Brent sighed as he reached into his pocket for his keys to the apartment with one hand. The other held his phone to his ear as he listened with a frown while the person on the other end jabbered on. It had already been a long day and he wasn’t at all happy that he was having to deal with this after hours.

“Look, I don’t particularly care what Sales said to the client. One thing is abundantly clear: the feature they’re asking for is impossible to do—at least within the timeline they’re asking for.”

He opened the door to the apartment and even from the entryway he could hear the sound of crunching stone and clashing swords. His roommate Taylor was probably playing video games in the living room again.

“What are you supposed to tell Sales? Well, I don’t know. Since they like saying it too much, maybe let them be on the other end of ‘figure it out yourselves,’ for once.”

Without waiting for a response, Brent hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He closed the door behind him with potentially more force than was strictly necessary, causing it to bang.

A deep voice roared from the direction of the living room. “Fucking SHIT!”

Brent winced. “Sorry!” he called out as he held a hand out against the wall to remove his shoes.

Taylor rounded the corner, red in the face and fuming so much that he looked like he was ready to shoot steam from his ears.

Brent sucked in a sharp breath. Terrified as he was, there was just something so striking about Taylor’s physique.

Taylor was exactly the kind of guy Brent would have lusted over. He was a devotee of the gym and his muscular physique showed it, his arms and legs bulging with muscle, his stomach rock-hard and cobbled, his chest firm and meaty. To say nothing of the amazing ass Brent had shamefully caught himself staring at a handful of times over the past few years.

The way Taylor dressed did little to detract from his body. Indeed, he knew what he had and how to show it off.

He was sporting his signature look for whenever he spent all day at home: a tight tank top stretched taut over his pecs and his v-cut abs, showing off his chiseled musculature, and a pair of basketball shorts hanging loosely around his tree-trunk thighs and accentuating the shape of the fat hog that dangled between his legs, unrestricted by underwear.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Brent!” Taylor spat.

There was only one problem with Taylor: his attitude. He was rude and brash, aggressively straight, and casually homophobic. A massive turn-off as far as Brent was concerned.

“It’s not like I meant to bang the door, man!” said Brent as he hooked his index finger into the back of his other shoe. “It’s just been a long day. People at work were being… stupid.”

“I don’t give a shit how things are going in your cute little nerd job, fucker,” said Taylor.

There was such a look of fury in Taylor’s eyes that Brent had to take a step back for fear that Taylor might try and get physical.

“There’s no fucking excuse. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to beat that fucking boss?” said Taylor, pointing back toward the living room. “All day, Brent. All fucking day! And for what? All that fucking effort completely wasted because you couldn’t be fucking normal for one day.”

“Look, man, I said I’m sorry,” said Brent. “I don’t want to do this right now. I’ve had a rough day. It’s just a game. If it really means that much to you, I’ll help make it up.”

As Brent was afraid might happen, Taylor shoved him. His back hit the door, causing it to rattle in its frame.

“I don’t need your fucking help, faggot. I need my day back, but that’s not possible, is it?” said Taylor.

He towered over Brent. His broad shoulders and firm muscles meant that Taylor nearly filled the entire width of the entryway. Taylor slammed the palm of his hand into the door right next to Brent’s head. “Is it, faggot?”

Brent flinched. “I-it isn’t,” he stammered.

It wasn’t the first time Taylor had used that kind of language in front of Brent. He just wasn’t the kind of guy that tiptoed around slurs, especially when gaming with friends.

The bigotry was usually pretty casual, though. This was the first time Brent could recall Taylor ever calling him that.

“Just fuck off, man,” said Taylor. “Get out of my fucking sight. I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

Brent opened his mouth to speak but Taylor talked right over him.

“God. Just looking at you makes me fucking sick.” Taylor shook his head. “You know what you look like right now? A pathetic sniveling bitch. But I guess you can’t really expect much from someone who’s been stuck at the same stupid little start-up for years.”

“F-for your information, it’s not a stupid little start-up anymore,” said Brent. “We’re competitive in our field and I’m a pretty important member of the team.”

Taylor scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he said with a laugh. “If you really were all that, you would be working at one of the bigger firms. Just admit it, little man. You don’t have the fucking balls or the ambition to go for something bigger.”

