Stumbling back from your Mother's awe inspiring cleavage, you find yourself stuck like a gnat to a glob of mayonnaise. Fingers streak overhead like comets delivering a shuddering impact to the tiny sandwich. A murky quicksand of condiments, the glob jiggles shaking you, its prisoner, with it. When the world stops vibrating, you find noting but air beneath your feet, suspended now only by the stickum of the mayo. Struggling at this dizzying height might be a bad idea, you realize, as inconceivable fathoms spin below you.
A hot breath pounds into you and you suddenly remember the Goddess who brought you here. You look up with dread to see an extreme close up of your Mother's hungry mouth. All the while you watch a tongue that would register you as about or less than a grain of rice emerges to lick their chapped surface. Forgetting cliche, you scream in a pipsqueak voice, "Please Mommy don't eat me!"
Unfortunately to her you are naught but a bread crumb and her mouth opens eagerly, taking you into its hot, dark cavern. Teeth come down shearing the sandwich and the section you're on drops off into her mouth like a glacier from an unstable ice-sheet. The impact hurls you from your sticky prison and onto a slimy surface of bulging bumps. You know where you are so it is with no surprise that you look up and see the abyss of Sally's throat beyond and her celestial uvula hanging in the sky above. At least you stand like a man, albeit a tiny one, to face your perhaps gruesome fate.
You stumble as the muscle below you begins to angle toward the molars on your right. They open like two sets of limestone cliffs pulled apart, ready to crush you and the sandwich into paste. Even if you managed to evade them you'd be mashed into a bolus formed of the pulverized food and your Mother's saliva. Yet the monolithic sandwich behind you is blocking escape out the front of her mouth. What do you do?
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