Dylan was finished. It was finally time to break it off. He needed to do it if he ever wanted any chance at being normal. These were thoughts swimming around in Dylanâs head as he opened Skype just as he did every Friday at 6pm exactly. What had begun as innocent fun had now become an impediment to Dylanâs ever changing desires for his body.
     For the past few years, Dylan had been possessed at biannual intervals by a desire to grow. Most guys his age would simply begin going to the gym on a regular basis, but muscles were not the type of growth he was fixated on. No, Dylan wanted to be fat. Having been on the thinner side for much of his life, Dylan managed to shrug off the urge. That was until about one year from the present day. Dylan had found himself browsing the internet, chatting with others of similar inclination, and suddenly something clicked. It was as if a scrap of metal had fallen onto some wiring, completing a circuit which would fuel his inherent desire to watch his body spread out before him, packing itself with pound after pound of blubber. And so it began, the late night trips to round out the day with a fourth meal of greasy fast food, the high calorie shakes consumed throughout the day, the feeling that clothes which had fit since high school becoming constricting strait jackets. In the span of two months he managed to pack on 20 pounds to his 170 pound frame, leaving him on the edge of 200 and at the final borders of chubby. Thatâs when he found Connor.
    He had been reading the comments on a recently posted picture of his, when one struck a special cord with him. He read it several times over, allowing the words to sink in, feeling them tickle a dark part of his psyche. It didnât take him long to contact the sender through a message thanking him for his comment and asking if what he had said was really true. The reply came, confirming his request. The man who had introduced himself as Connor was trained as a hypnotherapist, but on the side, he loved to help men in the gaining community realize their potentials. Heâd helped a few others and now he was offering to do the same for Dylan. Somehow, the idea of trancing out and just letting go of himself to be free to be controlled by his desire to eat excited Dylan. And so, their weekly sessions began. Dylan would sign on to Skype and wait for Connor to call. Connor would then take Dylan down into a deep trance state. Dylan loved the feeling, letting all of his tension go, relaxing to a deeper level than he thought possible, losing himself in the icy depths of Connorâs brilliant blue eyes. Eventually, the suggestions would begin. Connor would focus on this force within Dylan, suppressed by his conscious mind, attempting to build it up and allow it to come to the forefront. For lack of other term, he would refer to this as his âinner pig.â The effects were minimal at first, Dylan would awaken with a slightly increased desire to eat, or a slight rumbling in his stomach, but after a month or so of regular sessions, the suggestions finally began to cement themselves. In order to increase the effect, Connor added a trigger phrase, âpig outâ, only usable by himself. Hearing the trigger would awaken a powerful urge within Dylan to gorge and gorge until he could no more. Generally, their sessions would begin with reinforcing the hypnotic suggestions already in place, followed by Connor awakening Dylan and then saying the trigger phrase. Connor would then watch as Dylan would feast on anything and everything he could get his hands on, before finally ending it by saying âpig in.â
    The sessions worked liked magic. Dylan managed to put on another 30 pounds in the following two months. Crossing 200 was amazing. He finally felt big. He finally felt like he was getting fat just like had always wanted. He took relish in bursting the buttons of of clothing that once fit his skinny frame. He reveled in the attention that he received from posting on the internet about his gains. But eventually, as it had every time before, Dylanâs interests began to fade. He began to regard his weight as less of a badge of honor and more of a mark of disgrace. He began to feel disgusting in public, as though people were judging him for not being the stereotypical gay man. Connor noticed that their sessions were becoming shorter and shorter, with Dylan hardly seeming as interested in eating as he had been. The triggers still worked like a charm, but it didnât really seem like he was as well prepared for them, usually only having a few things to eat as opposed to feasts of fast food and pizza like before.
    All of this led up to today, the day that Dylan was finally going to tell Connor the truth: that he had been working out more recently and had already lost 15 pounds of what he had gained. That he no longer wanted to have their feeding sessions. That he wanted a body that society would deem attractive. He typed his password into the box on the screen, feeling a faint pang of regret. Connorâs call came, just as it did every time.
âHey, thereâs my big guy!â Connor teased.
ââŠ.HeyâŠâ was all Dylan could manage.
âYou ready to start?â
ââŠLookâŠConnorâŠwe need to talkâŠâ
ââŠAbout what?â confusion mixed with concern across the canvas of Connorâs face.