“I’m happy where I am. I’m proud of the work I do!” said Brent.

Taylor shook his head. “And that’s why you and I, we’re never gonna be on the same level. Maybe you should find somewhere else to stay tonight. After the day I’ve had, I can’t really stand the thought of having to tolerate the stench of your mediocrity.”

“This is my apartment too!” said Brent. “My name’s on the lease. Just like yours. I pay half of the bills. I buy my own groceries. I have every right to be here—you can’t just fucking kick me out because you’re pissed off!”

“Oh yeah?” said Taylor. He stood up straighter, using his height to loom over Brent as he cracked his neck and his knuckles. “You don’t think I can? The only reason you’re even still on the lease is because I can’t be bothered to go looking for another roommate.”

Taylor leaned down, his lips curled in a little smirk. “So let me tell you what’s going to happen, squirt. It’s one of two things: either you walk out of that door like the weak little bitch you are, or I’m going to throw you out like a sniveling faggot deserves.”

Brent opened his mouth to protest but Taylor steamrolled him again.

“And you’re not going to do anything about it. You won’t tell the landlord. You won’t call the police. You know why?” Taylor crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Because you’re a pitiful little bitch that doesn’t have the spine to stand up to a real man.”

Brent clenched his fists. Taylor had gone too far. But it wasn’t like he could take the big guy in a physical fight.

He wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to do it but he grabbed the dog whistle that dangled from a leather cord looped around his neck—it was a memento from his days working as a dog trainer to pay his way through college—and blew into it.

The overbearing air of dominance Taylor was displaying evaporated in an instant. He grimaced and cupped his hands over his ears. “Stop fucking around with that thing!” Taylor roared with such volume that Brent couldn’t help but flinch.

Brent wasn’t backing down though. Not this time. Not after years of tolerating casual abuse because the rent was too good to give up.

He took a deep breath and blew even harder into the whistle. In response, Taylor went limp, hands falling to his sides, shoulders slumping forward, eyes glazing over.

It took Brent a moment to realize what was happening but he’d dabbled enough in hypnosis to recognize that Taylor had slipped into a trance.

He never could have imagined that his annoying, bigoted, aggressively straight roommate could be so susceptible to trance that a simple dog whistle could trigger it but he wasn’t about to question his luck.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Brent tried to squeeze past Taylor but trance or no trance, nothing could change the bare facts of geometry. There wasn’t space for Brent to get through and the trance didn’t last long enough for him to try and force his way past.

“You little shit! Give me that!” said Taylor. He pushed Brent away from him and then grabbed at the whistle.

Brent turned away and blew the whistle again. “No!” he said. “This is mine! You’re not allowed to touch it!”

Taylor laughed. The scorn in his voice was evident. “I can fucking touch whatever I want, bro,” he said.

Despite Brent’s best efforts, he couldn’t stop Taylor from grabbing him by the wrist. He held on tight to the whistle, hoping to put up at least a little bit of a fight but it quickly turned out that he didn’t need to.

Taylor tried to grab the whistle but failed. It should have been a simple thing and yet, even when he closed his fingers around it, they seemed incapable of finding purchase, slipping off every time he tried to actually seize it.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” said Taylor.

Brent’s head was spinning. He had his suspicions. There was a kernel of possibility. He didn’t know for sure but he was eager to find out.

He grinned at Taylor. Even though Taylor’s strength was such that he couldn’t pull his wrist out of Taylor’s grip, he managed to get his lips on the whistle and blew it. “Back off!” he snapped.

Taylor laughed. “What? You think blowing on a silly little whistle is going to make me leave you alone? Fat chance, fag. I’ve never backed down from a fight.”

The words that came out of Taylor’s mouth and the way his body moved were at odds with one another. He’d scarcely finished when his legs moved him out of Brent’s way, his eyes growing wide as he stepped back and turned aside to let Brent pass.

Brent chuckled. His suspicions had proved right. Somehow the whistle had given him some modicum of control over Taylor.

He smirked as he walked past the big guy, patting him on the chest as he delivered a most sardonic “Thank you,” before walking to the living room.

