If my stomach had a personality, I imagine it would be a bratty toddler who needs a nap. My brain, the exacerbated parent, responds:
Stomach: I'm huuungry!
Brain: You just had lunch 45 minutes ago. You can't be hungry.
S: Yes, yes I am. Can we go over to architecture and see if they still have the cookies from yesterday?
B: No! You can have some water. You're probably just thirsty.
S: But, Braaaain, I don't want water! I'm hungry. I want a cookie!
B: Look, do you want to ruin it for everyone else? What about butt?! She's down there, working hard for this body, and all you want to do is make her lumpy and undesirable!
S: Hmmmph. (Silence for approximately 19 seconds.) BRAIN!! I just want one cookie! Then I'll be quiet, I promise!
B: Oh my God. OK, if you PROMISE to stop with the hungry talk, I'll take you over to see if there's cookies. But if there's not, you still have to shut up, got it? No talk of vending machines, or Dunkin Donuts runs, none of that. Got it?
S: OK! Let's go!
Brain and Stomach walk across the office, and find that the cookies are gone. They have been replaced by a box of Munchkins.
B: Those are not cookies.
S: But they look OK. Let's eat a few! I'm hungry!!
B: Don't start again.
S: Munchkins are practically cookies! Come on!
B: Fine. But just one.
Hand reaches in and finds one glazed chocolate munchkin....and one with sprinkles...and another one with powdered sugar. Stomach awaits anxiously as Mouth chews while Brain, noting that the Munchkins are a little stale, begins calculating the devestation.