Oink Oink!

The following is a guest post from Elsie,
one of our infrequent but faithful readers.

Today I read a great article - something I can finally feel warm and fuzzy about.

It is earth shattering good news. Science has moved closer to putting pig lungs in humans. Okay, some may argue that my sister already has pig lungs, because in every conversation she hogs the dialog; thus, in her amazing way, she is once again ahead of the curve…but I digress.

Today we can already choose from pig heart valves, tomorrow will be the breakthrough for pig lung transplants. Hey, someday Wilbur can give up his kidney for a good cause (too bad, Charlotte) and eventually many other pig parts can become spare human parts.

Got bunions? We got pigs feet.

We interrupt this post for a previously scheduled prank phone call:

Butcher: “Hello?”
Bored Brat:“Hey, do you have pig’s feet?”
Butcher: “Yes."
Bored Brat: “Well, wear shoes and no one will notice!”

I am sure there will be ethical questions arising from this muddied issue. At what point in the process of pig part accumulation does one, no matter what race and color, become the “other white meat?”

Where do one's voting rights end and animal rights begin? Should humans made up of hog parts even have voting rights?

Oh, I forgot about our political leaders – of course pigs have voting rights, just look at all the pork going around Washington lately.

Do You Believe in Mutation Magic?

An [unmetered] parody of "Do You Believe in Magic."

Do you believe in magic in a young cell’s heart?
Phyletic gradualism or punctuated equilibrium, whichever it starts,
And it's magic, if the mutation is groovy,
It makes you feel happy like a PBS documentary,
I'll tell you about the magic, and it'll free your soul,
Just know that spontaneous balanced polymorphism is the goal.

If you believe in magic, no need to research,
Just go and read 200 year old books from the experts,
No need for evidence, we’ll find it eventually,
All the missing links, mutations, and random anomalies,
Don’t bother looking, you’ll never pragmatically find,
How we got here, it’ll just hurt your mind.

If you believe in magic, come along with me,
We'll write lots of unsubstantiated hypothesis,
And maybe, if lazy be our foes,
We will sneak in some lies about embryos,
Just get some guy with a really long name,
To pen some long papers, no one will think he’s insane,
To think the magic's in the mutation’s and the mutation’s in me.

Yeah, do you believe in magic,
Yeah, believe in the magic of a young cell's soul,
Believe in the magic of divergent, convergent, parallel and coevolution,
Believe in the magic that can set you free,
Ohh, talking 'bout magic,

Do you believe like I believe Do you believe in magic
Do you believe like I believe Do you believe, believer
Do you believe like I believe Do you believe in magic
[Fade]

I Smoked Some of Coach’s Peyote

My track coach is a first rate beast. To hear him tell it, he’s fought grisly bear’s with his bare hands, run just shy of the world record pace in the hardest sprint distances, killed with his bare hands, been on dates with the most beautiful women, built a four story building with his bare hands, coached the state’s best track stars, and killed some of the state's best track stars with his bare hands, just to name a few of his escapades.

"If you ain't first, you're last." - Coach

He’s done it all and he’s done it well. Success just isn’t interesting for him anymore because he’s experienced so much of it. Fast speeds to us collegiate runners are slower than his middle school times and he doesn’t see much reason to praise performances that are so far “below par.”

“If you can’t run the mile under four minutes, why do you run it at all?” - Coach

Our coach has the spirit of Vince Lombardi, the reputation of Chuck Norris, the endurance of John Rambo and the heart of Rocky Balboa. He’s got the dominance of the Sixties Celtics, the touch of Jordan and the legend of Tiger; he’s a one man Hall of Fame.

That’s why a lot of eyebrows were raised when we discovered a snuff box in coach’s glove compartment that read “Coach’s Peyote – Do Not Touch.”

In case you’ve never been on an Indian Reservation, peyote is a highly hallucinogenic compound derived from the juice of a cactus that is used in religious ceremonies by our indigenous brothers. According to ancient custom, the stuff is powdered and placed in a pipe to be consumed ritually. By ritually, I mean sitting in a cave for several days until even cactus juice seems attractive. It’s also supposed to be very noxious smelling and induce feelings of nausea in the user. We never knew coach was a Native American, but that really didn’t really matter; he had a hallucinogen!

What I did after the discovery was highly experimental and is not suggested for any of the faithful FCN few to attempt on their own. In fact, peyote is designated only for use in Indian religious ceremonies according to Title 42. So unless you want to got to jail and spend a lot of long years with people like me, don’t do what I am about to describe, ok kids?

We did a little research to find the right coagulants and mixed up a batch. One of my fellow track runners was an old hand at rolling a joint (a skill he never explained) and I was soon equipped with a lit peyote “stick” and a series of chanted instructions to “puff, puff, puff!”

