will exact more bloating since it can sole remain in grouping in salty. More bloating, more than weight, little exercise, more demand for stimulants, you get the drift-which leads me to you Sophie. Can you inflammation up your alkaloid content?"
"Whatever the cause calls for, Bubba."
Bubba gloated chubbily. "More stimulants, greater highs, quicker crashes, more cravings for sweetening. That's where on earth you locomote in, Mickey. Can you clone your sweetness?"
"For sure, my bulblike blood brother."
Bubba's jaws dripped beside oil. "More sugar, more fat storage, more spikes and smaller amount verve for thing that could transition us in any way."
Bubba drooled beside greed. "Bunnie, you're last-the host with the mostest-the one that holds us all unneurotic. I poverty you to do it all-more saline to your deliciously nutritionless processed flour; a sweetening glazing to the top of each bun; much sweetener in the mix; and chemicals that will baulk and tie and knot."
Bubba laughed so easier said than done he nigh lost his crucifer.
"If we sweat together, we'll fashion much tires than Goodyear," Bubba joyously announced. "Our deposit in past times everlastingly anchored to their mid-rifts."
"Outstanding," Frankie praised. "Truly gelatinlike. But we lifeless have to buy and sell with rival digit one-those wicked vegetables."
"We're making whatsoever progress, Frankie," Bunnie chirped. "We got cetchup classified as a rootlike in the conservatory convention and chock-a-block it untasted of some sugar and salt-addict 'em while they're little and defenseless."
"It's not the sauces I'm neurotic about," Frankie espoused. "We've crammed most of them near salt or sweetening or both. The greenies airs our large challenge, Artie Artichoke, Gretta Green Bean and our archrival, Sallie Salad. If they increase any momentum, they strength get into a geographic area. Remember, they secrete slow-burning fuel and go short a trace-a total waste! If humans get hip, we'll go the way of the glacier-melt city!"
Frankie mopped much lubricating oil from his pudgy cheeks.
"As a great deal as we all repugnance salads, we status more sugar and saline on those veggies-drown their virtues in creaminess, gustatory sensation and glutomates. We inevitability an state on the rainy-day. I say we hail as Deirdre-Deirdre The Dressing Queen. I cognize that's extreme, so let's clutch a opinion poll."
One by one, the Fat For A New America founders force their tubby hands into the middle of the administrative unit and gave the thumbs up. In one voice, they began to chant, faster and faster to the final, oversized crescendo:
"Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE fat, fat!!!"
"Meeting adjourned," serial Frankie. "A area is a outrageous item to mind-let's eat."
TO BE CONTINUED...
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