---

Brent plopped himself on the couch and swung his feet up onto the coffee table. He sighed as he sank into the cushions and folded his arms behind his head, the tension of the day just melting away as he took a moment to breathe and relax.

Once upon a time, he might have flinched the moment he heard the sound of Taylor stomping toward him but this time he wasn’t even slightly concerned.

Somehow, there wasn’t even a twinge of fear in him as Taylor reached over the back of the couch and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “The next time you use that whistle, I’m going to fucking cave your face in,” he said.

Brent smirked. He looked Taylor in the eye and placed the whistle on his lips. The power balance had shifted and he now had the upper hand.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Taylor.

Brent blew into the whistle. “Let go,” he said. And just like that, Taylor’s grip on his shirt was released.

He laughed as he dropped back onto the couch. “This is amazing,” he said.

He grimaced only slightly from the pain as Taylor immediately seized him by the shoulders. He was about to get hauled over the back of the couch when he placed the whistle against his lips and delivered another sharp command: “You’re not allowed to touch me without permission.”

Taylor immediately snatched his hands back even though he clearly didn’t want to. “Whatever the fuck you’re doing, stop it if you know what’s good for you.”

Brent chuckled, ignoring the threat. As long as he had the whistle, he had nothing to fear from Taylor’s threats. “I wonder how far this goes…” he wondered out loud.

“A fucking dog whistle isn’t going to do shit to protect you once I get control back, motherfucker!” said Taylor.

“Go on then,” said Brent, tilting his head back over the backrest of the couch. “Punch me in the face. We both know you want nothing more than to knock a few teeth loose right now.”

“Oh, I want more alright. But since you asked for it, I’m happy to fucking oblige,” said Taylor.

He didn’t hold back at all as he threw the punch. There was enough force and momentum behind his fist that he would have knocked Brent out if it had connected but it didn’t.

“Motherfucker!” Taylor yowled as his arm swerved at the last moment, slamming his knuckles into the frame of the couch. “You’d better hope that whatever’s going on is permanent, fucker, because I’m going to kill you if I ever get free.”

Brent shrugged. “That just means we’ll have to fix your attitude problem in case it ever wears off. Fortunately, I have a bit of experience disciplining belligerent dogs,” he said with a grin.

Taylor scoffed. “Yeah, genius. Because dog training works on people,” he said in a voice full of scorn.

“You’d be surprised,” said Brent with a little smile. He pointed at the floor next to the coffee table, blew on the whistle, and said, “Go stand over there.”

The frame of the couch creaked as Taylor took the backrest in a death grip. Despite his best efforts, however, he ultimately proved powerless to resist the command as his fingers released their hold and his feet carried him to the spot Brent had specified.

Brent blew into the whistle. “Face me,” he said.

Taylor spun on his heels to face him. If looks could kill, Brent would have been dead already a dozen times over.

Brent felt no fear even though part of him felt he somehow should. He smirked at Taylor and placed the whistle on his lips once again. “Sit,” he commanded sharply.

“I’m gonna fucking strangle you, motherfucker,” said Taylor as his body plopped him down on a nearby chair.

Brent once again ignored the threat and clicked his tongue. “These are dog commands so you should behave as a dog would. Understood?” he said.

“Go choke on a fucking dick, Brent,” Taylor hissed.

Brent shook his head. “I’m having more fun with this,” he said, with a little smile. He blew the whistle again and said, “Sit!”

Taylor grabbed the armrests in another vain attempt to resist the command but his body slipped him off the seat and onto the floor. He groaned as he was locked into a sitting position, his legs folded under him, his hands on the ground between them.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, man,” said Taylor under his breath. “Just you wait. The moment this wears off it’s gonna be your fucking neck.”

The shrill high-pitched tone of the whistle prefaced another command. “You’re not allowed to threaten me anymore.” Brent had gotten tired of Taylor mouthing off.

Taylor’s jaw clamped shut mid-sentence. He glared at Brent with such hate that his gaze might have well burned a pair of holes in Brent’s chest.

Brent held out a hand and continued with the test commands, blowing the whistle each time. “Paw,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Don’t have one,” said Taylor petulantly.

