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DINING IN THE LYLAT SYSTEM

Episode 9: FEEDEE IN A FEEDER'S LAND or THAT'LL DO, PIG

Written by: ROBERT A. FELINE

* * * * *

"Feeder's log, starweight 309.63. A short while ago, we stopped one nefarious plot by Leon Powalski and another by Panther Caroso. They're both lawless rogues. We thought that was the end of it, but the Office of Cornerian Intelligence (OCI) thought otherwise.

"Agents Faye and Miyu requested to board our ship, the Great Fox. Faye and Miyu were old hunting buddies of mine, and now they work as middle management in OCI or something like that. They wanted to talk about Leon and Panther."

* * * * *

Fox and Krystal hosted Faye the cocker spaniel and Miyu the lynx in their lounge. Both guests were lavishly heavyset.

Krystal set her wide rump in a loveseat, and Fox sat squeezed between her and an arm of the loveseat. She wore a casual pink top that strained against her breasts. They stretched the neckline downward, forcing it to reveal cleavage. Her waist was growing into a grand tub of pudge, and her shirt only covered her midsection down to her navel. Fox's hand gripped copious bare-furred back flab as he put his arm around her. Below, her hips were a fair bit wider, and Fox's own hips pressed into Krystal's plush side.

A couch faced the loveseat. Faye and Miyu took the couch, which creaked under their bulk.

Faye was a prim cocker spaniel, delicately perfumed with a lovely rose scent. Her belly blossomed over her entire her lap. Under her stomach, she kept her knees together neatly. Her hips were plump, but not plump enough to surpass the lateral expanse of her gut. Her belly itself was topped by two boobs of grandiose proportions. They formed two heaping mounds of flesh, and they draped just a bit around the sides and front of her stomach. She was clad in dark grey pants and a pressed white blouse. Her bountiful chest weighed on the buttons of her shirt, opening small gaps between each button.

Faye said, "After you subdued Leon Powalski and Panther Caroso, OCI interrogated them. The long and short of it is this: we know that they're engaged in a plot, but we are uncertain of its nature."

Miyu sat next to her. She kind of smelled like fried potatoes. Her gut was just as overgrown with blubber as Faye's, but she accommodated it by spreading her legs and allowing her belly to spill over her crotch and onto the couch. She wore the same shirt as Faye, but a few sizes smaller; her stomach leaned against its buttons heavily. Her white belly fur poked out between buttons, her blubber overrunning her clothing wherever it could. Miyu's breasts were thick, but not supersized; her sitting belly was a suitable surface for resting them. On the other hand, Miyu's thighs were tremendous, thick with lard that spread around her and sunk her into the couch. She also wore dark grey pants, and they were practically glued to her. You could make out every curve, every roll, every dimple across her thighs, unless it was hidden under her belly. Her calves muffin-topped her brown boots.

Now Miyu spoke. "We know for sure that they were still reporting to Wolf O'Donnell before their capture. So, we want to get our paws on him for interrogation. Thing is, we have to do it politely."

Fox recalled: Wolf O'Donnell, his long-time dogfighting rival, was executive chief over the Sargasso Space Zone. It was a hive of villainy, a haven for criminals and fugitives across the Lylat System. To Fox's chagrin, Corneria let it stand. Corneria never attacked or raided it. Instead, there was a bargain: if Corneria left the Sargasso alone, fugitives and criminals from across the Lylat System would be safe there. The benefit, purportedly, was that Cornerian intelligence knew how to track interstellar scum. They'd be at the Sargasso. The whole setup was top secret; citizens of Corneria had no clue that the Sargasso existed or that this was going on.

Faye continued Miyu's thought. "To maintain peaceful relations with the Sargasso Space Zone, we want to negotiate with Wolf for information. That's where you come in, Secretary Krystal. We need you to engage with Wolf diplomatically."

Between the couch and loveseat was a round table. On it sat a bowl of potato chips set out by Krystal. Faye got up and leaned forward to grab a chip, displaying her generous breasts. The top few buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned. They simply couldn't be buttoned. Through this window, Fox saw giant, fatty globes of boob, overflowing and soft below Faye's neck.

