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I argue that once I have eaten my cake it then goes on to become part of me. It has transformed into me through the chemistry and biomechanics of my body. I am still in possession of the cake... only now no other greedy fucker can eat it (cannibalism aside).
I am more troubled by: six of one, half a dozen of another.
Shouldn't it be: Call it six or half a dozen... it's the same. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
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"My hands are on fire. Hands are on fire. Ain't got no more time for all you charlatans and liars."
- Old Man Luedecke
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