Literally counted a co-porkers calories. So I'm in the break beetus room at work, enjoying a light lunch of my username and skyr, when my olfactory region is assaulted by a sickly sweet, stale, and sweaty odour.  Imagine a week old pig carcass left to rot in humid summer weather, if you will.  "Ah, must be one of my co-porkers", I think, "about to cure a serious case of low sugars, and hand-to-mouth-itis". The obeast slowly shifts towards the fridge, opens the door with a hog-like grunt, and pulls out what I assume to be an HFCS injected, sugar coated package of genetics.  I look over to have a chuckle and, to my surprise, porky the wonder orc is holding a salad.  "Could this creature", I wonder to myself, "have reached, albeit at least 30 years too late, some stage of self awareness and basic reasoning?" Noticing my expression of mild disbelief, Waddles McSwishyGunt proudly exclaims "Look Tuna, I'm eatin' healthy! Just like you!" and promptly reaches for the bottle of Hidden Calorie Ranch.  At this moment, I get a wonderful idea, and as soon as Mr. Exercise? I Thought You Said Extra Fries! starts pouring, I start to count out loud... "1 Mississippi... 2 Mississippi... 3 Mississippi..." It takes a few more, but eventually Meat Sweats stops squirting (from the bottle... not butter from his greasy pores, sadly), tilts his head like a lost puppy, and asks "why are you counting?" "Well", I say, "each Mississippi is about a tablespoon and a half worth of ranch.  That's around 100 calories.  Since I counted to 8, don't fucking tell me you're 'eating healthy' when you're about to enjoy some ranch soup." I believe I heard Rancho McFasto oink out something about me having an 'unhelpful attitude' and that I shouldn't be 'food shaming', but I'd tuned it out at that point.  Honestly, it's a wonder I'm still employed here, but, since this is an extra job, and I don't need the money, as long as I'm here, the shitlording will continue until BMI improves. ...and you guys will get stories.