Krystal responded. "Let me see if I have this right. After questioning Powalski and Caroso, you believe that they were operating as part of a larger plot. You don't know what that plot is, though. So, you want to question O'Donnell because he is part of the scheme, in all likelihood. And since Corneria secretly acknowledges the sovereignty of the Sargasso Space Zone, you want to approach him with a diplomat instead of a spy."

Miyu replied, "That's it alright." She turned her gaze to the bowl of chips. She got up, but when she leaned to get chips, a squeaking frrrt of a fart escaped her rear. Miyu paid it no heed. She was happy to scoop up a handful of chips and plant her wide load down.

Faye blushed and took a chiding tone. "Miyu!"

"What? (Munch, crunch.)" Miyu responded with a mouthful of chips. "You've ripped ones that were way louder."

"Not in polite company!"

"Aw, c'mon. Fox and his girlfriend don't count as polite company. Do ya, Fox?"

Fox chuckled. "Hey, whatever floats your boat," he said.

Krystal chimed in. "Your openness is refreshing. I'm glad you feel so comfortable on board the Great Fox. Please, we want our friends to feel at home here."

"Thank you," Faye said. "We do."

Krystal stood. "But enough about flatulence. Should we get to work?"

* * * * *

They spoke further about the objective: what kind of information to get from Wolf and how to get it. In the coming weeks, Krystal negotiated a meeting with Wolf O'Donnell inside the Sargasso Space Zone.

On the appointed day, they pulled the Great Fox within range of the Sargasso. Krystal and Fox boarded a lifeboat together. As you might have guessed, Fox wormed his way into coming along this time, too. They left ROB to monitor the Great Fox.

The Sargasso Space Zone was a giant, unwieldy space station. Its body was a cube painted red and grey. Two slender corridors extended from its top on either side, like giant helicopter blades. Obnoxiously oversized flood lights extended from its bottom--or from its top, depending on your perspective.

Krystal brought the lifeboat into the Sargasso's docking bay. She was dressed formally, in a respectful navy pants suit. It had been tailored for her current size. She sat in the pilot's seat, and her meaty hips pressed firmly its arms. Recently, she quit buckling herself into her seat. If anything, the seal created by her legs and the arms of the chair would keep her steady. She pushed her hands against the arms of the chair and tugged herself out of it. Her tail flowed out below her blazer top and rest between her bulbous rear cheeks.

In the passenger seat, Fox unbuckled himself and rose. He had his normal bounty hunting garb, the green jumpsuit and grey flight jacket.

Krystal exited first, followed by Fox. The landing bay was empty, save for two people to welcome them.

Wolf greeted Krystal with a bitter smile. His fur was silver, accompanied by a snow white muzzle and thick white eyebrows. A mechanical eyepatch with an icy-blue lens covered his left eye socket. He wore an armored blue vest and leather pants.

At his side was a squat butterball of a pig. She stood a head shorter than Wolf. What she lacked in height, though, she made up for in heft. Blubber buffered every inch of her body. Her stumpy pig snout was surrounded by round, flabby cheeks, and under her jaw laid thick, neck-smothering rolls of fat. She wore a shimmering gold jacket, and its sleeves were stretched taut against her puffy bicep flab. The jacket remained open and did nothing to cover her midsection. Her waist was wide, probably over twice as wide as Wolf himself, and a belt studded with silver spikes wrapped around her middle. Her belly bulged over the top of the belt, bare. Her breasts overflowed her top, itself just a bra that was also studded with spikes. The bottom half of her belly was stuffed into a pair of leather pants, which looked painted on the wide circumference of her thighs. Shining gold boots rose high up her legs and pinched her thigh fat. She looked wider than Krystal, but she was also shorter.

Wolf extended his hand, and Krystal shook it. "A pleasure to see you, Miss Krystal," he said. "Fox as well, although I know you won't shake my hand. My companion here is Paula. Paula, oink for our guests."

The pig opened her mouth and belched: "URRurrp."

"Close enough," Wolf said.

Krystal spoke. "We'll all be happier when this is over. Should we begin?"

Wolf responded in a slick, rehearsed voice. "Well-ll, I've been thinking about that. It's not right that I should give you information freely. I would like something... in return."

Fox spouted, "Maybe in return, we'll promise not to blast this scum bucket to bits."

Wolf looked to Krystal. "He's not the brains of the operation, I hope."

Krystal said, "My patience is pretty thin with both of you right now. How can we compensate you for your intelligence?"

Wolf brought his palms together. "An eating contest."

