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Oleana was known for having a bit of a temper at the best of time, but losing to Galar's champion and the subsequent collapse of the Macro Cosmos organization had truly pushed her over the edge. The methods she engaged in for ensuring that such a loss would never happen again were a bit...extreme.
The chain of logic she followed that got her to this point was fairly reasonable. She had lost because her signature Pokemon, her beloved Gigantamax Garbador, had failed to act as the trump card she hoped it would. So, if she wanted to win next time, she would have to train her Pokemon to be stronger. And, in order to train it, she would need to strengthen the bond between it and her. And what better way to strengthen that bond than by becoming just like it?
What were her Gigantamax Gardevoir's primary traits that she would have to replicate in order to become a better trainer to it? Why, it's immense size and potent stench, of course. And so, Oleana committed to making herself massive and malodorous to match in order to assure that she would never lose another battle again. It made sense to Oleana in the moment, at least, in the haze of fury that she found herself in. Training aside, she was definitely in the mood to eat her feelings and truly, shamelessly let herself go.
And so, with Rose indisposed, she used her authority as vice-chairman to clear all employees out of the Macro Cosmos cafeteria, after, of course, making sure that it was still fully stocked. At lunchtime, she made her way down, and was greeted to a dining area that was indeed completely empty of people, but full of enough food to feed them all if they had been there. After double checking both entrances to make sure that nobody was watching her, the chairwoman began to dig in.
The food served at Macro Cosmos was of surprisingly high quality for cafeteria food, but that barely mattered to Oleana, as she slobbishly crammed handfuls of whatever she could reach into her awaiting, greedy mouth. Her lack of regard for manners was apparent, as she sloppily chewed the mass of food between her puffed-out cheeks in a manner that really was reminiscent to that of a feral, starving Pokemon. Her white coat served as an excellent canvas for all the multicolored food stains that she quickly acquired, and the red blouse that she wore underneath had already begun to ride up as her stomach swelled.
"Need...more..." she grunted, as she sloppily shoved another fistful of whatever was closest down her gullet without so much as glancing to check what it was. Taste wasn't a concern for her, nor was the nutritional value of whatever it was she was consuming. It could've been literal garbage for all she cared. All that mattered to her was getting bigger, so big that she would never lose again.
And she was indeed getting bigger. Already, the effects of all the calories she was horridly ingesting were beginning to make themselves visible. Her expanding midsection was the most conspicuous example, but her pants were beginning to grow tight around her increasingly flabby ass and thighs. Her metabolism was in overdrive, with the food she consumed being processed into fat almost the instant it landed in her stomach. Once the food was processed by her body and absorbed in the form of nutrients, all that was left were bubbles of gas, which Oleana allowed to erupt foully and wetly from either end without a care, barely interrupting her eating if at all.
HOOOOOOOOOURPPP!!
PFFFOOOOOOORTTTTTT!!!
Thick waves of humid gastric gas erupted out of Oleana's mouth in a shower of spittle, or from her ass into her tights with a worryingly wet sound. Her immediate vicinity quickly became polluted with the reek of her filthy expulsions. Their foul odor did little to put Oleana off her meal, however. Only her belches gave her pause, and that was simply because it was hard to shove food into her increasingly chubby cheeks when so much gas was being forced out. In fact, the aura of gut funk that began to surround her was exactly what she wanted. She desired to match her signature Pokemon in both sheer size and smell. It seemed like she was on the right path for both, as her now flabby, cellulite-riddled rear blasted out another trumpeting fart as she hastily crammed another avalanche of food between her gluttonous jaws.
The chair beneath her began to creak under her ever-increasing weight, her flabby thighs spilling out over the sides. It wasn't just her seat that was becoming increasingly inadequate for her new girth, however. Her clothes themselves were starting to stretch under the strain. Her tights were the first to go. With an audible "riiiip" that could've easily been mistaken for one of her farts, her thick thighs, fat calves and cankles all came spilling out at once like dough from a split tube. Her shirt followed next, as it suddenly succumbed to the pressure from her gargantuan gassy gut. Her huge flabby stomach exploded out, exposing all of the new rolls that it had acquired. Oleana paid no mind to her torn attire as their tattered, food-stained, sweat-soaked remnants fluttered to the ground. It's not like modesty was much of a concern for her, as she let out a hoggish eruption of flatulence into her seat, which'd begun to audibly creak under her heft.
Oleana reached out a fat, hammy hand to grab for more food, only to find her sausage fingers groping at empty air. In her gluttonous frenzy, she hadn't even noticed that the last plate had vanished unceremoniously down her throat. Despite the fact that she had become a veritable land Wailord, she still wasn't satisfied with her size. She needed to be bigger. She needed...
"MORE!" she roared through her sweaty jowels, causing her countless chins to wobble arrhythmically. Her eyes scanned the room in search of something, anything that she could still stuff her face with. Quickly, she located it, in the form of several overflowing trash bins at the opposite end of the cafeteria. It was so obvious, she should've thought of it from the very beginning. There was no better way to fully realize her relationship with her beloved Garbodor than by gorging herself on literal garbage.
With a look of frenzied hunger in her eyes, she lumbered her titanic, barely-mobile form over to the trash cans, the floor trembling with her every step and her soon-to-be even fuller gut heaving up and down. By time she reached them, she was absolutely drenched with sweat, with an appropriate aura of foulness wafting off of her. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she lifted up the nearest can over her head and dumped its contents into her corpulent mouth.
The trash was just as effective at swelling her stomach and plumping up her body as more traditionally edible food, but the different effect it had on her digestion was apparent almost right away. Her corpulent gut let out deep, strained gurgles as it struggled to process the refuse that the hoggish woman had so casually devoured. Oleana didn't give her tummy a break though, not for a single second, even as it emitted its growling gastric cries for help. Instead, she hoisted another bin towards the pile of wobbling chins she called a face, brought it to her lips, tilted it up slightly and then proceeded to use it as though it were the world's filthiest feed bag. With every wet, piggish gulp of garbage, another dozen or so pounds were added to her frame. Her gut's protestations grew louder too, until it reached its crescendo in the form of a wet, juicy fart of staggering volume that carried with it the reek of literal burning garbage. If a human being could be Poison type, then Oleana certainly was.
Eventually, even the last of the trash was depleted, and the entire contents of the cafeteria, edible or otherwise, were now stewing in Oleana's great flabby gut. She heaved and panted in place, as even the mere act of standing at this size was enough to leave her winded. Though she had eaten enough food to feed the entire Macro Cosmos staff, and enough trash to leave a Muk satisfied, were there anything else in her immediate vicinity she could've gotten her mouth around she would've eaten it too. She was several dozen times larger than she had been at the start of her endeavor, and yet still far smaller than she wished to be. With the putrid odors that poured from her every pore, and the clouds of toxic smug that erupted gaseously from either end, she had at least achieved the level of foulness she desired. She was sure that the bond between her and her Garbodor would be stronger than ever.
As the living lardy landfill of a woman drifted off into a food coma, she dreamed about her and her Gigantamax Garbodor, lumbering side by side as two towering mountains of trash.