“Clearly, your body thinks otherwise,” said Brent as Taylor placed one hand into his. “Shake with the other paw,” he said, letting the first hand drop.

Taylor glared at his own hand as he was forced to place it on Brent’s palm. “I’m not a fucking dog,” he said.

“If you’re not a dog, prove it,” said Brent with a little smirk. “Don’t obey the dog commands. If you think you’re a person, you don’t have to obey the commands.”

“Fuck you!” said Taylor as he was forced to high-five Brent with another command. “You’re forcing me to do this!”

Brent grinned as Taylor gave him another high five. “I’m just giving commands, Tay. You don’t have to follow them.”

Taylor grimaced, his face scrunching up with effort as he tried to resist the command to give Brent a fist bump with his paw but the effort was ultimately fruitless.

“Good boy,” said Brent, a toothy grin splitting his face.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” said Taylor.

Brent ignored the protestation and moved his hand in a wide vertical circle while blowing on the whistle. “Roll over, boy. Roll over!” he said.

Taylor opened his mouth to say something after picking himself back up into the sitting position but couldn’t finish before Brent had him roll over to the other side.

“Good boy. Such a good boy…” Brent cooed. He was enjoying this more than he thought he would.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a red foam stress ball on the table. Taylor followed his gaze, eyes widening at the realization of what he was about to do.

“Don’t you dare,” said Taylor.

Brent waved the ball in front of Taylor’s face. “Beg, boy. Beg,” he said, the words accompanied by a shrill singular note of the whistle.

Much as Taylor visibly hated to do so, he adopted a begging pose much as a dog would and released a plaintive whine. “You’re fucking twisted,” he complained bitterly once he was allowed to put his hands back down.

Brent just smirked. “Good boy. Now, fetch!” he said as he tossed the ball over his shoulder.

He had to suppress a laugh the moment Taylor tried to get up only to be forced back to his hands and knees by the context of the dog command. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the big guy look so red as he scampered toward the ball on hands and knees.

“Give,” said Brent, holding out a hand.

Taylor dropped the stress ball onto Brent’s palm.

Brent smiled. “Good boy,” he said, patting Taylor on the head.

“Fuck you,” Taylor hissed.

“That’s enough dog training, though,” said Brent as he grabbed the TV remote and returned the stress ball to the table. “Time for you to learn how to be a good housemate for once.”

Taylor sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Brent glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen and said, “There are dishes in the sink that have been there for a week. They’re not mine. There’s trash that needs to be taken out. And the whole place looks like a dump.”

Taylor opened his mouth to protest but his legs were already carrying him to the kitchen. “I’m not your fucking maid!” he said.

“Close enough,” said Brent with a laugh as he folded an arm behind his head and searched through the TV channels. “Ah. Man… This is the life.”

---

Brent was happy to kick back and watch TV while Taylor was tidying up. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been doing around the apartment until now.

He supposed he’d gradually taken on more and more responsibility through the years as Taylor refused to do his part. Things were going to change now that he had the whistle, though.

On the TV was Brent’s favorite current show. He’d normally have to coop himself up in his room to watch the newest episode but not today.

Virile was a space opera of sorts that followed the antics of the all-male crew of the eponymous starship. It was probably one of the most homoerotic shows on air—it was practically softcore porn with one lengthy sex scene in every hour-long episode.

“Turn that gay shit off,” said Taylor as he dusted one of the shelves. “I’ve had to fucking deal with enough with the dishes. I don’t want to watch that crap.”

Brent paid no heed. It seemed Taylor hadn’t yet gotten it in his head that he wasn’t in control anymore but that wasn’t Brent’s problem.

He watched the show, getting a bit of a chub as two of the crew members started getting into some heavy petting and making out in the galley. He rubbed the bulge in his pants, arousal coiling inside him as the scene played out on-screen.

Taylor had his back to Brent as he tidied up the shelf. He was at the perfect angle for Brent to admire the hump of his muscular behind. The fact he was commando meant the heavy fabric of his basketball shorts dipped into his crack, perfectly framing the meaty cheeks.

Once, Brent might have tried to be surreptitious in his ogling. Not anymore. Indeed, he’d started to think of Taylor less as an arrogant, annoying roommate and more of a recalcitrant pet that needed discipline—a possession he could do anything he wanted with.

