buffet.

Her pink sausage arms jabbed into his ribs and nodded vigorously at the rows and rows of sliced deli meats and cheeses like brightly colored decorations in front of them. She licked her lips and drummed her pudge fingers on the plate pressed against her thick breasts. I look one way and I see magic. I look the other and there’s more magic. Oh, Mr. Yeast how I love your All-you-can-eat Feast! Her indecisiveness ended as soon as she saw the sweaty brown and pink glazed ham smothered with sugared pineapples and melting butter. Her wide eyes were like two bits of coal in a fleshy pink snowman. Jackpot, she thought.

He rubbed where her meaty elbow had struck him and frowned down at the stacks of small plates on the table in front of him. How do they expect me to pile all I can eat on these shitty little plates? His mouth was set so deep in his face that the flesh around his lips and nose and eyes reabsorbed any facial expressions back into his face. He set to work. His thick arms couldn’t bend at the sweaty joints of his elbows. They simply curved to accommodate all of the quiches and crust rolls and bacon-wrapped hot dogs and rump roast and macaroni and brownie bites he scooped onto his plate. He shook off his food-covered arm and looked down the row of horrified faces. "What?" he growled from the hole between his two huge cheeks.