Bellyload

“I done cooked most of this yer grub,” whined he of the razor, “an’ I’se gwine t’eat my belly-load.”

I was sick; I vomited a bellyload into the gutter.

The plane was in labor carrying a belly-load of bombs.

[…] there on the plane, a belly-load of decent people soaring above serene tooth-drawn Windsor Castle, home of the emblem of so much savagery […]

You were lifted out of your lives, disgorged in bellyloads by planes that lumbered in looking too heavy to fly.

She caused a bellyload of trouble […]

[…] you don’t make a bellyload of excuses for why you haven’t written more, better, faster, or funnier.