Chapter 452: Tragedy of Mastication

Chapter 449: Tragedy of Mastication

The living room returned to its baseline state of perfectly engineered, hilarious tranquility.

That peace lasted exactly forty-two minutes before the artificial intelligence interrupted. A soft, melodic chime echoed through the ceiling speakers, signaling the automated dinner service.

"Finally," Gillian announced, stretching her arms above her head. "I am absolutely starving. If the kitchen doesn’t send out something covered in melted cheese and carbohydrates within the next five minutes, I am going to initiate a hostile takeover of this household."

Angelina nodded in agreement, leaning forward. "I want a steak. Medium rare. And a mountain of garlic mashed potatoes. We burned entirely too much energy laughing at the digital stuntman today. I require immediate caloric replenishment."

"I second the steak," Monica chimed in, tossing her tablet aside. "A thick cut. With a peppercorn reduction."

Alex did not move. He lay completely flat, his voice drifting up toward the ceiling in a slow, monotonous drawl. "You are all severely underestimating the sheer physical labor required to consume a steak. It is an ergonomic nightmare."

Jennifer snorted, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’ve found a way to complain about eating. Eating is the best part of the day."

"I am not complaining about eating, Jen. I am critiquing the archaic mechanics of mastication," Alex argued logically, refusing to sit up. "Chewing requires the aggressive, repetitive up-and-down motion of the mandible. It forces the jaw muscles to violently crush dense biological matter into a paste just so you can swallow it. It is essentially a heavy-duty workout for your skull. I refuse to exercise during dinner."

"It’s chewing, Alex!" Courteney laughed, throwing her hands in the air. "It’s a basic human function!"

"It is manual labor," Alex corrected flawlessly. "And chewing a steak is the worst offender. It requires prolonged grinding. By the time you swallow, your facial muscles are completely exhausted. It defeats the entire purpose of leisure."

Before the women could form a unified rebellion against his anti-chewing manifesto, the hallway doors slid open.

Keanu and Snoop Dogg strolled into the room. They were not pushing a cart full of silver platters or plates of steaming food. Instead, each man was casually holding a small, sleek metallic cylinder that closely resembled a high-end humidifier.

"Nephew," Snoop grinned, raising the cylinder in his right hand. "The engineering division heard your complaints about the tragedy of chewing. They have officially eradicated the need for teeth."

Gillian narrowed her eyes at the metal tube. "What is that? And where is my steak?"

"This," Keanu whispered reverently, his face a mask of profound, spiritual enlightenment, "is the ’Gastronomic Inhaler.’ It is a masterpiece of culinary pacification. Traditional eating forces the body to manually break down solid matter. This device completely bypasses the digestive friction."

"You want us to inhale our dinner?" Monica asked, her voice dangerously low.

"It vaporizes the exact molecular flavor profile of a gourmet meal into a nutrient-dense, zero-calorie mist," Snoop explained, taking a deep, theatrical breath from the top of his cylinder. He closed his eyes, a look of absolute euphoria washing over his face. "Man... that is a flawless lobster bisque. I didn’t even have to use a spoon. The soup just floated directly into my sinuses."

Jennifer stared at Snoop in sheer horror. "You breathed in a soup? That sounds like a choking hazard!"

"There is no liquid, Jen," Keanu clarified gently. "It is pure, concentrated aroma and synthetic nutrition. The olfactory receptors process the flavor instantly. I am currently inhaling a truffle risotto. It is mathematically perfect, and my jaw hasn’t moved a millimeter."

Alex let out a low, satisfied hum of approval. "A flawless invention. The Vanguard team has successfully automated digestion. Pass me a cylinder, Keanu."

Keanu tossed a spare cylinder through the air. Alex didn’t reach for it. He simply let it bounce off his chest and roll to a stop near his hand. He lazily pressed the activation button on the side.

A faint, localized mist sprayed directly into his face.

Alex breathed in slowly. "Incredible. A perfectly seared Wagyu ribeye, infused with rosemary. The flavor is immaculate, and I am entirely spared the indignity of using a knife. Chewing is officially obsolete."

Angelina snatched the cylinder out of his hand, glaring at it as if it had personally offended her. "This is a tragedy! A steak is about the texture! It’s about the experience! You cannot simply vape a cow and call it dinner!"

"Texture is just friction, Angie," Alex reasoned smoothly, looking up at her with an infuriatingly calm expression. "Friction causes wear and tear on the teeth. This device preserves dental integrity while delivering the exact same chemical satisfaction to the brain. It is the pinnacle of dietary efficiency."

"I am Italian!" Monica yelled, throwing her hands up in absolute outrage. "If you think I am going to sit here and breathe in a bowl of pasta like it’s a nasal decongestant, you have completely lost your mind! Eating is an art!"

"Art that requires chewing is a flawed medium, Monica," Alex countered effortlessly. "If a painter required you to do fifty push-ups before you could look at his painting, you would call him a tyrant. Yet, chefs demand that you perform jaw calisthenics before you can experience their flavors. I am simply rejecting culinary tyranny."

Gillian grabbed the tablet from the floor and started tapping furiously. "I am overriding the AI. I am ordering a massive, extremely solid pizza. With extra crust. We are going to chew, Alex. We are going to chew aggressively, right in front of you."

"You are only punishing yourselves," Alex sighed, his voice dripping with profound pity. "You will expend precious calories tearing the crust apart. You will have to wipe grease from your fingers. The physical toll of the pizza will entirely negate the nutritional benefits."

"We don’t care!" Courteney cheered, high-fiving Gillian. "Bring on the manual labor!"

Snoop chuckled, taking another long draw from his cylinder. "Suit yourselves, ladies. But I just finished a three-course meal in four breaths. I’m already ready for dessert. Keanu, what flavors do we have in the sweet section?"

Keanu examined the dial on his inhaler. "We have a vaporized crème brûlée. It includes a subtle hint of caramelized sugar smoke. No spoon required."

"Hit me," Snoop nodded.

As the two men stood there, peacefully inhaling invisible French pastries, the women collectively groaned in frustration.

"They have completely surrendered to the machine," Jennifer muttered, watching Snoop close his eyes in sugary bliss. "They are literally drinking air."

"We are preserving our energy for more important endeavors, Jen," Keanu whispered softly.

"Like what?" Angelina challenged. "You literally do nothing all day!"

"Exactly," Alex agreed, completely unbothered. "And doing nothing requires peak optimization. If I waste my jaw strength on a piece of bread today, I might not have the energy to properly ignore Richard Vance tomorrow. It is a matter of prioritizing my apathy."

Gillian shook her head, a reluctant, deeply entertained smile breaking through her frustration. "You are absolutely impossible. You have managed to turn eating into a debate about workplace efficiency."

"I am a visionary, Gillian," Alex murmured, closing his eyes once more as the soft chime from the hallway signaled the arrival of the actual, solid food the women had ordered. "Enjoy your manual labor. Please try to chew quietly. The sound of crushing carbohydrates is incredibly distracting to my inner peace."