CHEW

The other day I crapped out half a hot dog, and it really made me think. How much good did I get out of that half-dog? It shot through my system like Goonies down a suspiciously well-formed cave waterslide, and emerged in the grotto entirely unscathed. I felt like scooping up the insolent little bastard and taking another crack at him. But alas he escaped down into Chicago’s sewer system. I think it was the Asian kid anyway, and I always liked him best.

Isn’t the stomach supposed to be this badass cesspool of sulfuric acid and lava? I’m pretty sure that’s what public school said, but it turns out mine is filled with Johnson & Johnson. I’ll be the first one in the gutter when America runs out of viscous black Jesus tears, and we all have to start riding bikes and eating shoe leather. I also don’t have a bike, so I’ll have access to less shoe leather than most.

As you can see this goes beyond simple vengeance. Having a koi pond for a stomach could seriously hamstring my long-term survival chances.

I was watching an old man gum vigorously at a defiant Rueben when the lightning bolt struck—I had to masticate like I’d never masticated before. I purchased a Rueben of my own and began matching the old sage stroke for stroke, chew for chew. His immaculate form married the zeal of a gum-snapping schoolgirl with the plodding consistency of a Wisconsin dairy cow. I had found my muse and mentor in one wrinkled package.

Instantly my food became ultra slammin’ high-octane fuel. I no longer felt heavy and bogged down after meals, I could eat more in one sitting, and most importantly, I stopped expelling my meals in near-mint condition. Isn’t that a kick in the head? Here I am, delighting in my girlfriend’s inability to parallel park, and I never learned how to fucking feed myself properly—natures most basic test of motor skills. If life were the SAT’s, I would have bubbled in my name wrong. Weak.

But before you go dismissing me as a high-functioning retard, realize just how widespread this shit is, at least among guys. Not that the fairer sex doesn’t have it’s share of garbage disposals, it does, just not on the same scale. Go out for burgers with your friends and see if there isn’t one guy that finishes his food way ahead of everyone else. Oh wait, you all eat like fucking sweaty hyenas. Watch TV while you eat? Then you’ve probably been eating like me--chopping shit up into chunks barely small enough to choke down your greedy gullet.

Or maybe you just listened to your mother when you were three. In that case never mind.