i just made an amazing discovery. last night my fiancee said she wanted to get up at the asscrack of dawn to go to the italian market before work to get some things for dinner tonight. of course the last thing i wanted was to be out in the cold (-10 with windchill this morning) carrying bags of produce at 7am when i could get an extra hour of sleep. when we were watching tv last night and i was contemplating a good excuse to bail on the market trip, i was eating raisins and i went a little overboard, consuming perhaps four big handfuls of the little suckers.
fast forward to 4am. i was awoken by a thunderous roar that i at first assumed was the 47 bus zooming up 7th street. however, my nostrils soon informed me that this noise was no bus. thinking it was an aberration, i started dozing back off when without warning, my arsehole parted again to let out a long whine that sounded like a bottle rocket shooting high into the sky. this woke up my fiancee who mumbled something about me being a disgusting pig. 10 minutes later, my poor butthole let forth a demonic gurgling that sounded like boiling mud sending my fiancee into a screeching rage. frighteningly, i checked my underwear but thankfully this hellacious fart was all sound and no brown. the stench however had a not-pleasant bouqet that reminded me of soggy woodchips with undertones of toasted oak, giving it a sharp, almost burned smell. the volume of air that escape from my colon the rest of the night could have easily filled the hidenberg and the stench grew more and more noxious as my poor colon relentlessly churned the half a pound of raisins i had foolishly consumed.
the next morning, my fiancee got into the shower and the cacophony of ass air continued unabated. when she returned to the bedroom, she was overcome by the horrific strench and began yelling about how she was never buying raisins ever again. i cannot overestimate how legendary this gas was, i could barely shove one man overboard and the next was already on the plank ready to jump. my girlish giggling only served to further enrage my fiancee. feeling a slight lull in my ass symphony, i curled into the fetal position to better coax the trapped methane and sulfuric gas out of the escape hatch. like a standing ovation, my ass let forth a thunderous applause that sent the dog barking and a curling iron at my head. "you're just showing off now." i insisted in between laughing uncontrollably that this was scaring me and that i would never do this on purpose when suddenly, i knew that the next expulsion would be more than mere air.
i ran to the toilet and as soon as i got there, i was an upside-down geyser, pressurewashing the inside of the porcelin bowl with a vile rocket of ass grease. i was overcome with abdominable pain and the smell of cream of wheat when my fiancee said "no way am i bringing you to the market with farts like that. you're such an *******." at that moment i realized what a momentous occasion this was-- no other excuse ever got me out of anything so easily as horrific, uncontrollable flatulence. for some unexplainable reason that i will never pretend to understand, women detest farts and powerful is the man who discovers how to harness and control the vast power of the rectal airhorn god has bestowed on him. if a couple handfuls of raisins could succeed where no other excuse couldn't, it was worth ****ting through a screen door for 15 minutes to get out of market trips, shopping, birthday parties for her friends, dinner with her parents, walking the dog, and household chores. after she left i crawled into bed and slept for another full hour, warmed by the green haze that now filled the room and the knowledge that i had finally outsmarted her and it only cost me 2 pairs of boxers.
