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“Hey, buddy, what’s with the heat?” The dark glob looks like he’s been here since the beginning and should know better.

A  slick, oiled  gangster glob replies. “Boss says it was gettin’ pretty crowded in here. So, yeah, we had to drop some mass.”

A pretty plump orb pipes up from behind, “Well! I don’t know how much more of this smoking and draining away I can stand before I disappear!”

Slick, who seems to know everything, replies, “No, no, no.  No danger of disappearing.  Once you’re in, you’re in.  There’s no way out.  Except the Vacuum Suction of Death and we don’t have to worry about gettin’ juiced on that one.  Boss is pretty squeamish.  She won’t ever do that.”

A morbid fatty rumbles from the depths, his voice slightly muffled from the close quarters, “I had a cousin once, down that tube!  Tried his darndest to get away but the  jabbing wand got ‘im in the end.”

At this, all the hot fat cells hang their blubbery fat cheeks, sighing for a moment of reflection, fear  furrowing their over-stretched brows until Slick says, in his best Bronx accent, “Faget abou’ it.  I know this one.  She’s a good host.  She’ll get us smokin’ hot, shrink us down some.  That’s it.  We’ll be plumped up to explosive mass again in no time.  Might even get some new little gems to join us in here!”

“Really?”  Pretty Plump asks.  “That happens?”

“How long you been in here?” Slick asks.

“Since the Gain of ’95.”

“I rest my case,” Slick gives an assured up-nod.

“But what about the food supply?” old Dark Glob whines.  “I’m gettin’ kinda hungry.”

To which Slick answers, “You got trans fat, right?  Go clog an artery!”

At this, however, the rest of the hungry mob begins to swell with protests, their gurgled and bubbly cries blobbing together in one boiling brouhaha.  Slick is clearly overwhelmed but shakes his well-oiled spherical parts to gain the attention of the masses once more.

“I’m tellin ya, we got nothin to worry about.  I’ve seen this a hundred times.  Same old story.  You just wait.  ‘Round Christmas time you’ll be dining on saturated, trans, animal grease and,” he pauses for effect,”Boss’s personal favorite: buttah!”  His fat-sealed, squinty eyes glimmer wildly, quelling the crowd until one Newbie from the Gain of Last Year slips into view, pointing with her double chin, stammering “but what is that?!”

All the fatties turn to look at the smooth pink mass moving into their territory. It’s really an entire entourage, each member carrying their own slick membrane-lined luggage.  Clearly these confident, pink lovelies intend to stay.

“I never seen ‘em in these parts,” Slick has to admit.

Dun, dun, dun….. the invasion of the mighty muscle cells.

Tune in next week to find our what happens when the Mighty Muscle Cells clash with Slick Fatty for their own permanent stake of real estate.