"Want some Chinese for dinner?" Dale asked.

"Want some Chinese for dinner?" Dale asked. I hate living on Cannibal Island. There's really only one joke and we've all heard it a dozen times. On the other hand,

comparison with the hardened strips of leather they were trying to pass off as carne at that Mexican joint down the way. I know a good new tapas place if you want to try that?

But he said, "You bastard. You try to distract me with food!?!?!?! Just because I'm fat does not mean food runs my life asshole! You can't--" and then I showed him a boston cream

pie, "OMG! Is that......?" "Yes, and its all for you." While he shoved the pie into his bottomless pit of a mouth, I crept behind him and injected him with my obedience serum, then

ordered him to remove the pie from his mouth and reassemble it so I could use it again on another slave later. Later, I began his training as a member of my elite glutton army, for

we worshipped Garfield as our idol in all things. We commanded our slaves to perform the eating arts for our own amusement while we gorged ourselves on mallomars and watercress,

"Sandwiches of the Gods", we called them. But after a few too many, we'd get all vile and start throwing bottles at immaginary Odies, which was particularly disturbing at the mall

, where there were children who were fans of the Garfield Show. But we were heady with the power that the Sandwiches of the Gods gave us. We should have been ashamed of ourselves

for the sacred power of the Sandwiches should only be used for good not evil. The Gods banished us to distant lands and rained a plague of frogs for good measure. Lesson learnt.