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Obesseus vs. Traffic

Obesseus skipped happily down the road with Grant the Grapefruit.

“Grant! Obesseus smell pizza!”

Grant sniffed.

“I think that’s Pepperoni Bridge. Nugget Hut is right across it.”

“Hee hee! Obesseus get nuggets! Maybe pizza! Maybe both!”

The two rounded the corner.

Grant stopped.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Pepperoni Bridge was completely blocked.

Hundreds of giant traffic cones stretched from one side to the other.

Except these weren’t ordinary traffic cones.

They were enormous...

Snackland had never experienced a traffic jam.

Mainly because everyone walked.

But today was different.

Obesseus waddled toward Pepperoni Bridge with Grant the Grapefruit carrying his licorice broom over his shoulder.

“I smell nuggets,” Obesseus announced, sniffing the air dramatically.

Grant nodded. “That’s because there’s a Nugget Hut on the other side of the bridge.”

The two rounded the corner.

“…Uh oh.”

The bridge was completely blocked.

Hundreds of bright orange traffic cones stretched from one...

Every year, the No Fun Squad held its famous Employee Appreciation Lunch.

Unfortunately…

Nobody felt appreciated.

Allen Apple proudly stood behind a buffet that looked more like a museum exhibit.

“Welcome, employees!”

A single chicken nugget sat on one plate.

One lonely french fry rested on another.

Someone had cut a cookie into sixteen equal pieces.

Jeff Jelly smiled proudly.

“We’ve optimized lunch efficiency!”

Nobody clapped.

Angie Angelfoodcake stepped forward holding a clipboard.

“Portions will be...

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if the strictest HR manager in Snackland tried to discipline the hungriest hero in Snackland… today’s story has the answer.

Spoiler alert: It does not go according to plan.

Molly Mushroom marched into the Snackland breakroom carrying a stack of paperwork so tall it had its own weather pattern.

“Obesseus!” she shouted.

Obesseus looked up from a mountain of macaroni.

“Hi, mushroom lady! You bring snacks?”

“I brought disciplinary action.”

“…Is disciplinary...

The fluorescent lights of Snackland Press buzzed like angry bees trapped in a microwave.

Stacks of OVERTIME forms towered across Jeff Jelly’s office like unstable lasagna layers. His tie was crooked. His eyeballs twitched every time another printer spit out paperwork.

“MORE FORMS!” Jeff screamed.

A nearby intern fainted directly into a beanbag chair.

Allen Apple peeked through the doorway holding six clipboards and a stress ball shaped like a raisin.

“Jeff… Molly Mushroom still hasn’t answered...

There are many rules in Snackland.

Some are written.

Some are whispered.

And some… are carved into the very fabric of existence itself.

Rule #1: You do NOT touch Obesseus’s gravy.

Jeff Jelly either didn’t know…

…or didn’t care.

Standing at the edge of the buffet, he adjusted his tie, eyes twitching with overtime-fueled intensity. His laptop glowed ominously, tracking bite counts, sauce usage, and what he labeled as “Excessive Flavor Violations.”

“And there it is,” Jeff whispered, locking onto his...

Allen Apple checked his clipboard like it was the sacred scroll of Snackland productivity.

“According to my calculations,” he muttered, adjusting his tie that was somehow both too tight and too loose at the same time, “everyone here is currently underperforming by… fun.”

He looked up.

And immediately regretted existing.

Because across the room—no, across the kingdom of chrome trays and steam—stood Obesseus.

In full.

Buffet.

Mode.

We’re talking triple-stack plate architecture. We’re talking gravy...

Obesseus vs. Probability & Linear Algebra

Snackland Press did not approve this meeting.

Professor Math called it “necessary.”

Josh JollyRancher called it “inevitable.”

Obesseus called it “suspicious.”

Two chalkboards were set up.

On the left: Probability.
On the right: Linear Algebra.

In the middle: Obesseus… eating.

“Today,” Professor Math began, “we combine both disciplines.”

Josh JollyRancher stepped forward.

“Grant the Grapefruit will help us.”

From outside the room:

“I’m on my way!”

Everyone...

Snackland Press experienced an educational emergency today.

Professor Math and Josh JollyRancher arrived carrying chalkboards, textbooks, and an alarming amount of confidence.

Their mission:

Teach Obesseus linear algebra.

Obesseus immediately suspected foul play.

“This look like homework ambush,” he said.

Josh JollyRancher ignored the warning and began writing on the board.

“Let’s start with a word problem.”

Professor Math nodded approvingly.

Josh continued.

“Grant the Grapefruit is always five minutes...

Professor Math wrote carefully on the board:

| x |

Josh Jollyrancher stood beside him like a disappointed lemon.

“This,” Professor Math said calmly, “is absolute value.”

Obesseus leaned forward.

“…Why the chopstick number in breadstick jail.”

Josh closed his eyes. “They are not breadsticks.”

“It two long crispy bars,” Obesseus said. “They imprisoning the x.”

Professor Math adjusted his glasses. “Absolute value means the distance from zero.”

Obesseus gasped.

“THEY MEASURE HOW FAR CHOPSTICK NUMBER...

The clock struck midnight.

Grant the Grapefruit stared at it.

The clock struck 12:01.

Grant blinked.

The clock struck 12:05.

Silence.

