Weigh-in Wednesday did not go well.

"I think we both know why we're here, don't we? But since it doesn't look like you're too keen to open up, I guess I'm gonna have to be the one to say it, huh? Okay. I'm so disappointed in you, baby. So fucking disappointed. You know how much I look forward to weigh-in Wednesdays, don't you? They're the goddam highlight of my week. And yet this morning? Are you fucking kidding me? You've lost three pounds. God, I'm so ashamed of you. Is that what gainer pigs do? Is it? They lose weight? I thought you were committed to this relationship. Well then let's get this crystal clear. This relationship is entirely based on one thing: you getting fatter. That's it, baby. It's about me, the feeder, getting you, the feedee, as fucking obese as is humanly possible. Do you understand me? Do you, fat boy? That means you follow the diet plan to the letter every day - just like I follow my diet and exercise program to keep this killer bod. And - obviously that has not been the case this week. You've skipped meals, you've not drunk your gainer shakes. Don't think I haven't noticed. Do you know how much energy I have put in to transforming a 178 lb twink into a 539 lb blob? How much money I've spent on food for you, buying you new clothes each time you burst out of your old ones? The hours of getting you down on all fours and shoving food into that greedy mouth while your huge, bloated stomach pools out on the floor beneath you? So, I hope all this is sinking in, because if we have another "situation" like today, there's gonna be trouble, pig. And you know what you can do to fix it, don't you? Better head into that kitchen, fatso. There's three extra-large sheet cakes already lined up on the floor. I don't give a shit if you're hungry or not; just be prepared for the stuffing of your life."