âI canât do this anymore.â
ââŠWhatâŠwhat do you mean?!â
âI donât wanna be fat anymore. I..IâŠbeen losing weight for the past month.â
âOhâŠbutâŠ.I thoughtâŠ.â
âWell you thought wrong!âŠ.IâŠI need to go now.â Dylanâs arm reached up to pull his laptop closed.
âWait! Dylan wait! Let me just say one thing!â
ââŠFine. What is it?â
A dark smile crossed Connorâs face as he muttered in a cold voice: âPig out.â And just like that, he was gone.
    Dylan stared at the screen, his stomach suddenly rumbling loudly, convulsing in hunger pains. He thought to himself of all the high protein foods he had stocked in the fridge in neatly pre-prepared portions. And before he could think of much else, there he was ripping them open, shoveling them into his mouth. A whole weekâs worth of healthy meals vanished in the span of an hour. Half a gallon of milk washed it all down. Dylanâs addled mind was focused on the need for protein, but in reality, it was just his subconscious manipulating his conscious mind into doing its fattening bidding. Cleaning out the fridge wasnât enough for Dylanâs growling gut. And soon, he found himself in the drive-thru, ordering enough tacos and burritos to feed a large family. He had barely pulled through, before he began shucking the wrappers from the delicious morsels, unceremoniously horking them down.
    Dylan woke the next morning in bed, surrounded by the wrappers of everything that he had eaten last night. This was not unusual for a Saturday morning, since his sessions with Connor were always on Friday nights. But this time, his stomach was aching not from being overfull, but from being empty. He quickly rose out of bed, not even bothering to change his taco sauce-stained clothes, before heading out for breakfast. The diner down the street from his apartment was famous for its low prices but large portions making it a perfect place for Dylan to go in his current state. He seated himself heavily at the bar. The rubenesque waitress waddled over quickly, her pad at the ready.
âWhat are ya ha-âshe almost said, cut off by Dylanâs order.
âEggsâŠ6 scrambled. BaconâŠpoundâŠâ he said, in broken speech.
âYouâŠokay, hun?â concern crossed the waitresses jovial demeanor.
âIâŠPancakesâŠdouble stackâŠHe didnâtâŠputâŠ.SausageâŠ8 linksâŠit away!!â Â
    Dylan struggled to explain as his order continued to flow. The waitress just looked at him, puzzled, before taking his check to the cook. Minutes later, she returned carrying a massive tray filled with everything he had ordered. No more had she set it down and Dylan was already making short work of it. Tastes merged in his mouth as he ate far too quickly to appreciate the flavor of any one thing. Smoky bacon, sweet maple syrup, buttery pancake, all danced across his tongue before being broken down into building blocks for more fat to cover his body. The meal itself lasted only a half hour, before he threw down his money and left. The full feeling following his gorges seemed to grant Dylan a moment of respite from his inner hunger, allowing him to think clearly for a time. He needed to find Connor. He needed to get him to say the trigger to free him from this. And so, he began to hurry back home, hoping that he could appeal to his friendâs sense of decency. Hoping that this was all just a big joke. Signing onto Skype provided him with an unavailable icon under Connorâs name. The same result followed from every site he checked. Eventually he resorted to leaving a message for him, begging to be released from the crippling bonds of hunger gripping his mind.
    No response would come from Connor. Every day that passed, Dylan sunk deeper and deeper into his own head. Somehow, he still managed to get by in school, but his grades had slipped considerably. Able to think straight only on a full stomach, Dylan was forced to stuff himself several times a day just to be able to perform well enough to barely pass. He now spent the majority of his time horking down mass quantities of food in the dining hall. In the first week of his uncontrolled gluttony, his friends tried to help him, questioning his behavior, trying to tell him to stop, but all they would receive from him were angry snarls and the occasional mumblings about putting something away. Out of fear or disgust, they began to leave him to his own fattening devises.
