c'mon whale boy
move that lump of lard
you're disgusting.
listen to yourself. you're panting like a dog - but then you are a little bitch, aren't you- and sweating, damp on your belly. who sweats from their belly? other than fat fucks like you- do you lot even count as people?- normal, not the weight of a small whale-sized people, don't sweat like this. you're sick-
sick of being this way, sick in the way that this is a disease, you can't stop, your medicine is no cure you faggot, it's the goddamn problem.
skinny boy, now look at him, he fits into his fucking clothes, why can't you be more like him? Those green eyes, they're mental mate, what do you have? Heartburn.
skinny boy fucking hates you, he can't bear having to sit next to a fat fuck like you, can't blame him, you're disgusting.
skinny boy is an angry boy, screaming when he dreams - and you think, he's got it easy, what's he going on about? what girl is ever gonna look at you like you're a human being? he's shaped like a wire and sparks off at times, you're the fat yellow candle, hot sweat rolling off you, putrid, falling behind.
skinny boy leaves the house, long times, and it's so damn quiet you can just hear your own laboured breath huffing out of you like the last toothpaste in the tube.
skinny boy doesn't have problems. you have problems, mr dudley fucking dursley and don't you know you're not going to do a thing about it. Disgusting.