Hotel California

My son came home with an interesting homework project from his 8th grade Physical Science class. Simply, take the human digestive tract and write a song that describes it’s various functions. Needless to say he was having a challenge coming up with a lyric, so for once he asked me for assistance (usually I hinder more than help).

I started out by humming a few toons, and then Hotel California by The Eagles popped into my head.

I may have taken his project a little too seriously.

On a dark digestive highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of burritos, rising up through the air
Up ahead on the dishes, I saw a succulent light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
My teeth had to take a bite
There it stood in the doorway;
My tongue started to swell
And I was thinking to myself,
“This could be Spicy or this could be Mild”
Then I opened my esophagus and it showed me the way
There was saliva down the corridor,
I thought I heard it say…

Welcome to the Digestive Cornucopia
Such a lovely taste (Such a lovely taste)
In the end it’s waste
Plenty of room at the Digestive Cornucopia
Any toilets near? (Any toilets near?)
You can find me there

The line is gettin’ kinda twisted, I got the Menudo Benz
I got a lot of sloshy, sloshy acid in my stomach, friends
How it churns inside, solid food becoming wet.
Some eat to remember, some eat to forget

So it fell into the stomach,
It churned in the acid for a while
It said, “We haven’t had that mixture here since nineteen sixty nine”
And still those gases are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…

Welcome to the Digestive Cornucopia
Such a lovely taste (Such a lovely taste)
In the end it’s waste
Breakin’ down food in the Digestive Cornucopia
Eating fiber is wise (Eating fiber is wise)
I’ll have a side of fries!


If…

Rudyard Kipling wrote it for me, so now I can leave it for you, my children.

If–
by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!