"Well, the whole team needs some more weight," says Mayor Conner, "and our chief rival from across town has Josh, their anchor, who weighs 650 pounds - I need to pack on at least another century!"
"Another hundred pounds?" asks Sam, amazed. "How...how...how big ARE you?"
"Me? At my last weigh-in I was 532 pounds of rippling muscle and FAT!" replies the Mayor, chuckling.
"Wow...wow!" exclaims Sam. "Sounds like I could get big too here."
"You sure can - in fact, that's how you got here, only guys with the desire for size find this place on their own. While don't we go get a good meal with some of my friends, and you can find out about settling in here. Now, you drove here in a truck - are you a truck-drivin' man, or is this just your G.O.O.D. job?"
"G.O.O.D. job?" Sam asked. He'd heard the term before, but...
"Get Out Of Debt," the Mayor replied. "What a lot of us had right after graduation, before discovering something better."
"Yeah, it's my G.O.O.D. job," Sam agreed. "I'm a graphic designer..."
"Great!" says the Mayor, cutting him off. "We have a couple of graphic design firms in town - they're always 'hungry' for new talent." His stomach gurgles loudly and he turns away from Sam. "C'mon, my gut just gurgled the noon bell - let's go eat!"
Sam watches in amazement - and not a little excitement, maybe even gentle arousal - as the quarter-ton mayor moved off. He hurried to be beside the massive municipal official. "Can I ask something, Mr. Mayor?" he asked, as he slowed his pace to the Mayor's rumbling ramble.
"Sure! And call me Tomas or Tom - everybody else does."
"OK, Tom. What am I going to do about my truck?"
"Do you want to keep on driving?"
"Well, I gotta finish this run, but no..."
"Well then,