dimarts, de juliol 11, 2006
Passing Thoughts
I’ll admit it. I farted.
No doubt a million and one judgments can be constructed from that above information. I’m not going to try to defend myself against either one of them. Would you blame me for not wanting to defend farting?
Before this delves deeper into the juvenile I want to reveal that there is a story behind these opening thoughts. Passing gas is not a regular passenger on my train of thought (not even in the caboose, for those seeking a pun). Unfortunately, the story that leads me to all of this has the possibility to dive way deeper into childish behavior.
Not that I am especially proud of it, but I let one pass while I was at the gym. It wasn’t a grunt gas, or a pressure pinch (Melissa please trademark these two phrases for me). I wasn’t mid rep. I was actually watching the television in between sets when whatever part of my body that governs my pipes decided to blow off some steam. As my anus alarm went off, signaling the imminent pressure leak, I realized it was almost half past ten, I was at the gym, and the only person in a 30-foot proximity of me was some dude a good ways away. Now rather than allowing you to believe that I have pioneered some sort of fart faux pas-o-meter let me admit that the 10 yard rule has been in use by men across the globe for centuries.
OK so why is that guy now looking at me. You heard a small fart while at the gym. So what? Who cares? Do you want to make fun of it and giggle together?
Upon the release the guy 20 feet away looks at me like if I’m trying to start a fight. I know I did not grow up around this area I live in now, but I can not imagine there is any part of this country that fashions its belligerence signals after the bombardier beetle.
I turned away in hopes of not laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and resumed whatever I was doing. In the following minutes I noticed the lone man in audible range of my fart had now found someone to relay his eyewitness account to. Sure, I had headphones on and was listening to loud music, but that does not prohibit me in any way from imagining what the people around me are talking about.
In all honesty I had no idea what they were talking about, and didn’t care to know until what happened next. On my way back from getting water I had to cross next to the guy who heard my fart. I saw him smiling at his friend as I approached. One split second whiff was enough to shut down my olfactory, and tell me that I was walking through a fart cloud. For some reason unknown to yours truly, the guy who heard me fart felt compelled to fart in my area.
Perhaps I encroached on his manhood by passing audible gas in his vicinity. That is the only explanation I can come up with- that he was convicted to take it up a step. My headphones would never have allowed me to hear his weak Anglo-farts so he, using his cunning and wily wit, waited until I walked by to fart. Apparently giving one’s ass scent away is a form of retaliation for having to hear another person’s fart.
The guy immediately walked away giggling. His friend was asking what was going on. I never smelled enough to know if his was a worthy effort. That pungent odor is no stranger to me and I always do my best to stop breathing as soon as a fart is detected in my vicinity.
I thought I was a weirdo for letting one slip in public. Obviously my only mistake was to not give someone else the chance to appreciate the aroma. It makes me think about what he was saying as I walked by.
“Wait until he gets a load of this”
“This douche bag is going to throw up”
“I’ve been waiting so long to force someone to smell my farts”
“Thank god I didn’t get that enema yesterday!”
Certainly the options are endless. The absurdity of it all lends itself to infinite possibilities.
Based on this experience I believe its best that any man who is old enough to have a receding hairline should want another grown man to smell his farts.
Yeah, that's right, I came back after all this time to talk about farts
Vazquez genes alive and well in Michael Lorenzo....
Publica un comentari a l'entrada
No doubt a million and one judgments can be constructed from that above information. I’m not going to try to defend myself against either one of them. Would you blame me for not wanting to defend farting?
Before this delves deeper into the juvenile I want to reveal that there is a story behind these opening thoughts. Passing gas is not a regular passenger on my train of thought (not even in the caboose, for those seeking a pun). Unfortunately, the story that leads me to all of this has the possibility to dive way deeper into childish behavior.
Not that I am especially proud of it, but I let one pass while I was at the gym. It wasn’t a grunt gas, or a pressure pinch (Melissa please trademark these two phrases for me). I wasn’t mid rep. I was actually watching the television in between sets when whatever part of my body that governs my pipes decided to blow off some steam. As my anus alarm went off, signaling the imminent pressure leak, I realized it was almost half past ten, I was at the gym, and the only person in a 30-foot proximity of me was some dude a good ways away. Now rather than allowing you to believe that I have pioneered some sort of fart faux pas-o-meter let me admit that the 10 yard rule has been in use by men across the globe for centuries.
OK so why is that guy now looking at me. You heard a small fart while at the gym. So what? Who cares? Do you want to make fun of it and giggle together?
Upon the release the guy 20 feet away looks at me like if I’m trying to start a fight. I know I did not grow up around this area I live in now, but I can not imagine there is any part of this country that fashions its belligerence signals after the bombardier beetle.
I turned away in hopes of not laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and resumed whatever I was doing. In the following minutes I noticed the lone man in audible range of my fart had now found someone to relay his eyewitness account to. Sure, I had headphones on and was listening to loud music, but that does not prohibit me in any way from imagining what the people around me are talking about.
In all honesty I had no idea what they were talking about, and didn’t care to know until what happened next. On my way back from getting water I had to cross next to the guy who heard my fart. I saw him smiling at his friend as I approached. One split second whiff was enough to shut down my olfactory, and tell me that I was walking through a fart cloud. For some reason unknown to yours truly, the guy who heard me fart felt compelled to fart in my area.
Perhaps I encroached on his manhood by passing audible gas in his vicinity. That is the only explanation I can come up with- that he was convicted to take it up a step. My headphones would never have allowed me to hear his weak Anglo-farts so he, using his cunning and wily wit, waited until I walked by to fart. Apparently giving one’s ass scent away is a form of retaliation for having to hear another person’s fart.
The guy immediately walked away giggling. His friend was asking what was going on. I never smelled enough to know if his was a worthy effort. That pungent odor is no stranger to me and I always do my best to stop breathing as soon as a fart is detected in my vicinity.
I thought I was a weirdo for letting one slip in public. Obviously my only mistake was to not give someone else the chance to appreciate the aroma. It makes me think about what he was saying as I walked by.
“Wait until he gets a load of this”
“This douche bag is going to throw up”
“I’ve been waiting so long to force someone to smell my farts”
“Thank god I didn’t get that enema yesterday!”
Certainly the options are endless. The absurdity of it all lends itself to infinite possibilities.
Based on this experience I believe its best that any man who is old enough to have a receding hairline should want another grown man to smell his farts.
Yeah, that's right, I came back after all this time to talk about farts
Vazquez genes alive and well in Michael Lorenzo....
Publica un comentari a l'entrada