Krystal and Fox maintained their poise, but they had no response. They were dumbfounded.

Wolf continued. "Between you and the ladylike Paula. Whoever can eat the most in one sitting wins. If both of you manage to polish off your servings of food, whoever finishes first wins."

Krystal thought. "Alright," she said, "I'm in."

Fox stammered, "Krystal!!"

Krystal turned to him. "Fox, this is my call. Wolf knows that if he pulls anything, Corneria's agreement with Sargasso is forfeit."

He gulped. "Alright. I trust you."

* * * * *

Wolf led them through the base. Eventually, through some hallway and on the other side of a door, there was an arena. It was unlit except for two spotlights in the middle. Its floors were wood, and rows of seats lined its walls. The seating was packed with murmuring masses vaguely visible in the darkness--there were upwards of a thousand people in the audience, all to watch the Cornerian foreign minister make a fool of herself.

Krystal's heart rate quickened as she realized it would be a performance. And for the seating to be so full, Wolf must have had this planned far in advance.

A boxing ring occupied the center of the room. The arena's two spotlights were cast on a long, white table in the ring.

Wolf led Paula and Krystal up to the ring. He climbed up, then watched Krystal scramble up. She put her arms on the floor of the ring, planting her bulging gut against its side. Struggling and huffing, she pulled herself up. She curled her leg up, fighting her belly fat to bring her knee onto the mat. When she finally did, she flopped forward onto her gut gracelessly. From there, she pulled her feet to the floor of the ring and stood. Fox began to follow, but a large gorilla gripped his arm, forcing him to stand beside the ring.

Meanwhile, Paula waddled around the ring. She mashed her thighs together and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bobbing left and right alongside her creaking leather pants. She took stairs around the side of the ring that Krystal hadn't noticed. With each laborious step, her knees shouldered and shoved her bulky gut from below. Watching her belt rise and fall from side to side was like watching the churning sea, waves cresting and crashing.

Two reinforced folding chairs sat before the table. Wolf gestured the ladies to take a seat. Sitting, Paula's thighs were just a touch wider than her seat. They crested its sides slightly. Her gut nearly filled her lap and pressed against the table, and her boobs draped thick atop her stomach. Krystal stared at the crease in Paula's naked upper belly where it collided with the table. She was amazed at Paula's size. Then she looked down: her own hips hid the chair under her. Her own ass pushed her back away from the back of the chair. Her own breasts obscured a few inches of her view of the table. And her own stomach hugged the table.

On the table were two troughs, one by each chair. They were packed full of a glistening reddish-brown goop that was chunky with ground meat. Each trough was clear, with markers outside to show how full it was: 5 liters. As Krystal sat and stared in her trough, she felt more intimidated by the food than she was by Paula. The strong aroma of its savory and sweet sauce was overbearing. It was all Krystal could smell.

Wolf stepped in front of the table and snatched a microphone hanging from the ceiling. His voice echoed throughout the arena: "Tonight, for your viewing pleasure, two lovely ladies meet in dietary combat." He gestured to his right. "Our returning champion is the gargantuan glutton with a bulging belly, Paula!" A few members of the audience cheered and clapped. Wolf gestured to his left and said, "And our gracious guest is the uptight bitch of binging, the Cornerian agent, Krystal!" The crowd hooted and hollered and laughed. They may not have been interested in competitive stuffing, but they were interested in making a mockery of anyone who represented Corneria.

Fox flew into a rage. "You say that to my face!!" he shouted. But nobody in the ring could hear him over the din of the audience. He began climbing into the ring, but the gorilla plucked him off easily.

Krystal stared into her trough, unable to lift her eyes. She saw herself slapping Wolf across the face. That's what the Krystal she knew would have done. Yet, couldn't bring herself. She noticed how hot the spotlight felt on her.

Wolf noticed Krystal's fixation on her food. "Sloppy Joe's, your highness," he said. "It's a bit of a delicacy around here." The crowd gave a modest laugh. "Enough screwing around. Get to it!!" Wolf exited the ring.

