Eating that second hot fudge sundae - the very sundaes you swore blind to stop eating - two hours after the first one.
I'm now bloated, with the scalding chill of chocolate down my throat, and coughing. However, if I hadn't had thrown the dead Sundae container in the bin, chances are I'd be at the skerricks of fudge sauce that remains.
I've eaten enough of these sundaes to see when the machine gets reloaded with the hot fudge sauce. It comes in a thick transparent plastic bag ... which looks like a sepia toned photographic negative of the liposuction fat-bags liberated for fancy soaps and sundries in Fight Club.
Which has a logic to it. That's what a sundae ends up as - fat.
Stupid sundae habit.