Brent blew into the whistle. “Stop cleaning for now. You’re distracting me from the show. You can finish in the morning when you get back from the gym while I’m at work.”

“Thank fuck,” said Taylor as he threw the duster down on the ground beside him. It looked like he wanted to say something more—probably a threat about how he’d find a way to break free while Brent was at work—but Brent’s earlier command had made it impossible to voice such a threat.

“I told you to turn this shit off,” said Taylor as he walked toward the TV.

The shrill shriek of the whistle made Taylor falter. “Go sit in the armchair and stay out of the way,” said Brent.

Taylor turned on his heel and did as he was told. “Fuck!”

On-screen the two crewmates were stripping each other. One hopped onto a prep table. The other pushed him down as their lips locked into a steamy kiss.

The camera work artfully hid the spiciest parts of the scene but there was enough there to excite. Brent particularly appreciated a shot of the top’s ass clenching and unclenching as he thrust into the bottom.

“I wish they didn’t shove this gay shit down people’s throats,” Taylor complained as he turned his eyes away from the TV. “This should be after the fucking watershed, not in primetime.”

“Strip.”

Taylor stared at Brent, wide-eyed, as the whistle fell from his lips. His body started to stand up but he gripped the armrests hard enough that his knuckles turned white to stop himself.

“Fucking faggot!” Taylor bellowed as his body wrenched itself out of the chair despite his efforts. His clothes were quickly disposed of after that, landing on a crumpled heap on the floor next to him.

Brent whistled at the sight of Taylor’s flaccid cock. “Bigger than I ever thought,” he said. Indeed, it was another thing entirely to see it naked, instead of just as an outline in Taylor’s shorts. “I’m gonna have fun playing with it now that it belongs to me.”

“Let’s get things straight, fag. One, I’m never going to let your pervert fingers come near me. Two, I don’t fucking belong to anyone.”

Brent spun the whistle around his index finger. He glanced at it and then back at Taylor. “This says you do. Now, come sit on the couch beside me.”

Taylor was powerless to resist the command and plopped himself down on the couch cushions next to Brent.

Brent reached over and placed a hand on Taylor’s thigh. “Spread your legs,” he said.

“Fucking pervert,” Taylor hissed as his body hiked his legs apart, allowing his soft cock to flop onto the seat.

“Mm. You’ll be one too before long,” said Brent with a little smirk. “Get yourself hard.”

“Stop touching me,” Taylor said through gritted teeth as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft. It didn’t take him long to get hard.

Brent chuckled. “Jerk off.”

“This is fucking sick, man,” Taylor grunted as he moved his hand up and down his shaft.

“Keep your eyes on the screen,” said Brent. He stroked his hand along the outside of Taylor’s thigh. “It turns you on. You fantasize about being the bottom, getting your hole cored out by that top’s fat hog.”

Taylor’s cock looked even more hung while erect. It was incredible. And even more so when it was straining for release, pre-cum dripping from the tip like a hose and trickling over the backs of Taylor’s knuckles.

Brent licked his lips. This was a chance he wasn’t about to miss out on. He kept the whistle on his lips and undid the button on his pants with his free hand, fishing his cock out of his underwear as soon as he was able to. “Do me too,” he said, blowing through the whistle.

“No fucking way, man,” said Taylor. He went so far as to try and sit on his hand to stop himself but the effort was to no avail. He reached across and grabbed Brent’s cock, grimacing the whole time.

“Ever experimented with other guys in college?” said Brent with a little smirk.

Taylor shook his head vehemently. “I wasn’t into that kind of gay shit,” he said.

“Really?” Brent bucked his hips, fucking his cock into the ring of Taylor’s fingers. “Doesn’t feel like it’s your first time.”

“I’m not a fucking faggot, alright!?” said Taylor. “You’re the one making me do this with some sort of ungodly shit.”

Brent shrugged, tossing his head back with a groan before turning back to the TV to watch the scene playing out. “Edge yourself,” he said after blowing the whistle again.

It didn’t take long before a soft whine spilled out of Taylor. Brent glanced over and could tell he was close. Despite his stamina when fucking girls, Taylor clearly wasn’t in the habit of denying himself or delaying his own pleasure when masturbating.