    The toll his unbridled gluttony was taking on his body was immense. Being constantly filled to the brim with food had stretched Dylanâs stomach further and further with each passing day, necessitating an ever-increasing amount of food. 10,000 calories a day, which had once a nearly unattainable goal for him, was now accounted for after two meals. Many days he would near 20,000. Dylan knew enough of about nutrition to know that 3500 calories would add a pound of fat to his body and simple division told him that these 20K days would add almost 5 pounds a day. The 15 pounds that he had lost came back in the first week. The clothes Dylan had purchased as a reward for his weight loss were now comically small, especially considering that being stuffed to bursting pushed his stomach out into a massive spherical mound, unable to be completely concealed by shirts that had fit perfectly only a week earlier. His sleep schedule began to suffer as well as at least twice a night he would wake to seizing pains in his stomach as it roared out to be stuffed again. The emergency credit card his parents had given him was becoming inundated with charges from fast food joints.
    By the end of the month, he had become almost unrecognizable. In the past 4 weeks, he had packed on a massive 100 pounds onto his 185 pound body. His slightly rounded chest had become a full set of moobs with big round nipples, red from being stretched so big so quickly. They sat atop his massive sphere of a gut like two blobs of jelly. His belly button was the only impression in the otherwise unbroken curve of his gut. His butt and thighs had long outgrew his jeans, and even the oversized basketball shorts, the only thing that fit anymore, could barely contain there girth. He hadnât taken any time to buy new clothes, thanks to devoting so much off it to eating, so anywhere that he went, he did so in shirts that barely concealed his man tits, let alone, his gut. Bright red stretch marks covered his once unblemished skin, making his huge round body look like a gigantic blood shot eyeball. The enormity of his gut, combined with the constant over-full feeling, gave him the waddling gait of a woman 8 months into pregnancy. He did nothing to hide the gas that his body produced as it digested enough food for a family of five on a daily basis. In his few moments of clarity, Dylan would frantically search for Connor, leaving him message after message, begging him for help. Connorâs silence remained unbroken.
    By the time that Thanksgiving break rolled around, Dylan was on the brink of being asked to leave the university. His grades had fallen to an all-time low and he was becoming a major disruption in his classes. His nearly constant flow of farts and belches managed to fill entire lecture halls with his stench, resulting in a slew of complaints from other students. His near lack of clothing had become an issue as well, now having outgrown even his shorts. In either an act of pity or of desire to no longer see his disgusting body, several other students had pooled money to buy him an oversized pair of sweat pants and a massive t-shirt. As he prepared himself for the short road trip to his parentsâ house, the sweats which had once been tent-like on him were now more reminiscent of sausage casings, struggling desperately to hold together around his lard. He opened the door of his car, a now-tiny-in-comparison Civic, and hefted his mass in. The car shook and groaned as his massive ass met the seat. A loud honk blared from the front of the car as his gut pressed up against the steering wheel. He desperately grappled with his fat hand to find the seat release. Pulling it, he slid back as far as he could, his gut now just brushing the bottom of the wheel. He pulled his other leg into the car and pulled the door closed. It bounced instead off of his love handle, sending a rippling through his body. Taking a deep breath his struggled to adjust himself, finally managing to squeeze the door closed against his fat. He had been sure to eat before leaving, hoping he could buy himself just enough time to get home.
     Dylan managed to make it through 45 minutes of the hour long drive before his stomach was once again beginning to rumble. To his stomach great pleasure, there was a burger place at the next exit. He pulled through the drive thru and made an astonishingly large order. The handsome guy working the window gave him a look of abject disgust as he slowly handed three full bags to him. The look only became more deeply ingrained as Dylan fished his credit care, slicked in a coating of fry grease from the pocket of his sweats and handed it to the man. The final nail in the coffin was the fact that as the man handed the card back, Dylan was already face-deep in the first bag. He didnât bother to get back on the highway, instead just pulling into one of the parking lots, now absolutely focused on eating. He rested the bag on his table of a gut and just shoved the food into his fat face. Bits of cheese and burger became stuck in the splotchy unkempt beard he had grown over the past few months, too scared to try shaving. In a manner of minutes, far faster than any human being should be able to eat, Dylan had finished the greasy glory and got back on the road.
    It wasnât long before he was pulling into the driveway of his parentsâ house. The multitude of cars parked nearby meant that the majority of his extended family was already present. A few of his younger cousins were playing football in the front yard. They stopped as soon as the saw him, sweaty and huffing from the effort of just exiting his car. He waddled slowly up the walk, stopping for a breather halfway there. He looked back up to see a kindly older man in a sweater with a turkey on it. Some part of his mind recognized the man as his father.
