(It’s a breezy Sunday afternoon in the warehouse you and Betty call home, which means one thing: Betty’s lunchtime FPS stream.)

A-And that’sh ahnohthehr t-teahmwihpeh! Youh’d thihnk t-thish’d be harder ah-ahftehr hittin' muh t-twehntiehth ton, but'sh n-nohpeh! Guehshs'h dehy c-couhldn’t'sh hahndleh deh b-blohb, huhh?

(She lets out a hearty laugh as the match ends like so many before: with Betty curbstomping the opposing team while you watch from your perch on the folds of her face-fat. As your multi-ton lover heads back to the lobby screen, her face turns as best it can toward you.)

Y-You doihn alright? W-Wahnnah joihn, or i-ish shomethin' ehlsheh oh-ohn youhr mihnd, h-honeybunsh?