Lemure

An anguished keening comes from the drooping face of the corpulent, naked body before you—indistinguishably male or female due to the rolls of fat that hang from its body like wax from a candle. It wobbles on stumpy legs as it aimlessly flails its flabby arms and peers about through piggy eyes filmed with cataracts. Bile, from disgust or terror—or both—rises in your throat as you realize its fatty lips have grown too long and bulbous for it to form words.