Book Twenty: The Last Call

I couldn't see my feet. Who was I kidding? Knees, either. Thing was, it was probably for the best.

Considering I'd blown up to the approximate size of a zeppelin on steroids with a healthy dose of hippopotamus thrown in for good measure, I felt certain I wouldn't recognize my own feet even if I could lay eyes on them.

Grunt.

Everything was an effort. Walking. Standing. Talking. Breathing.

And if I had to pee one more ...