Merely thinking about eating that many—milk or no milk—is terrible enough to give Justin phantom stomach pains the likes he'd have if he dared to eat even half that. He knows he'd be sick, he knows how it would feel, and he really doesn't want to go there. That sort of preventable sick isn't just awful because of the aftermath. It's awful because he'd know he could have stopped in, and laying in bed after consuming an entire bottle of antacids wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. There would be cramping, there would be constipation, there would be a lack of sleep, and there would be suffering all around.

It makes him shudder, but he still reaches for the makings of his second smore.

"Yeah, I don't think they'd appreciate that much. At all, actually. The kind of sick it makes you, though...you wouldn't appreciate that at all, either. It's like eating an entire bag of Twizzlers...times fifteen. It will not be enjoyable for you. It will not be over quickly. You will never want to touch them again for long periods of time. I don't want you to hate smores."