Super Metabolism

One day, Dad and his trusty friend Super Metabolism found themselves surrounded by an army of sweets.
"There must be a million of them," Dad said looking around in awe at the forces gathered against him.
"Just don't slow me down," said Super Metabolism, testing his metabolic ray gun with a few tentative squirts.
YAAAAH!!
"They just keep coming!" Dad yelled, chopping down two peppermint sticks with a swift stroke of his incisor.
"They've breached the wall!" Super Metabolism shouted, dousing two Snickers bars with hydrochloric acid.
"There's no end to them!"
"I can't take this much longer-AGH!"
After a few minutes nothing remained of the army but scattered wrappers and those oither candies (not spelled correctly) because those are gross.
"We did it, Super Metabolism!" Dad shouted triumphantly. No response. "Super Metabolism?" On the ground behind him lay Super Metabolism, an Oreo having clogged his heart. In only a few minutes he would undoubtedly die of heartburn.
"Heh, yes we did." Super Metabolism whispered right before he coughed up some blood.
"N-no! Super Metabolism! We made a promise! We promised we'd be skinny forever! Remember?" Dad cried, manly tears rolling down his face.
"Heh, can't believe I ate the whole thing."

And so a great hero died that day, a metabolism that knew no equal and kept Dad looking like the skeletons he used to hang in his closet, only healthier. He was replaced by Underpaid Worker Metabolism who is constantly on strike and doesn't help Dad much. The moral of the story is not to gloat in your fortune of having a Super Metabolism because it will probably disappear by the time you turn forty and you will have no friends. OK, I admit you will still have lots of friends, but your children will make fun of you.