The fake tics are easy to discern because she's a moron and she can't act convincingly. When it's the real McCoy, she jerks and shudders, and her bulging lizard eyes saccade. To use a crass, accurate allegory, it's like a woman faking an orgasm versus actually having one. Clotso's sodium orgasms are easy to differentiate as fake or real. She'd be a bad hooker, our Chinny, because she can't fake orgasms. Well, that and she's a 450lb tumour whose crotch probably looks like a trucker's armpit with a yeast infection.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and neckless arms of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered balding visage lies, whose teehees,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold calories,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions ate everything
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The COVID-19 VIRUS that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Foodie Beauty, Queen of Mukbangs;
Look on my Shits and Farts, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Fatass, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
I'll see your English Romanticist poetry and raise you some Coleridge.
And now the CHIMP-OUT came, and it
Was tyrannous and strong:
She struck with her o'erlined eyewings,
And chased haydurs along.
Her very gut did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things upon her plate
In mukbangs plain to see.
About, about, her diet to flout,
The Chinny gorged at night;
Her makeup, like a witch's oils,
Was green, and blue and white.
And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Chinny that plagued us so;
Nine meals a day she did consume,
In the land of mist and snow.
Are those pork ribs at which Chantal
Did peer, which she then ate?
And did that Chinny eat her crew?
Is that a PEETZ? and are there two?
Is PEETZ that woman’s mate?
Her skin was red,
her skin like brie,
Her teeth were yellow as gold:
Her gunt as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.
The balding hulk alongside came,
And with two plates of rice;
'If you don't like it, just don't watch it!'
Quoth she, and Hee Hee'd thrice.
'I fear thee, giant Mukbanger!
I fear thy star-shaped hand!
And thy brown eyes, which wheel and bulge,
And 'tis not thy thyroid gland!
I fear thee and thy overlined lips,
And thy scalp concealer, so brown.'—
Fear not, thou psych emerge guest!
Cheese prices have dropt down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone is wide, wide she!
And never a saint took pity on
A cunt named Chantal Marie.