Krystal looked around the table for a fork, spoon, ladle--anything. She looked to Paula. The sow was face-down in the Joe, digging her chunky little snout right into the slop and lapping it up by the mouthful. Her fattened fingers gripped the sides of the trough. She had spread her legs to give her belly room to sag between them. That way, she could lean down without the obstruction of her middle. She would open her mouth, press her face into the trough, and glide her head forward, using her lower jaw as a shovel to convey food into her mouth and down her gullet. Her plump cheeks grazed the food and dripped with sauce, and her jaw-thrust maneuver splashed the sauce noisily all around her face. This method had a way of letting air into her, and so she would sometimes sneak a burp after a swallow. Plop-plop-plop went the Joe as she bulldozed it, alongside a wet shllluurr--P as her mouth piled up with food. At the end of the push, her swallow went GALUNK down her throat, followed by a quick burp that bounced out of her with a bwarp.

Meanwhile, Wolf stepped down from the ring. Fox bared his fangs to Wolf. "I ought to deck you right here," he said in a low snarl.

Wolf chuckled. "Ah, but then you wouldn't get what you came for, would you?"

"Anything would be better than putting up with your twisted schemes!"

"I don't think your sweetheart Krystal agrees," Wolf retorted, pointing up to her in her seat.

After witnessing Paula's eating style, Krystal concluded that there must be no utensils. Hesitantly, she dipped a finger into the Joe. It was goopy, sticky, and hot. A moist hot, like a grueling day in late summer. She dug her whole hand in and scooped up a handful. Then, she brought her face to it, opened her mouth, and took a bite. Its savory sauce was dense and rich, thick both in flavor and feel. Ground pork and diced tomato swam together, compressing into a homogeneous mush. She swallowed. The area around her mouth was dabbed with sauce, so she instinctively licked her lips. Had she stopped to think, she would have realized how pointless that was.

Krystal chowed down on the pile of Joe in her hand. She used her other hand to scoop another handful, making a wet glorp as she lifted a dripping mound of slop out of the trough. She downed that in two bites, slurping and scarfing noisily. Her face was sticky with sauce, and her belly was warm with food. Her arms continued to serve her, left-right-left-right, in mechanical rhythm. As the audience faded from her awareness, Krystal grew confident. She was certain that she must be eating pretty fast.

Krystal bent forward towards the trough, scrunching her belly in her lap. Its girth pushed down on her thighs, even after she spread them to make room. She could feel the inner half of her thighs spread flat and pinned to the chair under her belly, while the outer half sagged off of the edge of the chair. To give her stomach room, she unbuttoned her pants, unwittingly smearing sauce on them and her lower stomach with her messy fingers. Her soft white belly plopped out instantly, falling to the chair beneath her shirt. She breathed a sigh of relief. The round, heavy rolls of her gut still pressed against the table, and she had adjusted her melon-sized jugs to lay atop the table before the trough. It was awkward; however, it was necessary in order to get herself closer to her food. When she brought a scoop of Sloppy Joe to her face, she would crane her neck forward, but she still had to lift it over the wide, sloping plains of her plump boobs and intense cleavage. She cupped the slop as best she could--for naught, since it would still drip between her fingers down onto her, polka-dotting her bare white breast fur with greasy brown sauce. All told, the porcine circumference of her body added small difficulties to her feeding.

Paula reached forward around her gut. The broad flab of her arms grinded against her enormous, spherical, rotund stomach as she reached for her buckle clasp. She reached it with the tips of her fingers and barely managed to unthread the buckle. Underneath were three buttons on her pants. After that was done, she clasped her hands behind her head and arched her back backward, essentially shoving her massively padded paunch forward against her pants. Although it took a second or two, one button snapped apart. Her stomach advanced into the gap now available in the middle of her pants, modest as it was. Then, the second opened, and her stomach surged violently enough that its momentum carried it through the third button. Her bare belly flooded out audibly onto the chair. A few wild cheers came forth from the audience.

You could now see the deep folds in Paula's waist. She had stuffed herself so big that her body packed adipose wherever it could. Stacking fat on top of fat on top of fat around her midsection, her body had thickened her form to the point where her skin formed deep, profound creases, holstering her vast collection of fat as best it could. She went back to eating, and hunched over the trough, her sides sprang more rolls and deepened the ones already there.

Ding ding ding!

A bell sounded three times. Wolf was now back in the ring, and he again spoke over the hanging microphone. "Contestants, give it a rest!" Paula raised her messy face instantly, and Krystal gulped down her current mouthful. "Alright you dipshits, we're at the halftime break! Let's see how much they've crammed through their pieholes."

