Driving along the road in your clunker, you quickly find a restaurant fit for your new self. A small aroma follows you as you leave your car, smelling as though it came from your piss-yellow wife beater. Or, perhaps, from the jeans that exposed the upper part of your ass crack (Slobs obviously don't wear underwear). Whatever the stench was, it made every decent man in the parking lot turn there heads and plug there noses. You don't notice though, and enter the burger joint.
Upon entering, you order plenty of greasy food - food that makes your mouth water. You waddle over to your seat (which you struggled to force yourself behind), your belly growling. You rub the nice fleshy gut through the tight wife beater, playing with the nice fleshy fold that spilled out just about an inch over your 'shirt'. The feeling of the soft, sensitive flesh was quite enjoyable, but it didn't quench your hunger. However, that matters little when....