[Canadian Thanksgiving morning. Palinode and Schmutzie are in bed, embracing inertia. Outside the sky is gathering its weather, but they don't care. They're ignorant.]
Schmutzie: I think we have a pretty good life. Do you think we have a good life?
Palinode: All I know is, if you want a good life, you need a skeleton.
Schmutzie: That is SO true.
Palinode: Once your skeleton falls out, that's it. Your life sucks. In fact, it's over.
Schmutzie: I think it's more that we fall off our skeletons.
Palinode: So that's life? We're just along for the ride until our skeletons buck us off, and then we're dead?
Schmutzie: Not necessarily.
Palinode: I think you're necessarily dead when you reach bonelessness.
Schmutzie: There are people born without bones. You just don't hear about it.
Palinode: Goddamn liberal media.
Schmutzie: People are born without bones sometimes and they live.
Palinode: But not well.
Palinode: In fact, they live so poorly that it would be more accurate to call them dead.
Palinode: And all these boneless people are going around dead, always asking for some sticks or rebar to prop them up.
Schmutzie: That sounds like a terrible life.
Palinode: Death is the worst life of all. Especially when you don't have any sticks.
Schmutzie: I can't tell if this conversation is more gross or stupid.
Palinode: That's why in some cultures, they place sticks in the hands of the dead. So they'll be presentable in the afterlife.
Schmutzie: I'm going to hit myself in the head until I go back to sleep.