“Now that I’m no better than the scum filth of the Earth, I deserve a torturing meant for a thousand!” exclaimed the greasy, overweight thirty-nine year old virgin in what he hoped to be a dramatic monologue.

The fat man-boy had broken his promise to his mother yet again.

He had touched the cake.

Of course, the sin itself wasn’t touching the cake, he thought fleetingly while munching on the chocolaty cake, oozing with thick chocolate goodness. No, the sin was that he was consuming the cake while his mind screamed, “NO YOU CAN’T DO THIS, NOW SHE WILL NEVER MAKE YOU CAKE EVER AGAIN!” But he knew it to be untrue, his mother spoiled him pink. He had everything he could ever want.

He had the money, with the eighty dollars per week allowance he was sweeping in from his dear mother. With this hefty fund, he bought the armaments worthy of the fat, nerdy geek he is. This afforded him the best of the best of the medium quality computer equipments.

He had the girls. More precisely, they were the internet girlfriends he had acquired through multiple accounts of scamming pretty girls on MySpace with his chiselled, photoshopped surfer body. He was a professional multitasker.

He was also an internet-renown emo, frequenting online game discussions and lurking prestigious forums under the alias, SlashWrist4Money, A.K.A. SW4M.

But enough about the fat grown-up who was still residing with his mother.

The fat grown-up who was still residing with his mother held a grave crisis at hand.

How was he going to replace the luscious cake? Oh if only he knew how to bake from all those years of watching food channel (he was mostly drooling over the results).

So he decided to not bake, but decided to mould a cake. Mould it out of Play-Doh. He was a master sculpture after all, back when he would make GIFs of Play-Doh men doing funny things. Besides, his mother was blind. Blind people cannot taste very well, he quickly theorized.

So after thirty minutes, he managed to pull off a presentable (presentable to a blind person) cake shaped Play-Doh look-a-like.

His stomach growled.

“Alas, my masterpiece was made too perfectly that even I, the master shaper who had made this artistic item, cannot resist its lustful lure!” dramatized the fat man-child (or child-man, whatever).
Then he promptly devoured it.

He sat down, amiably full and licking his teeth at the doughy substance in his mouth before he realized once again what he had done.

“Ach!” panicked the suddenly alert child-man.

There was the rustling of keys behind the door.

“A hundred curses,” dreaded the fatty out loud as he perspired, “my maternal figure has come back from her quest for tomorrow’s morning dining of Corn Pops! And here I stand, having consumed the delightful dessert that was suppose to be reserved for after dinner. Oh woe is me! What horrible punishment would I receive if I survive this encounter? I must… I must… yes, I will have to then.”

He did the most honourable thing he could think of at a moment’s notice.

He decided to commit suicide through falling the great distance of his first floor balcony.

Witnesses later testified the fat child-man using a huge amount of effort to climb the railings of his balcony before tumbling onto the grass with a scream. Of course, the fat child-man’s fall was not fatal, so the nosy witnesses only testified to their family and neighbours.

He laid very silently in a pose that he presumed to be very fatal looking.

And he listened.

And listened.

“Blasted, I’m afraid the rustling I heard was not of my mother’s keys, but of a mischievous apartment dweller that has returned from an unknown journey,” thought the child-man as he scratched his hairy, obese butt cheeks.

And then he laid there until his mother came home and scolded at him for eating the cake.