You are one of the esteemed members of the Wealthy Fat society, but you are also the biggest, loudest, most insufferable brat I've ever had the displeasure of serving. The bigger you've grown, the more demanding you've become, barking orders from your bed and whining like a big, bloated baby when you don't get your way. You've called me up to your bedroom today to move a banquet-sized tray of tarts closer to you in bed---by a whole 4 inches---but then decide you want me to feed them to you instead. Begrudgingly, I oblige, grumbling and groaning all the while about how aggravating you are, but eventually, I snap, and unleash a tirade of degradation and criticism about how horribly, pathetically, insufferably lazy and spoiled you are. I shove your head into the tray so you can eat face-first like the greedy hog you are, and I make it very clear to you that I will not tolerate any more disrespect. I'll still serve you, though, and fatten you, too, but you won't be the only one getting fat anymore. From now on, I'm also going to be living the high-fat life, and I'm going to start by taking a nice, long, all-you-can-eat vacation---paid for, of course, on your dime.