"Hey Ricky, where's the Wiimote?"
Rick moaned as he pulled the covers over his head.
"Ricky...Ricky!"
"I told you," he mumbled. "Don't call me 'Ricky'. It's Rick."
"Well," Zelda said, "I'm not going to call you anything until you get out of bed and find the Wiimote. You were the one who used it last."
"No, I wasn't, I was up all night drawing." He sat up in his bed. "What the heck do you want to play the Wii for—"
"I'm playing WiiFit, which is what you should be doing, too. Look at you," Zelda scoffed, putting her hand on her generous hip. "You're so scrawny that you can barely stand."
Rick stared at her.
"What?"
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Zelda?"
"Ricky?"
This time, Rick didn't object. It wasn't that he didn't mind being called 'Ricky' anymore. He was just more concerned about the fact that Zelda was as plump and round as an overstuffed couch.
She was standing in the hallway, looking like she would barely fit through his door if she decided to come inside. She wore a cheerleading uniform that stretched over her round, bulging chest. Her belly sagged over the hem of her skirt. Her skirt, which seemed big enough to fit around an oil drum, barely reached down to her knees, which were nothing but big divots in the fat that surrounded her thighs. Her frown cut into her round, doughy cheeks, which crowded around her tiny red lips, squeezing them into a tight little pout.
"Ricky, come on..."
"You're fat!"
"Thanks, now get in here and find the Wiimote, now."
"But...you're fat!"
"Mom!" Zelda shouted.
A voice answered from down the hall. "Rick, will you please get the video game remote for your sister? You know how sensitive she is about her workouts."
"I'm not sensitive," Zelda snapped. "I'm just tired of Rick losing the remote all the time."
"Mom!" Rick shouted. "Do you know that Zelda is fat?"
"Of course, hon," she answered. "I gave birth to her, after all."
Rick frowned. "That doesn't even make sense!"
Zelda was tired of waiting. She waddled into the room. "Come on, stick boy. Get out of bed."
"Don't get near me!" Rick shouted, jumping to his feet.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Get away!" he scrambled out of reach as Zelda tried to drag him out of bed. Rick jumped onto the floor and ran through the hallway. He ran until he reached the living room.
"Mom, tell her to—"
Mom sighed. "Rick, can't you just find the remote?"
Rick turned pale. If Zelda looked like an overstuffed couch, Mom was the entire furniture set.
She was holding a coffee cup the size of a paint can. She lifted the cup to her lips, took three massive gulps and sighed. "Still needs a little more cream," she said. Dumped the entire cream pitcher into her cup, turning the coffee almost white. She covered her mouth, belched, and then took another three gulps. She stuffed a slice of chocolate cake into her mouth and delicately wiped her mouth.
"I'm afraid that I'll have to have a light breakfast this morning. The agency is having show this afternoon and they want me to be there. They're going to have an absolutely gorgeous buffet there: prime rib and roasted pig! I don't want to spoil my appetite."