Wolf read the markers on Krystal's trough. "Krystal has scarfed down a third of her chow! Not bad, but I expected better from a vixen too chunky to see her own pussy." Krystal cast her eyes downward, trying to ignore the oncoming jeers from the audience. She saw her fat body stuffed into a pants suit that was now dotted with sauce.

Wolf then read Paula's trough. "Half!" he proclaimed, "Paula is just over halfway through her feast." He looked to Paula herself. "Now tell me Paula, I've heard that you once killed a person by sitting on them. Is this true?" He held the mic to her.

Paula responded, "Lemme put it dis way. I'm'a sit on you if you's don't let me get back ta eat'n. Then you tell me if you's dead." As she spoke, her cherubic cheeks wobbled, and the spotlight glistened and played off of the sauce caked to her face.

Wolf put the mic back to his mouth. "A real charmer, ladies and gentlemen! On to round 2!"

The bell rang three times again, and Wolf left the ring.

At this rate, Paula wouldn't give up. She would win by finishing her trough before Krystal could finish hers. Krystal had to catch up.

Krystal threw her face into the trough. She planted her paws palm-down on the table, stood up from her chair, and really dug in. Her mammoth breasts swung against the trough as she did. She meant to go into a feeding frenzy, but she accidentally plugged her nose with slop. She lifted her face up, sputtering. Not good. She went back in and kept her nose clear. She operated her maw like a bulldozer, but her inexperienced gullet couldn't keep up. She choked down Joe, but it wasn't the same fluid motion she had seen Paula perform.

She was losing precious time to Paula. Copying her tactics wouldn't help without the muscle memory to back them up. What could Krystal do?

Sloppy Joe's wasn't liquid, and it wasn't solid. It was a goopy mass. Krystal recalled that when she had chugged Nutrient Paste on Zoness, she hadn't even thought about her eating style. It came naturally to her. The Joe was chunkier than Nutrient Paste, but the same form might work.

Krystal sat back in her chair, bouncing her blubbery rump against the seat. She locked her chubby fingers on the sides of the trough and lifted it. Her first thought was that the trough was heavy. Her second thought was that the weight of the trough would soon be added to her figure.

She put her mouth at a corner of the trough, then tilted the trough up along with her neck. Gravity pushed the food downward. Like a slow motion mudslide, the slurry of meat and sauce bore down upon her mouth. Deftly, her tongue shuttled it down her gullet, gulping swiftly and keeping up with the sticky onslaught of fodder. This felt right.

Streams of sauce ran down the sides of her mouth, following her neckline and eventually flowing between her cleavage. Her expert gulps pulsed gentle vibrations across the layers of fat lining her lower jaw. The cool touch of perspiration hit her as she filled her stomach with warm slop under a hot spotlight.

She slammed the trough down with just a quarter left to go. She lifted her shirt with her saucy, sticky hands and put them on her belly. She was filling up, but she knew she could finish if she could just catch her breath. Her bare gut, shuddering with each heavy breath, felt enormous. She had to hug it. With her elbows hanging straight down, her hands could not reach around the front of her stomach. She rubbed in circles on both sides, employing all of her arms' mobility just to reach every inch of its cushioned surface. And yet, her lap was so laden with fat that her stomach sat on it easily. Her sweat caused her fur to chafe under her rubbing paws. She uttered a series of burps.

She looked over to Paula. Her head was seriously dug into the trough now. She stood and bent over the trough, presenting her ass, piled thick with adipose and leaving nothing to the imagination through her pants. A curly pig tail rose from the base of her back. She drove into the trough so vigorously that she worked her whole body; her hips swayed forward and back, raking her head through the muck. This swung her belly from her waist, slapping against her thunder thighs, then against the table, then against her thighs, and so on. Her breasts smushed onto the table and pressed against the trough. From Paula's trough, Krystal could hear endless slurping and burping.

Krystal lifted her own trough again and continued eating. Over time, her stomach became stuffed and stretched, and she asked for its patience and understanding. Sweat trickled across her brow and down her flabby cheeks. It ran along the pudgy curve of her double chin. It pooled, sticky, in the deep cleavage between her oversized breasts. It tickled her navel, wide and sagging with lard.

But the trough was empty. The last drops of Sloppy Joe slid over her tongue. Then, she dropped the trough back to the table and rested her aching arms.

