Eight minutes for a bunch of pigs to totally dispose of a human body, according to the internet.
Pigs terrify me. Have I mentioned that? The babies are cute, but once they get past my knees, I'm out. Nope. No oinkers for me unless they're fried or roasted.
And yet, you laugh.
Really, considering that I always imagine you as a stolid, weathered man with slate-gray hair (and a fabulous beard), the fact that you laugh so much remains befuddling to me.
I was about to say, "that's a liiiiiiiiittle awkward," but I also tend to overthink things and seem to always find the words interpretation of things very often, so....
In the cases of babies and pets, though, it seems to be quite accurate.
Wait... my chickens used to crap on me way more when...
Thank you for putting in the "With Rum" option, Keeks -- my mother didn't drink during any of her pregnancies (she hardly drinks, period, and only has a bit of rum in her eggnog), but "With Rum" will always be the poll choice that I pick whenever possible.
For a moment, I thought that this included the whole "setting a couple thousand square feet on fire" thing, and got all kinds of confused all over again.