text: Brodie stuffed his face like he never had before. To his left a massive minotaur was mowing down on some fish and chips. To the right, an ogre belched before placing an entire turkey leg inside his mouth. Both were only on their fifth dish and slowing down. Brodie on the other hand was just finishing his sixth, a peking duck, before moving onto his seventh, a large mound of poutine, and nothing was going to slow him down. There was too much riding on this competition for him to lose. As the first human to participate in the Heavyweight Consumption World Championship he represented humanity and it’s capabilities. He had the whole of humanity behind him, watching and cheering him on as he pushed the remains of a peking duck away from him and a waiter brought over a heaping, steaming pile of poutine. He snapped at the waiter to hurry as he chewed on the last bits of duck. The rules of the competition were simple and clear, eight dishes, first to finish all eight wins, and if he was going to win then every second counted. Especially against last years champion, a slug-like creature with an expanding stomach named Kevin. Kevin had taunted and insulted him in the qualifying rounds, stating openly and slowly on international television that it was impossible for a human to compete on his level. The memory of the public embarrassment ground Brodie’s gears and he was determined to prove him wrong. Between handfuls of poutine he stole a glance at Kevin, who was in the midst of eating their own pile of poutine. Brodie was ahead of him, just by a little, but enough that he allowed himself a smug, cheese, gravy, and fry-filled smile. Victory within reach he pushed himself to his limits. He swallowed entire handfuls without bothering to chew, muscles in his neck straining to push the food down. Slurping up the last of his poutine he beckoned furiously to the waiter to bring over the last dish. An entire pot of cheesy garlic mashed potatoes was set down in front of him. He grinned despite his stomach feeling like it was tearing at the seams. He had trained for this. For an entire year he had eaten a pot of mashed potatoes for dinner, recording how long it took him to eat it and constantly pushing himself to go faster until he could do it in just one minute and twenty-seven seconds. He quickly looked at the timer before plunging his hands into mashed potatoes. Exactly twenty-three minutes in. If he finished before the timer hit 24:27 he would beat his own personal record. The world around him faded away as he watched the timer tick, every second feeling like an hour as he struggled to shove as much mushy potato as he could fit into his mouth. As the timer hit the twenty-four minute mark his bodys’ autonomic nervous system decided to forgo breathing altogether, the consumption of mashed potato becoming Brodie’s sole purpose. Inhaling the last of the pot he slammed his hand down on the button. A loud buzzing noise rang out. Brodie looked to the timer. 24:20. Brodie jumped up and, with tears welling at the corners of his eyes, gave a crazed cheer that startled even the minotaur beside him. Pointing at the slug-like creature at the end of the table he screamed, “Take that Kevin, you slug-ass looking dickhead!” Then he passed out. When he opened his eyes he was in an off-white room on a hospital bed. Confused, he tried to sit up but found that he didn’t have the strength which only fed into his confusion. A door opened to the right and he watched Sandy, the love of his life, rush in from a door to the right of his hospital bed. Something was wrong about her. She had more grey hair than he remembered, even some whites, and there were wrinkles where there hadn’t been any before. Beginning to panic, Brodie attempted to speak to her but his vocal chords felt like they were being used for the first time. With a raspy croak he managed, “What... happened?” Sandy looked down at him with pain in her eyes. “Brodie, what I’m about to tell you is going to come as a shock but please don’t panic, it’s important you don’t put anymore stain on your body, do you understand?” Brodie used what little strength he had to nod his head. His love continued, tears in her eyes. “After you won the championship, when you stood up and yelled, the lack of oxygen in your brain caused you to pass out.” Brodie listened to every word, wide-eyed. “After the paramedics failed to revive you the doctors, they... they diagnosed you as comatose. Brodie, there’s no easy way to say this but...” Sandy began to sob. “Brodie,” she managed between her sniffles and tears, “You’ve been in a food coma for the last 15 years.