Krystal sat back, stuffed to the brim. She croaked a long, wet belch. She put her hands to her abdomen. Outside, layers of pudge disguised her binge. Inside, her gut felt like a gurgling, churning beach ball packed tight with saucy ground pork. It sat heavy in her lap, and its surface was tender to the touch. Her dripping, messy fingers painted greasy Sloppy Joe sauce on her stomach. It was also slick with sweat. The spotlight overhead made her uncomfortably hot, and the incredible strain on her stomach didn't help. Her hair was frayed.

Underneath her fullness, Krystal felt a building pressure. She unleashed a fart, and the sound of a strangled duck quacking issued from between her buttocks for seconds on end. Strangely, she heard it loud and clear from all around her; it boomed over speakers. She blushed a deep crimson. Was there a mic in the chair for just such an occasion?

When she finished, the crowd erupted into laughter and cheers. Even Paula turned from her gluttonous feast to clap. Her trough had maybe a fifth of its contents remaining.

The bell rang three times once more. Wolf leapt up and gripped his mic. "There you have it, assholes! In a stunning upset, Krystal has out-eaten our hometown hero!" He walked to Krystal's side. "What an impressive display! Truly, the slovenly performance of a fatassed slob. Do you have anything to say to our fantastic audience on behalf of Corneria?"

He held the mic to her face. Krystal opened her mouth, ready to tell him off. A bassy, rippling belch came out instead. It echoed over the arena's speakers.

Wolf took the mic back. "There you have it! Now scram!"

The audience, raucous and rowdy, filtered out of the arena. Wolf turned towards Paula.

* * * * *

Krystal yelled, "Wolf! (BWOORP.)" Her breathing was labored under her gratuitous feast.

Wolf turned to her. "Yes?"

"You owe (HIC) me answers," Krystal said. Her thick hiccup jostled her heavy flesh.

"So I do," Wolf responded. "Go ahead and shoot."

"Powalsk-(urrrp) and Caroso. What were they up to?"

Wolf smiled. "You should know that better than me."

"What is that (mmbrap) supposed to mean?"

"Don't be coy. No doubt you know that they were after information about technologies to aid weight gain."

"Yes. I'm here about the larger pictUURP."

"The larger picure, Miss Krystal, is counter-intelligence. Powalski and Caroso are legally distinct entities from myself. But I can tell you their interest was in understanding Corneria's own intentions."

"Intentions with what? (Buuu--uurrp--urp.) Fat?"

"As I said before: you should know that better than me." Wolf walked to Paula, then whirled around to face Krystal. "Oh, and I never said you had to win the competition. I would have answered your queries regardless." He reached out his hand to help Paula stand, and she batted it away.

Fox pulled himself onto the ring and rushed to Krystal's side. She looked stunning. Her splayed legs hung thick with fat, letting her revealed, overfed gut roll forth from her waist ponderously, as if hiding her crotch in a sexy tease. Her hands massaged her belly, holding her portly biceps against her tubby side. Her sauce-stained blouse remained buttoned along part of her stacked chest, although her neckline was low enough to show cleavage. Sauce dried along her rounded cheeks and chin. Her hair was tousled from the vigor of her binge and the heat of the spotlight, but it reminded Fox of how she looked after particularly... rambunctious evenings.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His eyes focused squarely on hers, taking pains not to peek her body, and he wrangled his giddy smile into a straight, earnest-looking expression.

"Fox, I know that look," Krystal said flatly. "And the answer is no. I feel gross."

Fox chuckled. "How about I help you into a bath, then? It'll be a nice, soapy massage."

Krystal paused to let out a short, rude fart. Her body jostled with the effort, jiggling across her thick, sweaty, messy form for a few moments. Then she answered, breathy: "That sounds good." Fox extended his hand, and Krystal took it.

* * * * *

"Feeder's log, starweight 314.75. Once we got back to the Great Fox, Krystal didn't have much to report. She repeated Wolf's answers word for word to Faye and Miyu, and they seemed unimpressed. Not ingrateful, just unimpressed. But they work for the OCI, so I wouldn't trust that. Who knows what they actually thought of Krystal's report. Maybe it was laughable. Maybe it was crucial.

"I also wonder if Corneria could negotiate with Wolf to obtain a broadcast of his competitive eating league."