A dream.

A genuinely obese hirsute sumo-wrestler is lying on the floor. He wears a pink sumo-thong. The air-conditioner isn’t working. It’s hot. Real hot. Little drops of sweat pour down his man-cleavage…

Read more about the uncanny dream, after the jump.

Fo’ Real!

The poor sumo-wrestler in question is so morbidly obese that he cannot move on his own. A blob, he is. In fact, he is so fat that an actual Sikh has to move his fat-butt. He rubs him with oil, then massages him.

Someone pinch me!

His smile testifies: the sumo-wrestler is happy. He enjoys the kneads and gentle pinches. He is, as a matter of fact, delightful at his state. Every single time his assistant The Sikh changes his position, he giggles:

“Heheheh Sardar ji!”

The unrestrained giggling combined with the weight of his man-boobs form a dismal picture. His boobs giggle in sync with his high-pitched hehes.

O_o

Vacations

“Awais! It’s time for lunch now! Get off the bistra and do something useful!”

Gynecomastia. Look it up.