Ass Gas
Even the most highly tuned cars, like a Maserati or a Ferrari, sputter and push a little blue flame out their exhaust pipes from time to time.
People are no different.
We all send a little gas out the ass every so often. I can't imagine anyone claiming they don't. Well, I can imagine there are some people who claim that they definitely never have gas, but I don't think I would believe them.
No, I suspect that we are all prone to a little flatulence from time to time. There's no shame in that fact. However, it's important to time and know your emissions correctly.
If you're a quiet farter, then you have a leg up on most people. You can pretty much sneak out a fart almost anytime, anywhere, unless of course your fart smells like a dead fish on the beach — you know, the kind your dog loves to roll in. Even the quietest tooteree might suddenly discover that what was sent blowin' in the wind stinks. At that point, you have two options. You can pretend it wasn't you by looking quickly at everyone around you, as if to say, "Ewww, who farted?" even though you know it was you, or you can accept the indelicacy by blaming it on something you ate. If you say something like, "Ohhh, that cabbage I had for lunch seems to go right through me." Then you might be forgiven by those in the immediate vicinity. If, however, someone looks at you with a grimace or a sour green face, well, then you'll know the jig is up. Social castigation is a bitch.
If you fart like a bugler raising the troops for reveille, you really should find a private place for your tootery. Even if your gas is lean and clean of any smell, you will still have to face looks of shock and awe. So, make some excuse for yourself, and go outside or as far away from other people as possible. Cutting the cheese in a well-timed, well-placed manner will help ensure that your spooot will go unnoticed, and you'll be spared the wrath of social embarrassment.
Whether you engage in silent running or thundering riptides, there are places where you should never break wind. Church comes to mind. So too does the inside of a crowded car on a cold day, the in-laws Sunday dinner table, during a rectal examination in your doctor's office, in an airplane, or worse, in an elevator. Finally, some people say it is extremely inappropriate to release crack gas during sex. I'm not sure I agree with that last one. After all, since you're being intimate anyway, what's the problem? Isn't your partner's acceptance of your blue moon blast-off the ultimate expression of love?
The crucial aspect of letting one rip is your determination, hopefully ahead of time, as to whether the imminent toot will be dry or wet. A dry fart is of little consequence, but a wet fart is never good. It leaves a mark, and that pop of poop will stay with you all day. You'll need fresh underwear, and if your situation doesn't allow for fresh underwear, then you're best to abandon your so-called unmentionables in the nearest toxic waste container and go "commando" for the rest of the day.
You're probably wondering by now why I am writing this piece about ass gas. You probably think I'm in a crappy mood, and I'm really not.
The truth is that, every once in a while, a writer sends a somewhat stinky bit of doo-doo through the computer screen. Clearly, I'm no exception.
Even the most highly tuned cars, like a Maserati or a Ferrari, sputter and push a little blue flame out their exhaust pipes from time to time.
People are no different.
We all send a little gas out the ass every so often. I can't imagine anyone claiming they don't. Well, I can imagine there are some people who claim that they definitely never have gas, but I don't think I would believe them.
No, I suspect that we are all prone to a little flatulence from time to time. There's no shame in that fact. However, it's important to time and know your emissions correctly.
If you're a quiet farter, then you have a leg up on most people. You can pretty much sneak out a fart almost anytime, anywhere, unless of course your fart smells like a dead fish on the beach — you know, the kind your dog loves to roll in. Even the quietest tooteree might suddenly discover that what was sent blowin' in the wind stinks. At that point, you have two options. You can pretend it wasn't you by looking quickly at everyone around you, as if to say, "Ewww, who farted?" even though you know it was you, or you can accept the indelicacy by blaming it on something you ate. If you say something like, "Ohhh, that cabbage I had for lunch seems to go right through me." Then you might be forgiven by those in the immediate vicinity. If, however, someone looks at you with a grimace or a sour green face, well, then you'll know the jig is up. Social castigation is a bitch.
If you fart like a bugler raising the troops for reveille, you really should find a private place for your tootery. Even if your gas is lean and clean of any smell, you will still have to face looks of shock and awe. So, make some excuse for yourself, and go outside or as far away from other people as possible. Cutting the cheese in a well-timed, well-placed manner will help ensure that your spooot will go unnoticed, and you'll be spared the wrath of social embarrassment.
Whether you engage in silent running or thundering riptides, there are places where you should never break wind. Church comes to mind. So too does the inside of a crowded car on a cold day, the in-laws Sunday dinner table, during a rectal examination in your doctor's office, in an airplane, or worse, in an elevator. Finally, some people say it is extremely inappropriate to release crack gas during sex. I'm not sure I agree with that last one. After all, since you're being intimate anyway, what's the problem? Isn't your partner's acceptance of your blue moon blast-off the ultimate expression of love?
The crucial aspect of letting one rip is your determination, hopefully ahead of time, as to whether the imminent toot will be dry or wet. A dry fart is of little consequence, but a wet fart is never good. It leaves a mark, and that pop of poop will stay with you all day. You'll need fresh underwear, and if your situation doesn't allow for fresh underwear, then you're best to abandon your so-called unmentionables in the nearest toxic waste container and go "commando" for the rest of the day.
You're probably wondering by now why I am writing this piece about ass gas. You probably think I'm in a crappy mood, and I'm really not.
The truth is that, every once in a while, a writer sends a somewhat stinky bit of doo-doo through the computer screen. Clearly, I'm no exception.
