Fred's Fattening Fiasco

Fred had had a bitch of a week - when she dressed for work on Monday, her pants weren't fitting. Months of decadent living with her boyfriend had put some serious junk in her trunk, and her panties were done dealing. Monday and Tuesday night were wardrobe replacement... just in time to be downsized on Wednesday morning. Fred figured she'd at least be able to cut loose and have a good time with her boyfriend on Thursday night... but Thursday afternoon, he Got The Call - he was way, way down on the list, but a series of coincidences too outrageous to believe had left the mission without a physician, so that was that. With her astronaut bed buddy on the redeye to the cape for a Saturday launch and her immediate future a smoking crater, Fred said "screw it!," called her connect, and spent Friday getting seriously out of her gourd.

Around three, she got the munchies. Bigtime. Hot dogs, cookies, pizza, bananas... she ripped through the pantry, looking for something to take the edge off. Finally, she came across a box of her boyfriend's "space bread" - hyper-compressed vitamins, carbs, protein and calories, little bullion-sized cubes. Thousands of calories, expand in the stomach, good for days. She dimly remembered it was a bad idea to eat more than one, but she was too stoned - and too starved - to really care. Down the box went, and another box she found with his clothes. And a third and a fourth in the hall closet... and a fifth and a sixth she found behind those. Stuffed, in the early stages of what she knew was going to be one hell of a food coma, Fred sobered up enough to read the back of one of the boxes. After a few cries of "duuuuuuude!," she dug through the medicine cabinet until she found a package of High Speed Metaboliser - the kind of stuff she used back when she was trying to diet, that her boyfriend used when he needed to flush the pot out of his system before work. She popped a few, changed into her nighty, and went to bed early.

Fred didn't sleep well - she tossed and turned, couldn't seem to get comfortable. Too hot, way too hot - too tight. Her shirt, her skin. Awash in an angry swamp, cramps roiling through her bowels in thick, undulating waves... finally, the morning sun screaming through the window, feeling heavy, like a garbage bag full of hot water bottles had taken to beating her senseless, she pulled the sheets away from her face, slapped on her glasses, and..... tried. Tried. To sit up. Finally she managed it, one hand clenching air, the other digging into a thick mass of brand new belly fat - fat that had been a six month's supply of Space Bread the night before.

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A quicky for Mikilno, with the vignette built from the back-and-forth buildup to the commissioned image. I'm on a short production break from the comic, but it ain't gonna last - stay tuned for more!