This evening post-worship we had our usual get together in the backyard.  It began to rain tremendously and I went to blow out one of our citronella candles which proceeded to spray hot liquid wax steeped in anti-mosquito chemical all over my glasses, shirt and eyebrow and also directly into my right eye.  As I’m sure you can imagine, this felt absolutely fantastic.  I will be picking bits of wax out of my whole face for the rest of the night and probably into tomorrow.

Disclaimer:  The remainder of this post contains graphic details of a gastro-intestinal nature.  Reader discretion is advised.  If the breaking of wind or discussion of same offends you, probably stop reading here.

Now that we’ve got all that out of the way, onto the juicy details.  I have changed the names in the following story not so much to protect the innocent but to add a level of challenge and excitement to your lives that would otherwise be missing.  Last night we had some people over after a fancy dinner party at somebody else’s house.  Let us call the main offenders in the following tale “Brad” and “Amie”.  The conversation took a turn for the flatulent as conversations involving these two often do.  There was discussion of strategy.  The releasing of the silent but deadly in the vicinity of an innocent bystander in order that blame might be apportioned to them rather than the real perpetrator.

At some point during this conversation, the passing of gas actually began.  Not in anything so vulgar as a contest, just the natural outpouring of people who have consumed goat cheese as a significant part of the evening meal.  At one point, “Brad” used the cover of another’s emission to release one of his own.  Perhaps individually they would have been tolerable but the combination was like unto a garbage dump falling from orbit into a sewage treatment plant.  To say it was pungent is to miss an opportunity to use the word acrid.  I’m not going to suggest that paint peeled but it loosed its hold on the walls for a time.  I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt at the time so I retreated into the fortress of solitude that is a wholly cinched hood with the drawstrings pulled backward over the head to create a mask of impenetrable defence.  What I failed to take into account was the naturally porous nature of 100% cotton.

Once the intruder made its presence known, it was an assault on at least two senses.  Oxygen levels plummeted to dangerous, Everest-top levels and I began to see terrible visions.  As I hastened to extract myself from my sartorial demesnes and get into the relatively “fresh” air of the living room I cried “The call is coming from inside the house!”

Looking back as “Brad” and his wife left, we discussed our good fortune at not having sat out at the fire as is our usual habit.  It would have been disastrous to say the least.  Quoth “Amie”: “There would have been no trouble figuring out the source.  We would have been able to trace it back to [Brad’s] singed anus.”

filled my head all day