Native American tradition says that when you inhale the peyote fumes, an image of your “spirit animal” will fill your senses. My first whiff filled my mind with the bulging image of my track coach, whistle, stopwatch and all. Then I felt it; inhuman strength began welling up in my arms and I felt a quiet power fill my chest and loins. I had the ability to predict any outcome, win any bet, swim any ocean, jump any canyon and smash any window. I could even climb every mountain, ford every stream, and follow every rainbow until I found my dream.

I didn’t know how, but inside I knew I had a great hand with the ladies, could race a 4x4 brilliantly and how to pinch the jugular with finger and thumb for a quick, quiet kill. I could feel thick hair bursting through the skin of my chest.

That’s when a coughing spell hit. As quickly as the images appeared, I was my old lonesome self once again. Gone were the supernatural abilities and astounding skill. My coach disappeared into a cloud of vapor and I immediately doubted whether or not I had even seen him in the first place.

It took over twelve hours before my system flushed all the peyote out and I relearned my lesson about consuming exotic unknown substances. But it was all worth it to see the hollowed shell of a man who met us in coach’s place at the next practice. Gone were his pompous posture, long-winded stories and excessive gloating. No longer were his criticisms so harsh and he even lost a little weight.

While we were stretching, Coach looked us over and asked with an accusatory note, “Has anyone been in my truck?”

The Day I Ate A Whole Mess Of Taquitos

The other day I ate a whole mess of Taquitos.

I went to the freezer and opened a large blue box of El Monterey Steak and Cheese Flour Taquitos. The box said 24 count, but I didn't intend to eat all of them. I put the box in the kitchen by the microwave, tore open the sealable plastic inner packaging and laid a handful of frozen Taquitos on a microwavable plate.

I wasn't hungry, it was just the time to eat. There were healthier foods in the house, even more convenient faire, had I looked for it, but Taquitos were a comfort food. Just watching them rotate slowly on the turntable reminded me of their salty aftertaste and rich flavor. The microwave's gentle hum had a prozaic effect and the morning's stress seemed temporarily repulsed by the thought of Americanized-Mexican finger food.

When the microwave beeped, my appetite had improved and I tore into the first Taquito quickly. It was still a little cold in the middle, but that didn't bother me. It tasted just the way I rememberd it and my stomach was ignited to the possibility of more Taquitos. I finished the plate quickly and, before anyone saw what I was doing or my voice of reason could interrupt my decision-making, I grabbed another handful of Taquitos and started the microwave again.

As the next batch heated, my stomach sent a message to my brain saying that it was pretty close to full and that no more food was really needed to satisfy the hunger requirement. My brain treated the message the way the CIA treats urgent FBI bulletins.

The next batch seemed to have less flavor than the first, but I wolfed it down as well and started on a third.

I ate the third plate of Taquitos while touching up my Philosophy term paper. In one greasy hand I shoved morsel after morsel toward my gullet while the digits on my other appendage helped explain Descartes' Cogito.

I wondered briefly if the Taquito has feelings and mental formations we might call thoughts. But I didn't wonder for long.

My plate again depleted, I returned to the kitchen for more. This trip wasn't out of hunger or even desire for more, it was just habit. One eats at lunchtime and Taquitos are food. The eating doesn't stop until the food is gone and, since none of my brothers were there to join me in devouring the box, I was alone in fulfilling the Taquito task.

The fourth plate emptied the box, and it felt strange to throw away the now vacant packaging which had been so full of calories a few moments before.

It was kind of hard to eat the fourth plate. My stomach was now sending urgent bullitens to my brain to stop the incoming nutrients and now and again my mouth had to fight against the gag impulse. But I got them down.

I felt heavy. Five minutes after the last Taquito it hurt to stand up. Ten minutes afterward, my stomach felt bloated and tight. I had to loosen my belt by three notches. Twenty minutes later I got really thirsty. But the crazy thing about the thirst was that I didn't want to drink anything. My stomach was too stuffed for fluids. Thirty minutes later I decided to write this post.

I dug the box out of the trash and looked at the Nutrition Facts. The serving size was Two Taquitos (230 calories, 12g of fat, 490 miligrams of sodium); I had eaten 24. After a quick visit with my computer's calculator (I was too stiff to get up and get my own), I found that in the last fifteen minutes, I had consumed 2,760 calories, 144 grams of fat and 5,880 miligrams of sodium or over 240% of my daily value of salt. No wonder I was thirsty.

That evening I tried to eat a normal meal and, to my surprise, was successful. Five hours after the Taquito binge, I was ready to approach the dinner table again. My Gastrointestinal tract was unphrased by the barage of calories and my body was ready and willing to take additional punishment.

I don't suggest the Mess of Taquitos as a daily meal plan -- the activity is not without side effects -- but it was a good experience and one I may repeat if habit and hunger permit.

