When I was seventeen or eighteen a friend of mine told me that he almost made somebody,s mom vomit when he farted during a card game. I immediately knew that this was something that I wanted to be a part of. I wanted to make somebody vomit using only the horrific stench of my homemade fumes. It seemed like a difficult and maybe even impossible goal but I at least wanted to try.
I had never known anybody that had ever accomplished this feat nor anybody that had ever been the victim. For a very long time it seemed the thing of legends. You read about it happening in the time of the settlers but who knows how much of that was true and how much was fabrication? Over time, my yearning to make somebody sick subsided. I had almost forgotten about how important this task once was to me when one night about two years ago I released a secret surprise in a crowded room and somebody started gagging. It didn,t come to fruition that night but they did tell me that they were close. The flame had been rekindled and my faith in the improbable was revitalized.
My diet as of late has been pretty normal. I have been eating way too many simple carbohydrates, very few vegetables, very little protein other than the occasional gross burrito, and drinking lots of water. The only variable that I have been able to identify is that I have been eating Raisin Bran for the past few days. Raisin Bran isn,t very good but it was cheap. I think it might be this little addition that has created such a volatile chemical reaction deep within my bowels.
Mount Kimbie - Sketch On Glass EP
My already terrible excreted gasses have been dramatically more severe as of late. Not only have they been much more frequent but they have been piercingly pungent and lasting. They permeate clothing, fabric of any kind really, they hang in the air for very extended periods and don,t even get me started as to what the chair I sit in at work smells like now. It is absolutely disgusting. I have been marinating and stewing in my own hot, sour egg farts for far too long now. They are singularly awful. They smell as if somebody had boiled vinegar into a thick reduction and then covered hard boiled eggs in this greasy mix and cooked them in the hot summer sun. It is so much more than that though. It is much more organic and sharp. It,s like getting stabbed in the throat with and acidic icicle and being thrown into a garbage can that has been sealed for a long time in intense heat and all of the contents have been removed but somebody has poured a lot of a gallon of milk in there a few days before. If eliminating that horrible cereal from my diet doesn,t clear things up, then I am going to have to see a doctor.
I have been spending a lot of time with a very pretty and tolerant girl lately. We all know that there is almost nothing more satisfying than farting on or near a pretty girl. Obviously I have been doing that as much as I possibly can. I sneak up behind her when she is sitting on the couch and I rip it loud and proud on the back of her head. I pin her down by sitting on her stomach and vibrate her intestines using only the expelled gasses from mine. I sit near her and admire her unending patience and symmetrical facial features while secretly releasing the foul concoction into my hand and shoveling it into her mouth. The pure joy and delight I get from these simple acts is of near-unimaginable proportion. I would like to think that she enjoys it as well but she most certainly does not.
I spent much of last night torturing this poor girl with my violently bad odors. The apex of the evening came just as I was about to go to bed. I let out what I thought was a standard awful dry diarrhea. I noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was as silent as an assassin in the night. The sweaty aroma didn,t even hit me. Suddenly, she gasps for air. Her eyes look pained and sick. She runs to the door but it,s much too late. She gags. She gags again as I laugh in a mixture of horror, disbelief and ecstasy. She reaches for the garbage can that I assume she is using as a comical prop. She gags again and tells me, with tears in her eyes, that she is going to throw up. I am roaring with laughter but now feeling slightly sick myself to have made this kind young woman suffer so greatly. She vomits a black slick of oil into the can. I give us both a round of applause as she chokes out, ,,It,s chocolate cake,,. She has thrown up the chocolate cake that she had right before dinner but somehow managed to keep the pasta down. I lay in a state of weightlessness, of bliss, or enlightenment as she ties the garbage bag and brings it outside and washes her mouth out.
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