That old bag is made of cells. Cells are

That old bag is made of cells. Cells are bags of liquid and proteinaceous glob. They contain organelles. Organelles are just smaller bags with more liquid and glob.

She didn't smack him, but she sure wanted to. "What is this, Clive Barker Hour?!" He had a nice face, bristles, legs, package, but he obviously had some kind of mental quirk that

meant his obnoxiousness was contagious. She gingerly put her ear against his bristly package. It was ticking. She managed to swivel her horrified eyes to his. In order to disarm

the scrotubomb, she cupped him gently & prepared to cut the slightly protruding wires with...her teeth. He groaned in simultaneous terror & ecstasy while she bent to her task.

When she got "down there" she was perplexed. There were so many wires connected to his scrotubomb. If she pulled the wrong one -- oh well, what the hell. She decided on the red one

the dreadful miseries of the material world and imbibe of the sacred Woojawee root." Father filled the hookah bowl with the pungent root paste and we each grabbed a hose.

Soon thick curls of yellow smoke snaked across the room. AAHOOOOMMMMmmmm. The Woojawee made my stomach tighten and I felt my spirit animal begin to stir. I looked over at the other

funeral attendees. They were pretending to be broken up. The yellow smoke hung like a wet curtain above the corpse. My Woojawee and my spirit animal faced off for spiritual combat.

But we eyed each other, with sadness. So many people had died already. Were we going to add 1 more to the pile? No, we decided, as we mutually agreed to part ways forever.