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I lit the end of one piece of jerky, and after learning that it's not really possible to "smoke" it, I used the flaming jerky to light a candle. One sliver had a hole in it and we used this as an incense holder. Jenny wanted to color her hair, so I took a photo of her with the dark dye wet on her usually blonde head as she smiled and held up a bit of jerky. We called it, "jerky hair dye." This went into the silly-picture category along with the "jerky cell phone" and "jerky ear cleaner." The "jerky bookmark" wasn't a half-bad idea, and I would have kept it in my copy of From Socrates to Sartre if it weren't for its pungent odor and the greasy stain it left on the pages.

So many uses for jerky, so little time. During all of the fun, I forgot to complete the survey. A week later I received a call from a woman inquiring after my unsent review. I explained to her how I chose to use the jerky, and she did not seem amused. For days, I gnawed on the leftovers, smug in the knowledge that no one had ever "used" jerky like I had. I thought about sending the pictures in lieu of a finished survey, curious to see how they would react to such an odd response. But in the end, I worried that if my pictures were somehow connected to the confused, obedient man who originally called, he might have to suffer through an intense reeducation on jerky policy.

Now, I stand by as my father receives survey after survey, and I jealously watch as he opens envelopes full of coupons and spends minutes contemplating various products. For some reason, I haven't been contacted in a long time. I've come to the conclusion that the jerky people might have gotten me blacklisted. I wonder how I can get back on their good side.

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