I just had lunch, and a big chunk of something went down the wrong way. I have no idea what that means, but I know it's what people say in this circumstance. It's one of those things that struck me as bizarre as a child but no adult ever clarified -- like the Shriners, or testicles. Over the years I've come up with my own explanation, but it's so nonsensical even I can't believe it's true.

See, we've got one pipe leading into our bodies, but somewhere along the way it splits into two: one heading for the lungs, and one heading for the stomach. Obviously there must be some kind of switching system, like on a train track, and I'm picturing a fleshy little flap.

Now, this is actually pretty cool, because that fleshy little flap moves into the right position without requiring any conscious thought. You don't have to concentrate to get it into position, or clap your hands like you're trying to get Tinkerbell off the ground. It just does it all by itself.

That is, when it works. When it doesn't, a big chunk of something edible goes into your lungs.

Which is one of the top two things that scared me as a child, next to thinking that getting hit in the balls meant my future children would be born with broken arms. See, I knew that lungs weren't equipped for food disposal. There's no stomach acid there. It's all puffy pink tissue, with delicate folds and bends so it can pull oxygen out of the air.

Then a giant piece of squash plops down into it, and -- seemingly a logical conclusion -- you are completely screwed. The food is stuck there as it slowly rots, while you exhale the air that circulates around it. "Nice to see you!" you say to somebody. "Is that rotting squash?" they ask.

With a bit of thought, this led me to the inevitable: really, there can't be a God.

I mean, God allegedly designed us, right? Could an infallible -- hell, even a competent -- designer have created a system like this? He wasn't on a budget. He didn't have a boss who nagged him about the schedule. He had all the time in the world, and he came up with a system that kills you if you try to eat too much steak.

Really, would it have killed him to give us two separate inputs? It's not like extra flesh costs extra. Then if the food pipe got clogged, it'd be no big deal. "That's a bother," we'd think as we continued to breathe normally. "Guess I'll have to get to a plumber some time soon."

Instead, it can be fatal. Which makes me wonder: every time somebody chokes to death, does God damn himself? He's responsible, just like the dudes who put the Pinto's gas tank under the driver's seat. If a car designer merged the radiator with the radio, even Kia would fire him. And this isn't God's only instance of bad design. Have you seen pigeons? "They'll look so majestic floating on air!" God said to himself. "And when they're on the ground, well, they can just jerk their heads back and forth to counterbalance their feet." When you look in a pigeon's eyes, though, you can guess his thoughts on the matter: "Holy shit," he's thinking, "I just dislodged my fuckin' brain."

Anyway, now I'm stuck with it. I can feel it in my lungs: my big hunk of squash is starting its slow descent into sludge. If you run into me in the next couple of months, be kind. Don't ask about the rotting smell, and whatever you do, watch out for my testicles.