Decompose

Decompose: (v) to rot; putrefy

My dad died of lung cancer.

It was not a surprise—though death itself offers a certain array of misunderstandings.

He smoked all his life.

Matter of fact, he rolled his own. No filters.

So by the time cancer got to his lungs, the disease already had a climate suited for its purposes.

I was never close to my dad. The last few months of his life, he made a feeble, but noble, attempt to connect with me—but I was sixteen and in no mood for sentimental drivel.

The summer following his demise, I was old enough that I needed money of my own so I could pay for gasoline, dates and some clothes.

I joined a summer jobs campaign offered by the federal government, which paid $1.10 an hour. I ended up working at the community cemetery, mowing the grass around the graves.

I guess I was a little freaked out about it. But it was quiet, and the man in charge of the grounds didn’t hang around, supervising me, which meant I could do things at a pace that honored my laziness.

This was also the location of my father’s grave.

His site was so new that grass had not yet grown up over the pile of dirt. So every time I took my mower by his plot, I said something to him. Since we had not talked much during my growing up years, I thought I would make up for it by chatting to him in his reclining position.

It felt weird at first.

But then I struck up a conversation that prompted me to work more efficiently, actually relishing the time I had, mowing down the departed.

I will never forget, one very, very hot day, there was a smell in the air. It was a combination of rotten tomatoes, vitamins—if you put your nose right up to the jar—with a slight bit of the hay fields that surrounded our town.

It was not an unpleasant odor. After a while, I breathed it deeply into my lungs.

It was the scent of human beings simmering in their graves. It was very natural.

The job only lasted that one summer.

It’s probably good that it didn’t continue.

I was young and didn’t need to be ruminating over the sniff of those who decompose.

Conjugal

Conjugal: (adj) relating to marriage or the relationship of a married couple

I got stuck on a panel, discussing sexuality and marriage.

After a considerable amount of back-and-forth sharing of statistics and anecdotes, the forum deteriorated into a deliberation over whether “two is enough and is six too many?”

How many times per week should a healthy married couple have sex?funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Here’s the real answer: married people should have a conjugal visit with one another when they’re horny.

Otherwise, one person is standing at a slight distance pouting, wondering if the other person loves them, since “touchy-feely” hasn’t happened within the past seventy-two hours. Yet there was a time when the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

If “horny” does not rule the day on human sexuality, and it isn’t stimulated by the great respect and admiration you feel for your partner, and how you kind of feel like a conqueror, to be able to ravage this extremely talented individual, then you will be setting up a schedule to take vitamins.

And as in the case of taking vitamins, you will decide that you do feel a little better since you started swallowing your medicine.

 


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Commercialize

Commercialize: (v) to manage or exploit in a way designed to make a profit.

The Erickson Bread Company is coming out with a new product.

It doesn’t seem unique–it’s a tasty wheat bread fortified with vitamins that has the softness and flavor of white bread.

Everyone at the company and in the board room is ecstatic. They feel they have a good loaf which could quickly be considered great if it were advertised correctly.

A debate rages.

In order to present their creation to the public, they feel they need to find the best way to commercialize it–and by commercialize they mean the most favorable and common vehicle to convey typical life being joyously invaded by the new Erickson bread.

It is concluded that it would be ridiculous to show a family sitting around the dinner table enjoying one another’s company, commenting on the bread.

Old-fashioned.

Out of step with the times.

They also rejected the notion of a man wearing a hard hat, seemingly oblivious to the lunch he’s about to eat until he bites into the sandwich and smiles at the tasty bread.

Too much emphasis on a male figure–and who really wears hard hats anymore?

So it is decided that the best way to commercialize the bread is to have an energetic young mother standing at the kitchen counter making sandwiches for her young son and little daughter, who are completely preoccupied staring at computer screen and phone individually. The mother asks them to taste the bread. Without looking up, they nibble a corner–and suddenly their eyes look away from the screens and move to their mother, still with dead stares, and say, “Umm. That’s not bad.”

The commercial ends with the announcer saying: “Erickson’s new wheat bread–claimed by children who are obsessed by the Internet as ‘Umm. Not bad.'”

Commercialize: a decision to give in to the situation of our time, representing ideas in a fashion which may only be applicable for a few months.

Unfortunately, not everything we do in life can be commercialized.

Amen.

 

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Bean

Bean: (n) a leguminous plant that bears beans in pods.

Dictionary B

Farting is important.

Although we laugh about it and there are even folks who try to avoid it at all costs, it is a sign that we are eating a pretty healthy diet. Once you make a decision to consume broccoli and various forms of beans, your body will produce gas, which will find an exit.

I do believe in God, and one of the reasons I believe is because of the natural humor that exists in life. For instance, the fact that farting is nearly inevitable, sounds hilarious, and then, the topper–it stinks so bad that it can drive people out of a room.

So I must tell you–the God who created us just might favor slapstick humor to cerebral considerations.

So if you eat beans and get all your vitamins and minerals, the by-product will probably be some gas, which will insist on being excreted or exploded, and stinking up the air.

Some people find even the discussion of such a natural process to be distasteful.

There are other folks who think that bathroom humor should be shared freely in the living room.

I am more of a naturalist.

If it’s there, and it’s funny, and it’s part of a good diet … what the hell?

Fart away.

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