I remember when I was a young ragga muffin. Life was unadorned with task and activities. I especially recall a lazy Sunday with my mother. That almost ended in death by asphyxiation, due to my own ignorance in the basic 101 fundamentals of chewing.
My mother and I chose to dine in at a Chinese themed buffet. The place was dim and musty reeking of feline entrails. I was hesitant at first, but I went against my best judgment and ate. So I started to gorge on yesterday’s road kill. I wasn’t deliberating how many times I chewed my food before swallowing.
I was soon in a dilemma. For I wasn’t receiving proper amounts of oxygen, perhaps I wasn’t think clearly. “Savor the flavor? Or dislodge the morsel of meat blocking my air compartment?”
Fear gripped me like my booze bag step-dad in a rant of rage. Mean while my obsessive compulsive mother was undecidedly in a epic journey of picking and choosing whether she wanted seasoned fried chicken or extra crispy.
Time was slipping away faster than America’s credibility. So I took sadistic intentions of performing meat hook sodomy on my self orally with out proper licensing and board certification from the AMA.
I skipped over to the salad bar. Grasping the ladle resting in the bucket of creamy ranch dressing. As I cocked my head back with my mouth gaping wide open, I started pouring layers upon layers of this delectable topping. Baptizing my organ of speech until it was over flowing.
I clutched the salad tongs thrusting them violently back and forth down my lubricated love hole. Grabbing a hold the deteriorating substance, I exerted it all out in one prolonged strand. Along with it came throbbing cyst of engorging bile in unmanageable amounts. Looking down I saw the remnants of viral fluid sliding off the salad sneeze guard.
And yet this semi-fatal situation could been avoided. If I had fully chewed my food in proportional amounts instead of shoveling it in like a gluttonous swine. In the words of Molière “Unreasonable haste is the direct road to error.” I can extrapolate this to other scenarios in my life, where haste resulted in my demise. How ever as much as I know this, I’m wired to waste my life away in haste. As I sit here at the keyboard with this message so prevalent in my mind. I must choose between striving for an “A” and taking more time on this essay, or settling for my mediocre best and sattisfy my haste desires, insatiable cravings, and unbridling lust. I chose the latter. The end.
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