[mburbank]

I think you are in your late forties, morbidly obese and have taken over your parents home. I imagine them living in fear, keeping mostly to their bedroom.

You suffer from a rare pathology in which pseudo sexual pleasure is derived from the fantasy of being a pre-pubescent enfant terrible. You wear a homeade approximation of an English schoolboys uniform and chuckle to yourself as you scan the Cato web site and stuff your rubbery maw with Ho-Hos and Hostess fruit pies, which you consume in two bites. You have a neglected Siamese which you named Milton who has groomed himself bald in several unpleasant places.