Observation One: Redefinitions

I apologize to CJM for the nerdiness of this post. It was unavoidable.

The FCN writers were all present at a large debate tournament in Southern California a couple of weeks back (the one that got one of us drunk on coke and the others roadsick -- as opposed to homesick) and we had the opportunity to sit in on some of the policy debate rounds. In the course of these surprisingly long events (you wouldn't believe the windbags they had ka-chooing behind the podium), we discovered something that many high caliber debaters missed: the duty to define the resolution is rarely, if ever, fulfilled.

That's right, team after team would walk into a round and completely renege their affirmative duty to define the terms of the resolution. As many of you know, this year's debate resolution is “Resolved: That the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) should be significantly reformed or abolished.” Well, instead of defining all the terms the way they should, most teams just define so-called important terms like “NATO” or “the.” This results in a very skewed interpretation of the topic.

In the interest of setting a sound example and in order to give any of the debaters who count themselves among the faithful FCN few a late Christmas present, we are going to show you how definitions should really be done.

Here are the definitions we found after a few minutes of research:

Resolve: To separate (something) into constituent parts

That: something

The: beyond

North: cardinal point on the mariner's compass

Atlantic: the second largest ocean

Treaty: a formal agreement between two or more states

Organization: administrative personnel of such a structure

(NATO): (a musician who dresses like a Muslim woman)

Should: it is logically necessary to

Be: exist in actuality; have life or reality

Significantly: considerably

Reformed: produced by cracking

Or: and

Abolished: extirpate

When we add punctuation and articles, the defined resolution reads:

To separate something into constituent parts: beyond [the] cardinal point on the mariner's compass [and]the second largest ocean, a formal agreement between two or more states [or] the administrative personnel of such a structure (a musician who dresses like a Muslim woman), it is logically necessary to exist in actuality, have life or reality considerably produced by cracking and extirpat[ing].

With a resolution about cracking open an ocean to create dry land, why are were so many teams talking about Kosovo?

Alternate definition scenarios are welcome in the comment section.

News Flash (1/16/07)

Congressman Sworn in on original copy of A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh

Kieth Ellison (D-Minn), the first stuffed toys addict to be elected to a constitutional position, was sworn in on a 1930s era copy of The House at Pooh Corner, an A.A. Milne classic. The children's story convert cited moral and religious reasons for deviating from the time honored tradition of using the Bible during the swearing in ceremony.

“Pooh has such a rich heritage in my family. From the first stuffed animal I got when I was five to the matching bedroom set in my prepubescent years, Milne has been a part of my life, my family.” Ellison became emotional as he recounted the decision to use the heirloom book. “It's not that that I don't like the Bible, its just that Pooh teaches us so many lessons about life and the way we should conduct ourselves as human beings. And we can't forget about Christopher Robin.”

Jerry Rickers, the custodian of the National Children's Story Archive, said Ellison “wants this to be a special day, and using The House at Pooh Corner makes it even more special.” No word yet on why he chose The House at Pooh Corner and not the original Winnie the Pooh.

First test-tube kid has kid

In an episode that will have scientists shaking the heads for months, Louise Brown, who was the world's first test-tube baby some 28 years ago, has given birth to a bouncing baby boy. As of yet there are no verifiable photos of this baby, giving credence to allegations that he doesn't really exist. Until Vanity Fair is able to get some overpriced photos of the test -tube offspring, we can safely assume that the baby is really an alien.

Developing...

Patrick Dempsey is ready for a political career

Citing his continued struggle with dyslexia, Patrick Dempsey, a highly inconspicuous male actor known only to a narrow female demographic, has announced he is looking toward public office. “I good look, good really, fact in, a lot of hair have head on my and my words stumble over. Doesn't qualify that me?”

Dempsey spoke briefly with an AP correspondent where he seemed quietly satisfied with his acting accomplishments, but was also looking ahead. “The Dempsey's future in elected office is. Be there I want,” he said.

Human Growth Hormone ineffective for as aging remedy, but does make users look like Barry Bonds

A recent review of published studies suggests that aging is inevitable and that no number of elixirs and spirits can keep the wrinkles away. The findings come on the heels of years of speculation that steroids may be solution to the "getting old" dichotomy.

Dr. Hau Liu of Stanford University (Liu is actually from a foreign country, but was signed as a free agent by Stanford U.) tells users of Human Growth Hormone (HGH) to watch their weight level while on the juice. "There are unconfirmed reports that HGH can dramatically improve a users weight. By improve, I mean increase," he said in a high nasal voice. By the looks of things Liu never had a weight problem.

When San Francisco Giants slugger Barry Bonds heard the news that all his juicing wouldn't make him live forever, he was inconsolable. "Do you mean that I've endured two decades of acne for nothing?" he sobbed. At least he will live forever in the Baseball Hall of Fame, with an asterix.