Even more pre-cum leaked out of Taylor as his cock pulsed with an imminent orgasm. It was there, right there, but at the last moment, his body wrenched his hand away from his cock.

And it happened over and over again until Taylor couldn’t help but mewl. “Fuck, man. I need to fucking cum. My balls feel like they’re about to explode!”

“Don’t you dare,” said Brent. He blew the whistle sharply, making Taylor wince. “You’re not allowed to cum without permission.”

“Fuck, man! Seriously?!” Taylor shrieked, moaning as his hand was forcefully ripped off his cock yet again. “What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” he said.

Taylor’s voice was so small and vulnerable Brent almost felt bad about what he was doing. The guilt didn’t last long as memories of everything Taylor had done to him resurfaced. “We’ll be here all night if I had to explain that,” he said. “Focus on edging your cock and beating me off.”

It didn’t take much longer for Brent to cum. He usually had more stamina but all the excitement and the thrill of finally being in charge sent him over the edge faster than he anticipated.

Not that he was complaining. The orgasm was intense. He shot rope after rope of hot cum that coated Taylor’s fingers and splattered on the coffee table in front of them.

“Okay. Let go of my cock,” said Brent. “And go grab a hand towel to clean me up.”

He watched as Taylor went, eyes fixed on that muscular ass. He’d take it one day. But not today. For now, he was just entertained by the fact that Taylor hadn’t stopped edging himself even as he got up from the couch.

Taylor got back with the hand towel but as soon as he started rubbing it on Brent’s sensitive cock, Brent realized he’d made a mistake.

Brent blew the whistle and said, “Treat my cock with better care than you would treat your own. Because it’s your owner’s cock and it deserves the best.”

Taylor grimaced, becoming a lot more gentle with the towel. “Are you going to let me cum after this?” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” said Brent. “You done?”

Taylor removed the towel. “Yep,” he said, somewhat tersely.

“Nah,” Brent smirked. “I think you missed a spot.”

“What fucking spot?” said Taylor.

“I think the towel just isn’t going to cut it,” said Brent. He blew the whistle yet again. “From now on, you’re going to use your mouth, throat, and tongue to clean my cock.”

Taylor scowled. “No fucking way, man. I’m not doing that! I’m no fucking faggot!”

Brent chuckled. “Yes you are,” he said. The shrill shriek of the whistle prefaced his next words. “You’ll do it right now.”

Taylor’s best efforts proved insufficient as his body forced him down on Brent’s cock. He wrapped his lips around the head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive glans and eliciting a groan out of Brent. He lapped at the piss slit and traced the tip of his tongue along the underside of the crown, face scrunching up in disgust as he did so.

“I better not feel any teeth,” said Brent as he threaded his fingers through the soft blond locks of Taylor’s hair and gently pushed down to encourage him to take more of his cock.

Slowly, Taylor worked his way down Brent’s length, his tongue swiping back and forth along the shaft to clean every drop that might have been left behind.

When Brent felt Taylor’s nose on his crotch, he held him there for a good minute, ignoring the choking and sputtering before wrenching the big guy off his cock with a lewd, wet pop.

“Good boy,” Brent cooed. “Now dry it off with that towel. And remember, be gentle.”

Taylor was still glaring hatred at Brent but he was being surprisingly compliant. “There,” he said, once he was finished. “I did my part. Now do yours. Let me cum already!”

“I never said I would,” said Brent with a devilish little smirk. “I said I would think about it.”

“Come on! My balls are gonna fucking explode!” said Taylor.

Brent shrugged. “That sounds like a you problem. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve still got a problem with your attitude so we’re gonna have to put off any cumming until we’ve fixed that problem.”

“That’s not fair!” Taylor protested. “I’ve done everything you asked me to do! I cleaned the place. I jerked you off. I sucked your cock! What fucking more do you want?!”

“That’s not as good of an argument as you think it is,” said Brent with a laugh. “It’s not like you did those things willingly.”

Brent smiled. “Now, I’ve had a long day so I think I’m going to go to bed. But you, you can stay here and keep edging that fat hog for a few more hours before going to bed.”