Its like pouring syrup on a fat stack of blueberry pancakes that you know you’ll never finish but keep piling anyway because your eyes are bigger than your stomach, because your mouth opens wider than your mind.  Because nothing speaks louder than the 40 calories per tablespoon of sweet sugary goo.  Except maybe later…..when lifting that fork feels like pushing a brand new Cadillac off the top of the Marriot with your middle toe.  But you keep going…because its the “asian” in you…that taught you to clean your plate, the guilt in you….that tells you there are starving children in some developing country that will never have what you have that you will probably never meet and never even try to help (but come now, eat those pancakes because they can’t).  its the voice in the back of your mind that resembles and resonates… poses…as your mother.  As yourself.  That tells you there is no other way. 

how hungry IS jack, anyway?