Saturday, March 22, 2008

March 22nd, 2008













I love my dad. He's the best dad on the planet. But I'm worried about him. He farts so much. The part that worries me though, is that he doesn't think he does. And he also doesn't think they smell. My mom gags and plugs her nose and says, "Jesus, Drew!" when he leans on one cheek and squeezes out a super loud fart after dinner. But dad always says, "Don't play games. Mine don't smell." But I'm here to testify - they smell. You're pushing air out your bum hole past a back log of poo, so yes, dad, it smells. Like a plate of deviled eggs that were left out in the sun at the Easter Bunny Hop BBQ. He's delusional. He read in a book the other night that it's common and normal to fart 30 times a day and exclaimed, "Ah ha!" triumphantly, as if his behavior was reasonable and defensible.
But the sad part is dad farts 30 times AN HOUR! He just doesn't know it. I really believe that. I truly think he has no idea how much he farts and what an awesome problem it is and if he doesn't get help now then maybe mom and I won't be around for his fortieth birthday. Not because we've left him but because one of his toxic farts has finally killed us.

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