âDo you need some help, sir?â his dad asked, unaware that the wheezing pile of lard in front of him was his own flesh and blood.
âDadâŠ.huffâŠ.itsâŠ.huffâŠ.meâŠ.Dylan!â
âIs this some sort of joke?â his fatherâs kindly countenance was now awash in confused anger.
âNoâŠDadâŠitâŠhuffâŠmeâŠUUUUURRRRPPPPP!!! Youâve gottaâŠhuffâŠhelp me! HeâŠ.he didnât put it away!â Dylan blubbered out.
âLook, buddy, I donât know who you are, or what kind of sick game youâre playing, but youâve got five minutes to waddle your fat ass back to your car before I call the cops.â His father pointed sternly in the direction of the vehicle. Shock crossed his dadâs face as he no doubt realized that it was Dylanâs car he was pointing to. âWhereâŠwhere did you get that car?!?!â
âDadâŠItâs really me, please!! Unnnghhh,â Dylan clutched his massive gut with his chubby hands as a pang of hunger shot through him, âPleaseâŠyouâŠyou gotta feed me! Come on, you âŠyou got any food?! IâmâŠgettingâŠhungry! UnnnnghhhâŠâ
âThat does it, Iâm calling the cops, you fucking sicko. What have you done with my son?!â
    Dylan managed to maintain his composure enough to realize that he needed to get out of there fast. Waddling as fast as his chaffing thighs would allow, he crashed back into the driver seat of the car. As fast as he could, he was back out on the road outside the house that had once been his home. A sudden vibration went through his thunder thighs as his phone rumbled in his pocket. He pulled off to the side of the road and began digging the device from his tight pocket. His strained heart gave a jump when he saw that it was a message from Connor.
âMeet me in a half hour. â
    An address followed. Dylan typed the address into his GPS app as quickly as his chubby finger would allow. It brought up a buffet restaurant in the next town up the highway. He set the phone into the console and began to drive. The trip was just long enough for the pangs he had felt back at home to intensify into a roaring hunger. He sat in his car outside the buffet for a few minutes, trying to steel himself for what was to come. Only then did he begin the slow waddle to the door. He told the languid hostess that he was there to meet up with someone and she waved him on. The trip past the tables full of steaming food felt like the longest journey of his entire life. It just all smelled so good! But he had to resist. He couldnât let himself go hog wild anymore. Hehe, hog wild, he thought to himself. He looked away from the temptation, searching the small space for any sign of Connor. There was hardly anyone in the dim space, and certainly no one who looked like Connor.  WellâŠmaybe just a little bit..while I wait. Just a small bit. He WAS so hungry after all. Â
By the time two of the buffetâs cheap chairs were filled with Dylanâs more than ample buttocks, he had piled a plate impossibly full with rich foods: mac and cheese, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, stuffing. Everything blurred together in a calorie-laden slop as he began to shovel it into his mouth with haste. Halfway through, he looked up from his plate to see that he was no longer alone.
âWellâŠI canât say Iâm surprised,â Connor said, the same iciness permeated his voice as on the day he had left Dylan to his fate.
âConnnow!â Dylan exclaimed through a mouthful of food.
âI see youâve lost your manners along with your self-control. But I see youâve gained quite a bit in other department.â
âPleaseâŠConnorâŠlet me stopâŠWhy..why??â
The iciness of Connorâs voice disappeared, replaced with fiery passion.
âBecause you thought you could just cast me off like some sort of piece of trash! Is that all I ever was to you?! Did all of that just mean nothing to you?! I loved you, you stupid pig! Thatâs why I did this to you! Now no one wants you. Not even your family. Iâm all you have left now.â
âNoâŠ.noâŠI..can change!â
âYou canât hypnotize someone to do something that they donât already want to do. All of this, everything thatâs happened since has been because a deep, dark part of you wants this for you. This is what youâve always wanted. And I helped you achieve it!â
âNo! IâŠI wanna be thinâŠandâŠand hot!â
âSighâŠI had really hoped that this time wouldâve helped you realize that Iâm right. Even if I did release you now, do you really think you could lose all that weight? Do you really think you could keep it off? And even if you did, you grew so fast that youâve stretched your skin out beyond repair. If you somehow managed to lose weight, youâd look like a deflated balloon, a freak. Is that what you want?â
âFace it. This. THIS is what youâre meant to be! Admit that and Iâll release you. And then you can come back with me and be my big fat gainer boyfriend. Iâll take good care of you. PleaseâŠDylanâŠIâŠreally do love you.â
    Dylan just stared at Connor. All of his rage and bravado seemed to have melted away, leaving himself open and vulnerable. Part of him wanted to leave with Connor. It wanted him to live with Connor and be his growing pile of blubber. That same side of him shoved another bite from the plate into his mouth.
