We learned to gag on corn cobs at a very early age in my house growing up. We’re corners, corn folk, corn gobblers, and when the corn was right, dad would take us into the corn stalks and pluck us a sucker, one good gagger for each family member, and we’d gag and choke on fresh corn. Those husk fibers would tickle the back of my throat like mischievous spider webs. The little dancing tendrils always got my sister good, too, and we’d all laugh through stuffed throats as she coughed and her eyes watered with exertion. Dad was the real pro, though. He’d gag four, five, sometimes six cobbers all one after another, and he was great at talkin with a mouthful of hard corn, telling us how to tenderly chomp and tongue prod the little kernels so that we know how close the corn is to harvest, and by golly, does my mouth know its way around a ripe corn nowadays. When the corn throating was over, Dad would do this little magic trick where he’d swallow a whole cob whole, bulge out his stomach, and then have me and my sister punch it at the same time. This would rocket the corn out of his mouth and about fourteen, fifteen, sometimes sixteen feet in the air with a spiral football throw type trajectory that flung expert saliva and loose corn kernels every which way. It was awesome. So, if anyone needs me to gag on a corn cob, just let me know.