Gabby Windey

We go home, hearts and bellies and eyes full of a hybrid birthday blunt, and I notice how swollen and enlarged and tight it is.

and seemingly change not overnight but the four hours of the chateau of fun my legs have gotten they've changed on me I do not recognize them I start to worry in a cross-faded haze of what used to be fun quickly turning into fear and agony what have happened to these used to be not so delicate gams but delicate enough I could have just gotten on the treadmill

I could have just left him alone.

But at that moment, I wasn't worried enough, however.

The next day, I look down at my legs and don't recognize the elephantitis staring back at me.

What is going on?

My legs are twice the size.

They're tight.

My ankles can't touch.

And I don't recognize myself in the mirror on top of a squatty potty so I can see the bottom part of my body.

When did I acquire this lymphedema, lipoedema, deformedema of my thighs?

And is it contagious?

Was it the Twinkies server who slipped a potion into the bolognese because he was jealous of my fresh blowout?

Close.

It was Ashley Black and the Fascia Blaster.

Again, this is my experience.

It's a little punched up because it's a comedy podcast, so take it or leave it.

I picked up my nightie that morning to show my planetary Uranus, more like Jupiter with the largest planet of rings of the solar system everywhere to my beloved.

Do you see the size of my ass?

I inquire to my wife, Robbie, what is going on here?