âConnorâŠIâŠIâŠIf you really loved meâŠyou wouldnât have done this to me⊠YouâreâŠa monsterâŠâ
Connor sat silent for several moments. When he finally spoke it was with an icy edge that could have cut glass.
âNo. I was your salvation. I could have been your savior, but youâve cast it all away. And now thereâs nothing to do but embrace your damnation. We could have lived together in love, but now weâll be together in bondage. Thereâs one more trigger I had hoped to never use. This whole time, the pig has been out, but your conscious mind has been too. What do you think would happen if that were to go away? How fucking fat do you think youâd be if the pig was in total control?â
âConnorâŠnoâŠyou canât! You wouldnât! Please!â
âLetâs see who the real monster is. Dylan in.â
    A strange feeling flooded through Dylan upon hearing these words. It was as if he was suddenly falling, or floating, or even flying. He could still see Connor and his surroundings, but now he felt no connection to any of it. It was as if he was a mere spectator, watching as his hands moved of their own accord, abandoning the use of silverware in favor of scooping the food straight into his mouth. He could taste the food, but only as if he was remembering the taste, not fully experiencing it. He continued to watch as his body, no longer his own, pulled itself up and waddled to the buffet tables and, having abandoned all regard for decency, began to stuff his face directly from the steamer trays. Crumbs tumbled down the front of his strained shirt, creating a mess all around him. Dylanâs consciousness slowly began to drift off. It was like falling asleep while watching TV late at night. And once again, he was fallingâŠfalling.
***************
âDylan Out. Pig In.â
    For the first time in what seemed at the same time an eternity and a brief moment, Dylan could think clearly. His eyes opened and he saw as himself, in control of his own body again. He stared up at the white ceiling above him. He reached his arm to his eye to rub away the sleepâŠ.or he tried to. His hands must have been bound in some way that prevented them from reaching his face. He tried to raise himself into a sitting position, but that, too, seemed impossible. It felt like his entire being was encased in something, weighing him down in place. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, even though he had done hardly anything to strain it. He felt warm and sweaty, like he was in some sort of intensely tropical climate. Even taking a breath felt like he was pulling air through a pillow pressed against his face. He laid there as a massive burst of flatulence rolled out of his body, seemingly beyond his control. It sent vibrations throughout his mass, as if he were floating on choppy water. He tried to move his head to look around, but it too, was bound in place.
âWelcome back, Dylan. Ready to see yourself for what you truly are??â
    He knew who the voice belonged to, but he couldnât seem to remember just yet. A metallic whirring sound began as he started to feel his back being pushed up. The massive bariatric bed he rested on was slowly being lifted into a seated position. As he rose up, most of his vision was occupied by the bulging pink curves of his flesh. After the bed struggled for several minutes, he was finally upright for the first time in months. Facing a huge mirror, he could scarcely recognize the formless naked blob in front of him. He looked nothing like he remembered himself, but gaining 1000 pounds will do that to a person.
Â
    Most of the mirrorâs silver surface was taken up by his giant pile of stomach rolls. Each was streaked with bright red stretch marks and coated in a sheen of greasy sweat. A deep cave-like impression marked the place that once been his belly button. They cascaded over each other and spread out, pressing up against the bars on either side of the bed. He could just barely make out his legs, now completely and utterly useless, smothered below the lowest curve of his gut. He could feel the weight of his belly on his legs all the way down to his ham-like calves. Even his feet looked as if they had been cartoonishly inflated. Flanking either side of his swollen torso were the curves of two massive ass cheeks, each one hanging over the edge of the bed he was resting upon. Piled high atop those were love handles that couldâve served as handholds for an entire orgy of lovers. His belly was crowned by two massive sacs of lard with nipples that were so stretched out that they had almost faded to blend in with the rest of the surrounding flesh. Rolls crowded both above and below his massive accumulation of breast blubber, further distorting his apparent humanity.
