Go to sleep with the weight of the world, my little eagle

It got me.  It got me again.  It got me good!  I thought I was eating it, but really the pizza ate me.  I thought I had sucessfully avoided it all day, made smart choices; I bought myself some Healthy Choice Steamers TV dinners on the way home, had one, neatly wiped my mouth with a tidy solid napkin, and went to bed.  I thought I fulfilled the days calories smartly—leave room for the late night vulnerabilities, I tells him.  Ah, dear reader, the chump, he went ahead and exceeded it, at 4am, no less!  It wasn't much—just a couple cookies on top of a pizza.  Sleepeatin, it wasn't even 4am—'twas two thirty!  His belly, the peasant, must be the size of Hong Kong.  A city is way bigger than any human being.  Ask anybody.  Used to be, he'd awake at four from a disheveled slumber, check his stats, and simply take his reward, a slight cookie; or if lack thereof the page views, he'd eat the whole box.  But what's his excuse now?  Dreams trying to will on a computer game for more points because he can't come up with new material? Bigger than Chinatown, the size of a country.  Shanghai nights, Congratulations.