The lion’s gargantuan paunch spilled out over the waistband of his long-suffering, faded jeans, brushing against the floor and blocking off his thick, trunk-sized legs, each one wider than most people’s waists. His sleeveless shirt, the only other piece of his outfit, was shrink-wrapped around his rolls of fat back and heavily padded arms, particularly strained around his voluminous chest, mimicking a pair of sandbags as the doughy flesh pressed up against his shirt. The majority of his belly, however, would not suffer any clothing, looking like rolling dunes of sand. His torso was crowned by a series of chins that couldn’t be hidden beneath his mane anymore, and most hints of his chiseled musculature were buried, as his lard-swaddled arms could attest.