I Named Your Farts
As I sat in the department of motors vehicles, waiting to renew my drivers license I had nothing to look at except you. You in your all of your flip-flop glory as you talked loudly on your cell phone and farted with no sign of courtesy for anyone around you.
I was impressed by the volume and density of your farts so I named them.
You seemed to have 6 distinct types that just rotated as I was waiting for my # to be called.
This one was a jaunty little number that seemed to go off in a succession of 4 short reports.
The tone of this was was akin to the inflection in ones voice as the as a question. I imagined you wearing a Riddler's costume for this one.
I imagine this to be the base drum in your colonic orchestra. Did you not notice the people that would move their chair every time you let off?
This one was my favorite. Every time you ripped one of these, I yelled ìgotta catch them allî in my head.
The Wiffle Ball
This fart generated little noise save the sound your chair made as you leaned left or right.
I have no idea how you can pretend that everything is cool after letting this thing off of the chain. After the second one of these, the elderly security guard came over and asked you to leave.
I have to say that I was impressed and disgusted by you at the same time. Shine on fart master.
Have you ever been exposed to ghastly public flatulence? How did you handle the sitch?