Without these we would be lumps of flesh, squirming about it would be a hot mess. Once dried and bleached these would make fine wind chimes, though a bit macabre, but hey, that's fine!

A solid or a liquid but my mission still remains To spread around and grab the filth, then drag it down the drain

I eat black rocks for my breakfast, I breathe out clouds with no rest. I take what is raw and pink, And give it a flavor you can't rethink. I hiss, I smoke, I crackle and pop, The party doesn't end till I stop. What am I?

A wrestling move where arm meets neck, or a method of clothes drying that leaves them stiff as heck.

I have but one simple job, to keep your pants from making a run for it.