A sixth generation Swedish-American now living in easy circumstances in Minnesota [and still eating too much] who as a fat man's son, as a prisoner of the farmer, witnessed the fire-bombing of his own physique, a long time ago, and survived to grow and tell the tale.  This is a story somewhat in the obesogenic manner of the tales of the moon of the Surplus, where the galaxy’s biggest bellies come from. Eat.

All this happened, more or less. But mostly more. The gaining parts, anyway, are true. One guy I knew really was tube fed to death for refusing to breed with the Lord of the Pigs. So it grows. I returned to the farmhouse with an old gainer buddy of mine, to where we were kept for weeks. There we met a farm boy who was grown fat by the Surplus. We asked him how it was to live under Gainerism. He said that at first it was hard as it took time to get used to the strain of constant weight gain but now that he was used to it it wasn’t so bad. He was impressed with his belly and the way that it bounced over his belt when he walked. He liked how round it looked and how soft it felt. He was looking forward to seeing it be further accentuated by his dungarees. His brother was fattened till his heart exploded. So it grows.

I look neither forwards nor backwards, only waistwords. My Name is Billy Bondgaard. I’m writing this from my home in Minnesota, in this year. For thirty years I have worked, non-consecutively, as a gastric bypass salesman despite my own size. This has provided for me well and I have continued to gain all my life. I am now comfortable, fat and old, but I will not remain so. I have two chunky sons who follow in my footsteps. Soon they will be unborn again. My husband is dead from a car crash. So it grows. I look waistwords to seeing him again.

I am in the farmhouse with Jerry. My nerves are shot to hell. We are hog tied by our britches waiting for him to return. I am only 246 lbs. Jerry is hungry and delirious for action. He salivates whenever he hears footsteps. He appears to take joy from his captivity. He yearns to increase his capacity. My boxers are tight and stained, unsuitable for the task. I know that I will soon be forced to feed again and I am ill-prepared. I know that I will rely on Jerry to bear some of my burden and that he will resent me for it. He will get cross with me and will blame me for his situation. I will do my best but it won’t be good enough. I am out of my depth and I know it.

He enters, the farmer. He is six foot six and broad in the shoulders. Kind of Dutch looking. His wet black hair sticks to his head from the pouring rain outside. He speaks gruffly, “Hello, Piggies.” Jerry says hello. I remain silent, in trepidation. He weighs us. As is normal. Jerry weighs 387 lbs, he has the right mindset. I was never meant to be a pig, yet at the same time I always was. He starts with soup and bread, a gentleman farmer. Eighty fluid ounces of potato soup and half a loaf of farmhouse white. Jerry embraces the challenge but my stomach already aches and I begin to lack strength and struggle only half way through. “What the hell is wrong with you, Billy?” He shouts at me, “I hope you don’t expect me to pick up the slack again?” “No,” I say, one hundred percent aware that he will.

Roast beef and gravy follows. The gentleman farmer is treating his pigs well. This will not always be the case, there is plenty of swill to come.

My stomach bag is pounding harder and faster than my heart. I count the rhythmic convulsions that play a solid beat while I am forced to eat. Jerry has already finished his main course but I am no where near finished. A slab of half chewed beef falls from my mouth. “What a bad piggy!” The farmer states; “You know the rules, everything has to be eaten!” He picks it up from the ground and places it in between Jerry’s lips. Jerry looks like he wants to kill me, because he does. He swallows the beef and the rest of my main, and my dessert, along with his own. His belly is so swollen that it looks like it might burst open. It’s super distended and hanging low like the globular ball of fat that it is. I look down at my own overweight gut, it’s round and bloated and howling in pain. I really don’t know how Jerry does it? He is the one with the constitution for this. We will both grow fatter at the Farmers bequest but I will never be a real pig like him.

The farmer calmly states that it is time for my punishment. Jerry once more looks at me with daggers. I know that he wants to be punished but my pathetic performance never allows for it. The farmer approaches me from behind. I brace. And I am gone.

My sons, Edgar and Albert are returning from camp today. It has been their first summer away and my husband is excitedly cleaning the kitchen in anticipation of their return. He has prepared five large cakes for them. They will be very pleased but will fight over the odd number. They will feel bad about it when he is dead. My sons don’t believe me about the farmhouse. They think it is just a myth. That I am insane. They don’t believe that the Surplus would ever do that. They are true believers. I know better. I know not only where they have been but where they are going. I have been there. So it grows. I try to stop Edgar from punching Albert over the final cake. I am back there.

The Surplus moon is a strange place. Bland and hectic at the same time. The beings here don’t experience weight yet they are obsessed by it. They are in love with it but don’t feel it. Nothing is linear here. Only expanding. They say that it is the beginning and the end of everything. Everything is circular and after a while I say that I agree. “I agree.” They say that the universe is theirs to consume and that nothing that any of us does matters. I fear they are correct. I am circular. I am a zoo exhibit. They look at me with wonder. I am prehistoric, an artifact. They have never seen one so small. The first seven years I fell into a depression. Then he appeared. Kyle California. The boy from my dreams. The boy from my computer screen youth. At first he wouldn’t look at me. Or them. He was petrified. Snatched from his last moment. Another car crash. Chased by a representation of his own ego. So it grows. He always returns. Returns to me. After the first six months he accepts me and the crowd roar in appreciation when we perform the beast with two fat backs.

In the farmhouse he is here. The one. Like an apparition. I have only met him once but so many times. I know he is real. As real as the minced cow that engorges me. I am fifteen again. I will soon be 600. He comments on how well my belly is pushing against the floor. I knew he was going to say that. I also know what he is going to do next. He always does that. And Danni laughs. Through the pain I see the other. At least I think I do. I always think I do. Half man, half lizard. The warrior. I like him. One day he will save me.

Edgar has knocked one of Albert’s teeth out. The fifth cake is in pieces on the floor. As is Albert. At least he can reach it from down there. “At least you can reach it from down there,” I hear myself say. Albert starts to eat the cake despite the blood in his mouth. He is a good boy. I look at Edgar. He is pretending to be pleased with his victory. He goads his brother. He is my son. I see in his eyes that he knows he really lost. He will never admit it. No matter how many times it happens. Always the same. Always the fattest son who gets the cake. 

They tell me how much they enjoyed the camp. How they are both over 200 up. I am so proud of them. They look magnificent. They will return next year. I ask Edgar if he saw where the farmhouse used to be. “Edgar, did you see where the farmhouse used to be?” He gets angry with me. He says there never was any damn farmhouse and that I should give it up. “There never was any damn farmhouse. Give it up.” I give it up. Though I know that he is wrong. Jerry died there. So it grows.

Kyle is about to have his last ever conversation with me before his date with an intersection on the outskirts of Monterey. He seems unaware. He is always unaware. Why do I remember? “Are you satisfied with our life here on the Surplus moon?” He asks me. Next he will ask me how I possibly can be when we are trapped like overfed lions in a cage. “How can you possibly be when we are trapped like overfed lions in a cage?” I tell him because I know that I won’t always be there. “Because I know that I won’t always be here.” He asks me if I love him. “Do you love me?” I tell him a hundred times over. “I love you a hundred times over.” He seems satisfied. Then he is gone. So it grows.

I am totally alone. The giant lizard man is back. I ask him why I remember. “Why do I remember?” He smiles at me as his giant jaw begins to dislocate. His belly swells. Everything goes black. Danni screams. I am unstuck.

The oversized coffin is pushed down the church aisle on a trolley. It’s far too heavy for anyone to carry. I am back at my husband's funeral. So it grows. I look waistwards to seeing him again.