I walk into the local pizza buffet, feeling confident. I pile plate after plate, using mad engineering skills to load each one as high as possible. Occupying a center table, I make obnoxious grunting noises as I shovel my pie hole with slice after slice. Making numerous return trips to the buffet line, my display of gluttony draws shocked and disgusted stares from employees and patrons alike. I also pass intermittent gas, possibly from the growing intestinal pressure, possibly because I am a disgusting swine.
Finally, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, I stagger to the men's room. I hold out my arms and begin to slowly pinwheel. The pizza starts to head back up until I am projectile vomiting, covering the walls, stall, sink, and floor. Tremendous relief sets it. I walk out feeling light and proud, although some gas continues to escape. I don't bother to clean up my little mess.
Then I walk to my car and drive straight to a Golden Corral.