Grant slowly lowered the pen.

“…I am five minutes late.”

Across the room, Obesseus gasped like someone had just dropped a tray of biscuits.

“THE TAXES ARE COMING.”

Professor Math froze mid-calculation.

Grant stood up stiffly. “It is a minor administrative delay.”

The lights flickered.

A knock echoed through Snackland Press.

Three slow knocks.

Obesseus dove behind a filing...

Obesseus knew something was wrong the moment the letter arrived.

No crumbs.

No sauce stains.

No joy.

It said IMPORTANT in big angry letters.

Josh Jollyrancher slid the paper across the table. “You owe taxes.”

Obesseus squinted. “Owe who.”

“The government.”

Obesseus gasped. “THEY KNOW ABOUT THE GRAVY?”

Professor Math adjusted his glasses. “It’s not about gravy.”

“They always say that,” Obesseus whispered.

Josh pointed to the form. “You earned income.”

Obesseus nodded. “Yes. From buffet.”

“And now,” Josh...

Professor Math approached the board slowly, like someone handling a wild animal.

“We’re going to add parentheses,” he said.

Josh Jollyrancher stiffened. “Carefully.”

Professor Math wrote:

(x)

Obesseus leaned forward.

“…Why the number in donut.”

Josh inhaled sharply. “It’s not a donut.”

“It round,” Obesseus said. “It hugging the sandwich-chopstick meal. That donut behavior.”

Professor Math tried to explain. “Parentheses group the expression.”

Obesseus nodded. “Yes. Donut contains snack.”

Josh slammed the...

The moment Obesseus saw the fraction, he knew it was a trap.

Professor Math drew it carefully on the board:

Josh Jollyrancher stood beside him, arms crossed, lemon water glowing ominously.

“This,” Professor Math said, “is one-half.”

Obesseus raised his hand. He was already holding a sandwich in the other.

“Yes?” Josh said cautiously.

“Is that sandwich number,” Obesseus asked, pointing at the fraction, “supposed to be eaten… like this?”

He lifted his chopsticks.

Professor Math turned pale.

“That’s not...

Obesseus sat at the desk, squinting at the chalkboard like it had personally insulted his lunch.

Josh Jollyrancher tapped the board with his chalk.

“Two x plus six equals ten.”

Obesseus raised his hand.

“Yes?” Josh said, already tired.

“Why that number got a chopstick?” Obesseus asked.

Josh blinked. “That’s not a chopstick. That’s the letter x.”

“It look like chopstick,” Obesseus said confidently. “Single chopstick. Not even a pair. Very suspicious.”

Josh sighed and wrote a bigger x.

“This is a...

It started the way most disasters in Snackland do: quietly, suspiciously, and with Julian Jellybean nowhere to be seen but somehow absolutely involved.

Josh Jollyrancher arrived at his Lemon Water Sanctuary at precisely 11:47 a.m. Sharp. The glass pitchers were aligned. The lemons were sliced at regulation angles. The vibes were acidic but peaceful.

He took one sip.

Silence.

Then horror.

“This,” Josh whispered, staring into the cup like it had personally betrayed him, “is not lemon.”

The room...

The sign on the door read:

BAKERY — FRESH DAILY

Obesseus smiled.

“Obesseus love fresh.”

He stepped inside.

Three seconds later, the bakery would never be the same.

The smell hit him first—warm bread, sugar, cinnamon, destiny.

His pupils turned into cupcakes.

Behind the counter, Baker Brenda waved politely.

“Samples are one per customer.”

Obesseus nodded respectfully.

“Understood.”

He took one sample.

Then stared at it.

“…Too small to survive alone.”

He placed it gently back.

Then took another to keep it...

Obesseus entered the school cafeteria like it was a sacred buffet hall.

It was not.

The lights flickered. Trays clattered. Somewhere, a tater tot screamed.

Obesseus grabbed a lunch tray.

The tray immediately bowed under the weight of expectation.

He approached the menu board.

TODAY’S LUNCH

Mystery Meat

Vegetable Side

Milk

Obesseus leaned in close.

“…Why meat have secrets.”

Behind the counter, Lunch Lady Patty squinted.

“One scoop only.”

Obesseus nodded.

“Understood.”

He watched as she dropped a tiny gray...

The moment the clock hit midnight, Snackland went quiet.

Not peaceful quiet.

The kind of quiet where something bad is about to happen.

Obesseus stood on the buffet table holding a half-eaten drumstick like it was a microphone.

“OBESSEUS MAKE RESOLUTION,” he announced proudly.

Everyone braced.

Allen Apple dropped his clipboard.

Jeff Jelly pretended he had somewhere else to be.

The Captains stared like they’d smelled broccoli coming.

Obesseus cleared his throat.

“THIS YEAR,” he declared,

“OBESSEUS WILL—”

...

Snackland gathered beneath the Great Countdown Clock, where confetti cannons trembled and the sky glittered like a spilled sugar jar. Everyone knew the tradition: when the clock struck midnight, the Ball of Time would descend, ringing in the new year with dignity, fireworks, and exactly zero chewing.

Obesseus squinted up at the sky.

“Why… lollipop… falling?” he asked, rubbing his belly thoughtfully. “Is free?”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“No,” groaned Conflicted Tomato. “It’s the ball drop. You...