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"They jusht heeEeEeehhlch-let anyone into the big leaguesh theshe daysh..."

The squirrel let loose a bassy belch as she scratched herself, her lardy pillow of an arm going down as far as it could to get the itch on her rear before settling on the closest spot on her thigh instead for how the cellulite-riddled flab hindered her mobility. Behind her, the delivery-boy stepped carefully around the spare wrappers, cans and takeout containers on the floor to bring in her order pizzas, huffing he laid them on the center table next to her sofa and crushing onto the old boxes she'd left on the surface from her last order that afternoon. Still, Melissa's judgemental look was focused on her TV as some supposed new "up-and-coming rookie of the year" currently preening around the cameras attention.

"Ushed t' take ak-Uff akshul talent to geddin there 'n now they jushd oOrp drag nobodiesh oudda th' woodwork." The fat blob of a squirrel slurred as she gulped down another of her own sodas. Not drunk yet, but with the weight of her own cheeks ennunciating right was getting to be another item on the list of hassles that was too much for her too care about. Taking a nice place alongside bothering to dress herself and getting up from the couch unless she absolutely had to.

"Hnn-hrRrbbBBbtrrbt-guh."

As her stomach rumbled, churning the greasy delicacies she'd been filling it with all day like the great gluttonous pit it was, she performed the most exercise she could usually tolerate these days to tighten the decayed muscles in her anchoring abdomen and pump a long burst of gas into the mushed, ass-sweat-swamped cushions underneath her. Behind her, the poor delivery-person responsible for bringing in her armloads of food retched from the odor that permeated behind her as he stuck his head outside of her veritable sty of an apartment, not that the hirsute, whaling rodent noticed as her enormity was pressed between the TV table and her ruined loveseat.

"Sh' a dishgrashe." She huffed, as even that small amount of physical effort made some sweat to trickle down into the lush, humid traps of her treasure trail and pit bush. "They yewshed to-EehHlch...to have shome real talent in th' game."

Her eye drifted over to her soda can, lingering lovingly on the svelte silhouette of a squirrel in the brands logo. They'd stopped using her appearance fully for the branding, but Melissa could still reap plenty off of the outline of the squirrel she'd had about a good fifteen years and 800 or so pounds ago that kept the apartment paid for and the food rolling in.

"Their losh, the cheating fuUghhGHhghs..."

As that last burp tumbled out of her, she took a few labored breaths to recover before reached over to her first pizza, lazily flipping the box open and dragging it closer so the crust laid against her. Grunting, the immobile fatass folded it over, sending a few toppings flying but trapping the bulk as she tugged the entire thing onto her front; A process that slathered her fur and front in a bigger mess than it already was as oil and grease dribbled out of the side of the faux-italian omelette she'd made for herself, joining the pool of sweat at the base of her chin staircase and trickling over the flabby pancakes of her chest. From there, her other free over-swollen arm laid over top of it, pinning the dish to herself as she dug in like a pig in a trough, steadily using the leverage of her own arm over her stomach-balcony to to push more down her gullet.

"Uh, Ma'am?" The massive fluffy-tailed hog tore her head out of her feast, turning her head as best she could to see over her hump of backfat. While she couldn't see him exactly, there was enough to make out the robin that'd delivered her food waiting there awkwardly as she'd glutted.

"Card on th' counder." She gasped. "Jushd-huh-ah. Jushd leevid there when yer done. Uh god more commin'..."

At the sound of his steps crinkling on the crusty carpet, she dove back into her pizza-rito; letting the world fade away as the food became the sole focus of her senses and the sounds of the television a lingering background noise. Gas spilling out every so often between chomps and gasps or flowing freely from her rear end to make the stench of her shabby apartment that much worse as she bathed in it, not that she ever really considered the state of it or the squalor she'd brought herself to.

This was her luxury after all, and if the bitter, aging squirrel knew anything as her five minutes of fame in her sports career had faded away from most peoples memories, cruelly ripped away by forces she was adamant were out of her control, it was that she at least deserved this much.

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The final part of the sequence from. Volkenfox. Again, wonderful work from him!