All I heard for what seemed like hours, was the dreaded, loud, gulping sound. That deep swallow that meant the horrible demise of every snack that Mark Selling plucked from his lunchbox. He normally takes long breaks from recording to eat his dinner in the quite of the library set. Mark liked to talk to his food, but they couldn't hear him in the crowded room. He feasted all the time, mostly on fans but occasionally on unlucky tinies that were captured by his oily grasp. I was next; there was only two others left in the box, Mr Selling was going to pick me any moment and stuff me down his throat. I didn't want to die like that, screaming in agony as I was slowly turned into shit, to be painfully pushed out of his bubble butt in the morning. I refused to end in that way!
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