You're going to have to bare with me here... I've had a few beers, and smoked a few joints a few minutes ago... if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to bring myself to write this.

Lard, my loving composter, I didn't want it to be like this. I would have never tried to get you to eat me if you had just told me the truth.

Why?!?  I only gave you the combination to the custom-made, government issued, nuclear waste grade vault in case of a national security pandemic.  I told you many times that there was no food in there. Why couldn't you of just taken my word for it?  You promised me that you would never go back to the final resting place of the pants Wallboy jizzed on.  BUT YOU DID!  Not only that, you fucking ate them!  You knew better than anyone about the pain and suffering that wretched article of clothing caused me.  All this time... you let me feed you, clean your rolls... knowing that there was only a mere 3 feet of fat tissue between them and I.  How could you do this to me?

And to think you thought it was the food.  Food is what makes you who you are, and I would never try and change that about you.  Tell me, when did I ever say "don't eat that"... never!   It was never the food, babe.   It was the lack of respect you have for yourself, and the people who love you the most.   It's one thing to eat your mom, that was an accident... but the Jeans!   I knew long ago that you had let yourself go, but never in a million meals would I think you would let me down like that.

Maybe it's my fault.  I probably should have assumed that you would at least try to taste them.  It's just, I could never see myself enjoying our greasy, salty kisses anymore knowing what passed through those same gigantic lips. Now every time I see someone even remotely morbidly obese, I can't get that vision of those pants plastered to the inside of the gut I used to love and cherish, out of my head.

Those teeth marks are not the only things that are going to scar me for life.

I'm sorry.