Typical YK conversation:

My stomach: Hey!  Feed me!

Me: You’re not really starving, shut up!  It’s your imagination.

Stomach: Growl.

Me: Ignoring you…

Stomach: You can’t ignore me indefinitely.

Me: You’re not the boss of me.  You’re just a figment of my imagination.

Stomach: Imagine eating food…

Me: Imagine I punch you in the–gut.

Stomach: Low blow.

Me: Just putting you in your place–beneath my brain.

Stomach: I am your brain.  Obey my authority.  Resistance is Futile.

Me: You will be assimilated.  Voided. Purged.

Stomach: I can’t hear you over me rumbling.

Me: You’re full of s**t.

Stomach: Fine.  I’ll just suffer.  Oy vey.  Woe is me.

Me: Great, a gastronomical martyr guilt complex.  SO not enabling you.

Stomach: “Never Forget…”

Me: That’s it, I’m outta here.  Enjoy suffering in your existential black hole.  I’m going to enjoy nature without your kvetching.  (Is it drink o’clock yet?)

Meanwhile, back in the less neurotic world…