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Disney World was not the place for a balding, overweight man in his mid-thirties with a handful of leaflets on the Reformed Church of the Holy Shark, and, clearly, the approaching guards had the same feeling. This was going to end poorly. | One of the more experienced guards, slightly chubby himself, stepped forward to confront the heavy-set man. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. You are bothering the other visitors and scaring the children." | "Aw hell no!", waddled the man, crushing everything in his path as he steamrolled in the other direction, jiggling like the gelatinous mass that he was. Suddenly, he stopped. "What's this?", he asked to himself, leaning down, looking upon the | severed arm of a fellow patron. The arm clung posthumously to a glazed abortion of a donut; it was Krispy Kreme. Ignoring the sole vivacious, fleshy arm that remained in the Escher-esque ground, he guzzled the Krispy Kreme, and the microbes advanced. | He thought to himself, in aimless conjecture; maybe i should open up a Krispy Kreme! All i would need is a couple of arms a day. I'll always take up the offers of those who desire to "lend a hand". | Slowly, carefully, he swallowed, savoring each sweltering saliva sorbet of the sugary salutatory to his stomach. After this succession of savory secessions, he satisfactorily snogged the still spigot of Sprite subsequent to his eating of donuts. S.