    A sudden itch on his nose caused him to once again attempt to move his arms, each now weighing as much as his entire body had before. Despite being pushed out nearly to a 90 degree angle by the huge sacs of blubber that rested atop his even larger moobs, his arms felt as if they were made of lead and came short of spanning the vast width of his gelatinous body. He could barely even bend his sausage-like fingers as he struggled to reach toward his face.  At least he assumed the face in the mirror was his own. It looked like a strangerâs. His eyes looked as if they were being squished between the roll of fat that had formed on his forehead and the puffy cheeks below. A large scraggly beard had grown over the rest of his face, hiding the bloated features beneath. Lower, his fuzzy chins piled up in concentric circles of lard, giving him the look of having no neck at all. The struggle of just trying to move his arms was sending his heart racing again and his skin was suddenly pumping out more and more sweat. His whole body would jiggle wildly with each tiny, weak movement, eliciting nervous creaks from the bed. He tried to speak, but his breathing was so strained that he could scarcely make out one word before desperately having to suck in another shallow breath.
ââŠâŠ(Huff)âŠNo!âŠ(Huff)âŠ.WhatâŠ.(Huff)âŠhaveâŠ.(Huff)âŠyouâŠ.â He struggled to say.
ââŠdone to you? I havenât done anything but let you turn yourself into the fat monster that you always were deep inside. You did this to yourself. â
    Cold fear began to grip Dylan, sending his heart rate even further into the red zone. As it raced, he could hear a beeping in sync with it. It was then he noticed the heart monitor and IV next to his bed. In fact, from what he could see, the whole room had the feeling of a hospital room.
âIs it finally coming together now, big guy? Iâm sure the memories will come back soon enough, but Iâm not a patient man. After the buffet, which by the way, you managed to eat two-thirds of before the police arrived to bounce you out, I took you home with me. You really put me through my paces, I must say. I could hardly buy food fast enough as you just devoured so much each day! Thank goodness your legs eventually gave out and let me regulate your feedings more! If I hadnât been convinced before, the way you blew up over the last months has confirmed that you really are meant for this. I took care of you all that time, until a week ago, after your fourth meal of the day, I noticed your breathing getting pained and a pained look on your face. You had a heart attack. Luckily, I was there to call the paramedics. Itâs a good thing that I had made your room out in the garage, or they wouldâve never gotten you out in time! Oh, man, you really should have seen it! They had to use a forklift to lift you and your mattress right into the ambulance. For a minute, I didnât think the suspension would hold out.
    Imagine what your family and friends must have thought when you, missing and believed dead, were suddenly on the news, a giant naked blob being loaded into a truck like some common cargo. Imagine more so the shock on their faces upon hearing that you weighed in at over 1500 pounds. So very close to the record! But most of all, imagine what it must have felt like, when they came to visit and found you unwilling to acknowledge them. This time, you were the one not to recognize them. No amount of desperate pleas could force you to speak to them. Instead you wasted what little breath you could on grunting and begging anyone and everyone to bring you food. I can still remember seeing the tears streaming down your face as you hungered so. Maybe thatâs why they called of the search for whoever did this to you. They really donât care what happens to you anymore.
    Lucky for you, this hospital has a very well-staffed psychology department and theyâve even assigned a hypnotherapist to your case to assuage your desires for food.â A mischievous glint appeared in Connorâs icy blue eyes.
â(Huff)âŠ.You!âŠ(Huff)â
âYes. Me. Youâll be seeing plenty of me. Now, I could just make you go back away and let the pig eat yourself to death, but I want you to feel it. I want you to feel trapped in the prison of your body. I want you to feel the pounds keep piling on. Now, I brought a little âexposure therapy.ââ
    Connor motioned to box full of fast food bags and an entire cake. A small part of Dylan wanted to stop, a small part knew that  he was approaching the point of no return. A much larger part knew that he had shot a thick load into his cavernous fat pad twice during Connorâs monologue. That part was winning out, opening Dylanâs mouth wide as Connor brought a large greasy burger to his watering mouth. He realized it now. His inner pig was no longer just inner. It was part of him, or ratherâŠhe was part of it, and it was time to feed the beast.
âEat up, big guy. That record isnât going to break itself.â
Any resemblance to real persons or situations is purely coincidental.
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