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A Plan B for Frankie the French Fry

At the We-Stuff-Em-All Diner, the official headquarters of Fat for a New America, Frankie sat at the bar. He turned to Bubba the Burger, his fattest pal, and unleashed a rant.
Our twenty-five years of expansion and accumulation might go down the drain if we do not act now if you understand my drift.

“Was anyone else notified?” Bubba had a question for me.
“Yeah. The arrival of Sophie and Bunnie is imminent. I informed them that an urgent meeting was necessary.”
Is not there a place for Mickey here? Bubba went on with his story.
“Preservatives are to blame for my forgetfulness. Please lend me your phone.”
He was given the phone by Bubba.
After Sophie The Soft Drink and Bunnie The Bun entered the front door, Mickey The Malt arrived a little time later. The group moved to a table in the corner, which served as a meeting place for the founders of Fat For A New America.

Frankie began by saying, “We face a possible shrinking catastrophe.” In order to go forward, we must come together and create a new plan.
‘Frankie, for the love of fat,’ Sophie pleaded. “Over two-thirds of the population has now been kidnapped, with half of them weighing more than 30 pounds apiece of real American blubber. They can not stand a chance against us out there.”
Frankie screamed at Sophie, “You do not get it, Sophie.” “Even though we have captured the lion’s share of the population, no one wants us to stay. To give them an opportunity, we are out of the game.”

“Furthermore,” Bubba said, “our adversaries the veggies do not give a fig about us. There is nothing they would rather do than be eaten and obliterated, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake.”
Mickey chimed in, saying, “I never understood that mindset.” “It is a complete lack of vision if you understand what I mean.”
Bunnie piped up, “Yeah, pretty thin thinking.”

Frankie said, “For flab’s sake, enough talking.” “It is time to join forces. We must eliminate the dangers for good. The fruit has been your enemy number two, Sophie. What is in it for you, then?”
Sophie’s response was, “Good news on all fronts.” “The Can ‘Em or Juice ‘Em operation is running at maximum capacity. Almost everyone thinks they are receiving real fruit when they are getting a bottle of phony juice that contains less than 10% of the real thing. We removed the majority of Poppa Pear and put him in chemicals inside a can. We made Abe Apple either a sauce or a sugary drink. The remainder is made almost entirely of water, sugar, and food colorings, all of which are ideal substrates for fat metabolism.”
“Wow, you have got a lot of love handles, that is great.” It was Frankie’s brow that was greasy. “We will take control of the fruit market as we expand that business and get rid of those that behave too fresh. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”
“Yeah. “Salt, Sweeten & Stimulate” refers to a movement that we may direct at will.” Bubba took in the scene surrounding him. “We all have a fatty role to play.”

Bubba chuckled as he laughed with his best friend. “The first place goes to Frankie. Your components may need a little extra salt.”
“Bubba, it is OK. That is OK.”
“Because salt can only remain in people in saltwater, more salt can induce bloating. Sophie, I am sorry to hear that you have been experiencing greater bloating, weight gain, lack of activity, and an increased need for stimulants. Is it possible to increase your caffeine intake?”
“Bubba, whatever the situation demands.”
Bubba’s chubby grin glowed. “Higher doses of stimulants lead to greater peak effects, shorter peak-to-crash times, and an increased need for sweets. Here comes Mickey to the rescue. How can I increase my sweetness?”
“It is a given, my bloated sibling.”

Oil poured from Bubba’s lips. The more sugar, fat accumulation, and surges, the less energy we have to deal with anything that can disintegrate us.
Bubba was drooling with lust for food. “Bunnie, you are the glue that ties us all together as the hostess with the mostest. All of the above, plus a sugar glaze on top of each bun, additional sugar in the mix, and chemicals that will bind and bind and bind. I want you to do it.”
It was almost as if Bubba was going to vomit from laughing so hard.
Bubba said, “If we work together, we can make more tires than Goodyear.” It is said that “our position in history is permanently attached to their mid-rifts.”

Frankie called it “outstanding.” “Gelatinous to the core! However, we must still contend with our first and foremost foe: those abhorrent veggies.”
Bunnie chirped, “We are making progress, Frankie.” In the school system, we got ketchup to be categorized as a vegetable and then loaded it with sugar and salt to get kids addicted while they are helpless.

“I am not concerned about the sauces,” Frankie said. “Most of them have been slathered with salt or sugar. Artie Artichoke, Gretta Green Bean, and Sallie Salad, our archrival, are among the greenies that pose our greatest threat. They might enter a zone if they gather any momentum. Keep in mind that they create sluggish-burning fuel and evaporate without a trace! We will melt down like the glacier if we become cool.”

Frankie wiped more lard from his chubby cheeks as he sat up in bed that night.
“As much as we all despise salads, we need to drown their merits with creaminess, sweetness, and glutamate-drenched creaminess and sweetness. We are in need of an insider to help us. My suggestion is that we call Deirdre The Dressing Queen. Let us put this to a vote before we go any farther.”

As one by one, the Fat For A New America founders shoved their chubby hands into the council and raised their thumbs up. With all of them singing together, they reached a crescendo of “FAT! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat!”
It was Frankie’s command that the meeting is called to an end. In order to avoid thinking about your waist, “Let us eat.”