"Nah," you say after deliberating for a few seconds. "You see my poop all the time. You already know how you'll look, right?" You smirk evilly at your little (big) brother. He was scrawny for a 12 year old, anyway. He screamed and begged. "No! Please! Your turds always have insect wings and shells in them. I don't want that to be me with my bones and hair!"
"What!? Your hair will be in my poop? I thought it would digext!" he says, trying out the word.
"It's digest, and no, hair and fingernails don't break down in stomach acid, but the rest of me will - please, don't do this to me, Bobby!" he pleads.
"hmmm... lemme think." You put your finger to your chin and playfully tilt your head. "Nah! Time to get gobbled up, bro. Say 'hey' to the buggies in there already! I'm a predator, and you're my food! AAAAAHhhhh"
You toss your little brother into your mouth and swish him around on your saliva-soaked tongue. You giggle hearing his desperate screams, but... like you already told him - he's your food!
GULP
You trace his journey down and pat you belly as he lands in there. Inside, you wonder if the bugs are still alive.
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