Which is how crazy cat ladies are born.
I suppose I could try and repress the part of me that wants more, the part that yearns and shit, but it would be like performing a gastric bypass on my personality I reckon. Sure I'd require less emotional sustenance to be sated, but I'd rather have a big, fuck-off appetite for life to be honest, even if gorging myself on it sometimes results in gas, stomach cramps, and rapid, liquid pooing.
The waiter is an ant because I ran out of space, meaning I couldn't draw a full size guy, and ants are capable of holding up to two hundred million times their own weight. Don't tell him that though, he thinks he got the job because he's just really good at serving abstract sandwiches.