Exile to the Food Court

This month's offering comes from Silver Stag, who illustrates what happens when a dog gets too much table scraps- if those table scraps are an entire food court's worth of junk food. Enjoy, and thank you for your support!

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Beneath the Shepherd Laboratory, the Road Rovers worked to keep the world safe for dogs and humans alike. However, the threats they faced were many, and so most of the team were already out on missions to secure world peace- only Hunter, the team’s usual leader, and Exile, were left to answer any new assignments.

Exile, the siberian husky, was alone in the base’s control room when Hunter entered.

“Hey, Ex, I’ve got a big favor to ask,” the Road Rovers’ leader, a well built golden retriever, said. “You feel like taking on an assignment? Super low-key.”

The husky grinned. “That entirely depends on what ‘low-key’ means. What do you need, Hunter?”

“Oh, I’m headed out on a diplomatic mission- apparently the President of Brazil is a dog-lover, and the White House thinks I’ll be useful in winning him over, so I have to go play fetch with some chihuahuas. Mind taking care of some of my rounds ‘cross the States?” the American canine asked.

Exile stood up to face Hunter, crossing his arms. “So, you want me to patrol some American landmarks and make sure General Parvo isn’t blowing them up, da?”

The other cano-sapien grinned, rubbing the back of his head. “Essentially, yeah. Would you mind?”

“Nyet,” Exile waved it off. “So, what great monument of American culture am I protecting? Carnegie Hall? The Statue of Liberty? Kennedy Space Center?”

“Ah… the Mall of America,” Hunter muttered.

Exile gave his team member a level look. “They need a Road Rover to protect a mall?”

“Hey, it’s real big,” the golden retriever said defensively. “And it’s basically a goodwill thing. You know, grab a mugger if you see one, otherwise just show we’re doing our job.”

Exile sighed, stretching his muscular arms overhead. “Alright, da, I suppose I can watch over a monument to American capitalist excess.”

“Great,” Hunter smacked him on the back. “Thanks, pal. Let me know how it goes!”

Exile sighed heavily as he looked over the bustling corridors packed with shops. The Mall of America was everything he feared it would be; garishly huge, packed with frivolous distractions and overpriced stores, and teeming with consumers that had more dollars than sense. The fact he had to awkwardly navigate around the crowd gawking at him only added to the strain on his patience. Was this really what so many Americans wanted? An overpriced indoor market with equally overrated brands? He had walked the perimeter of this sprawling monstrosity twice, now, and with his patience as thin as it was, he was in desperate need of a good lunch. Nudging his way through the crowd, his sensitive nose picked up a tantalizing smell of broiled meat, and Exile’s stomach growled- as a hardy Russian, he had iron-like willpower- but as a dog, he had a very low resistance to the fatty, greasy fare of American fast food.

Tail wagging, pointed ears swiveled forward, Exile followed his nose to a massive open space filled with tables, and lined with food stalls offering everything Exile could ever want to eat- burgers, hot dogs, tacos, teriyaki, fried chicken, seafood- and no small amount of sweets, to boot. Pushing his way forward to a burger stand, his mouth watering, Exile slammed his fist on the counter. “Give me your biggest burger!”

The cashier, a pimply-faced, scrawny teenager, yelped and jumped back from the six and a half foot, broad-shouldered, and heavily armored dog looming over him. “U-uh… are you paying with cash or credit, sir?”

Exile opened his mouth to open, then frowned, patting down his armored sides. “I… don’t have any money on me… ah! But, I am a great superhero, da? You have heard of the Road Rovers? I could, ah, sponsor you, da? Could make a lot of money with sponsorship from a Rover, you know.”

The cashier, still on edge, narrowed his eyes as he looked Exile over. “Let me go speak to my manager…”

Exile leaned back, patting his middle after he had devoured a triple bacon cheeseburger and large chocolate shake. The husky was smiling serenely, even if his armor did feel a little tight around the middle- he had overdone it, having grossly underestimated what passed for a “large” size in America. Still, he couldn’t deny that it was sinfully tasty.

“Uh, excuse me?” clearing his throat, a portly man in a clip-on tie and short sleeve shirt was tentatively approaching. “Are you Exile?”

“Hm?” the dog’s ears perked up. “Oh, da- sorry, I am just finishing with this table.”

“Oh, no, no- I’m Fred, manager over at Cap’n Jack’s Fish. We were curious… would you be willing to sponsor us, like you did McDougal’s?”

Exile gently waved the notion off. “Oh, nyet, I appreciate the offer, but I am not really one for commercial ventures…”

“We’d be happy to talk it over some free food, if you like.”

The husky stopped. “Well… perhaps I could reconsider, then.”

Word through the food court spread that a high profile hero was sponsoring any stall that offered him free food, leaving Exile with plenty of options. And, as he was never one to disappoint, Exile left every tray of food offered him empty, and an official statement of sponsorship in every outstretched hand.

Of course, with a full meal from every single stall in the food court, all that processed meat, greasy fries, and heavy milkshakes and smoothies had to go somewhere- the cano-sapien was now easily four times the husky he used to be- his armor was going to need a serious refitting, as his lap was filled with a massive blue-grey boulder, his belly having ruptured his breastplate sometime around his fifth enchilada. His massive gut alone now weighed more than any of his fellow Rovers, a heavy, ponderous anchor that would have grounded him if not for the strength left in his legs, blubbery thunder thighs providing enough presence to at least keep him standing. His curled tail was still wagging softly, brushed up against two enormous globes of fat spilling out of his ruined pants.

With one last meal to go, Exile hefted himself up, his arms, swaddled in reams of blubber, propped up by his voluptuous sides and cradling his last order of a half pounder with an extra large drink. “I think it is time for me to walk some of this off, da?” he huffed, swollen cheeks filling out his face, his collar pinching into his multiple chins. “But do not worry! Next time I will bring the whole team- just make sure you have five times the food- and something for the rest of the team too, hah!”