It was late at night, and you were in the mood for a midnight snack. As you headed out to the local fast food joint and place your order, you realize your drink is no longer in your hands. You find the culprit- the absolute fattest raccoon you've ever seen.

The dimensions of the raccoon beggared belief; his enormous belly sprawled out, spilling over the table like a tidal wave made of gelatin, smothering his keg-sized, blubbery thighs and weighing down on a rear large enough to crush a getaway van, if he could even be squeezed in. Reams of back fat were piled on top of one another like a melting wedding cake, his flabby arms were wrapped in thick reams of fat, and his chest was like a pair of overstuffed pillows, plumped and fluffed and shredding his turtleneck. Rings of extra chins met his jaw and round cheeks, pinching at his mask. In one hand, a sausage-fingered hand was wrapped tight over a strange golden idol showing an obese, bull-like figure of some kind, while his other hand is wrapped around a double bacon cheeseburger he devours in short order.

Your drink is one of many bags and cups littering the table, and as you go to retrieve it, the raccoon meets your eye, grinning sheepishly. "Ah-ha, hi, sorry about that... force of habit. Name's Sly, Sly Cooper- listen, I'm sorry- mmph-" he paused to bite into another burger. "But how about I make it up to you? Wanna join me?" He asks, gesturing to the massive pile of junk food on his table, the idol he holds on to gleaming in an odd way that seems to draw you in.