A new burial technique

I’m curious as to how cremation came about. It had to be right after the caveman caught on to the whole fire concept.
Maybe one night, late, after their celebrating killing a dinosaur or something, one of them, giddy from the day’s events and too much food, stumbled into the fire and burned to a crisp.
Or maybe, since no-one was smart enough back then to invent a shovel, they just threw their deceased into the fire.

I cooked some steaks on a barbecue grill one time, but got a little drunk and forgot them until the next morning. It was pretty cool actually. The steaks, filets, had shrunk to half their original size and upon throwing them up against the wall, they’d explode into powder.
I like this concept more than I do cremation.

Maybe some new-age funeral home many years from now will offer new and creative ways of disposing of a corpse other than a casket or standard cremation.
I’m hoping they might offer that steak thing. That’d be pretty cool to roast me overnight, stick me in a casket the next day, and right about the time a loved one places one of my favorite possessions on my corpse, something they think I would have wanted to be buried with, I poof into powder.
That’d actually be pretty funny.
Probably not so much for the guy or girl who caused me to disintegrate.

Would someone please tell me…

Sometimes I wonder about stuff.
Like what it will be like when I find my first gray pube and whether or not I should save myself from that day’s anguish by just shaving them all off now. But then I think about how doing so would remind me of ten year-old me with no pubes, and that really weirds me out. It’d probably creep others out too. Especially in the men’s locker room or at a public urinal.
But then maybe it wouldn’t creep others dudes out as badly as I might think.
Maybe they’d think I was a porn star or something since those dudes don’t have a whole lot of pubes to speak of anyway. But they do have some pretty big dicks, and I think that negates the whole lack of pubes thing to some degree. Although, with one of those gigantic dicks, you could probably get away with having a bunch of gray pube-hairs. Who knows, but I’m thinking you could.
Anyway, I don’t like the idea of anything sharp even remotely close to my business so shaving is out of the question.

Something else I wonder about is why food scientists decided to pair a laxative with a yogurt such as Activia.
Couldn’t they have just as easily put a laxative in french fries or corn dogs? Beer would be good too. Even tortilla chips. But yogurt? I hate yogurt. It’s way too slimy and, the thought of eating something I hate just so I could drop deuce grosses me clean the fuck out.

I once had to have a colonoscopy after showing off at a party and swallowing several bottle caps, but beforehand, in what doctors referred to as “one last attempt to draw them out naturally,” they ordered me to drink a gallon of this fruit punch laxative.
Their laxative worked really well but it didn’t produce any Coor’s Light caps. Major disappointment since they had to surgically remove all five of them. I thought I only ate three, so that was kind of a surprise. Even to me.
My point is I’d take that laxative over Activia any day of the week, mainly because of how well it goes with Grey Goose.
Activia doesn’t go well with Grey Goose. But french fries do, and so do tacos for that matter…especially at three in the morning, and, on most weekends.
Anyway, I don’t eat bottle caps anymore so it really doesn’t matter. Not unless I eat pot roast, or any kind of meat. Meat stops me up real bad. But not bad enough to eat Activia.
Maybe they could put the Activia laxative in a Hershey Milk Chocolate bar with almonds. I like those.
Reese’s pieces too.

Life as a tastebud

Hi.
My name is Saul.
I’m a taste bud and my story is a sad one.

I don’t know how old I am or how I came to be, I only know my lot in life is to sit around waiting for my host, some dick named Diego, to stuff weird tasting shit into his mouth and sample it for him.
It’s awful.
Mainly because our asshole host likes to try new foods—as if we, (all five-thousand of us) are lab rats waiting beck and call for him to conduct his Dr. Frankenstein-like foodie experiments upon.

Anyway, here’s the drill.
He stuffs something rude into mouth expecting us to taste it, give a full report to brain, then sit idly by waiting for mouth to receive its orders.
The results?
It goes one of two ways.
Mouth either spits it out or swallows it.
At first blush, life as a taste bud may not sound like such a bad gig, especially when sweet tooth is on duty. However, if your host is Diego, well, you’re pretty much fucked because sweet tooth has been overridden by brain after their reading something called The South Beach Diet. Fuckers. Why couldn’t they read Fifty Shades of Gray like the rest of the world?

Normally, and under most circumstances, things wouldn’t be so bad if he’d just behave like other humans, simply taking a small taste and reacting like most people after sampling something incredibly spicy—jumping out of their chair screaming…

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT IS THAT HOT, GET ME SOME ICE WATER—STAT!!!!”

But he doesn’t.
No, instead, this asshole likes to show off and in the process, punish us, right along with mouth and anus. And for what?
So he can prove how macho he is?
As I said, the guy’s a major dick.

Well, fuck him.
I’ve got a news flash.
If he keeps up the kind of shit he did yesterday, taking us to Las Cazuelas Mexican Food and repeatedly burning us with their hell-like hot sauce, willfully disregarding our warnings to brain to spit the shit out post-haste or else stomach and anus will be some hurting fucking units tomorrow, he’s in for a big surprise.

The next time he smokes some of that bad-ass chronic when his wife’s out of town, gets a severe case of munchies, and relies on me and my buds to inform brain how some of the stuff he’s eating has been sitting in the fridge for weeks and is now rancid, well, maybe we’ll just conveniently ‘forget’ to notify brain of our findings.

We’ll give him, right along with stomach, anus, brain, and gag reflex something to think about the next time he even thinks about taking us to Las Cazuelas.

Think you’re the macho shit Diego?
We’ve got news for you dickhead.
Just you wait.

Note: Their food is magnificent. Especially the machaca. But as a taste bud, I can’t recommend the hot sauce. I haven’t spoken to anus yet this morning, but I did chat with stomach, who’s been trying to get a hold of anus all morning.
I’m fairly certain when anus does gets word what’s headed his way, he won’t be recommending Las Cazuelas to anyone either.