The Belly Rules

From my recent posts, it is quite plain that at work I am all stomach, no brain. Come 8:30am on a regular workday, my stomach takes over the helm, relegating the brain, heart, lungs, liver, and nameless kway chap bits to mindless manual labour. The arrangement works quite well for everyone actually - everyone likes mindless manual labour - and the only real inconvenience is stopping whatever you're doing to yell, "All hail the bwelly!" every fifteen minutes when the dictator growls.

And how well the dictator growls. It begins with a low rumble, deep and indistinct in the furthermost parts, and slowly rises and ripples with power and persuasion in a final roar. Who has heard and not obeyed? And what speed, co-ordination and grace the body displays when he growls!