Maybe it was the cheap pizza, the Cheezies, or the beer, but I was fragrant last night. It reminded me of this story I wrote many years ago. Dont read if you have a weak stomach, or if you possess anything resembling self-respect. The Fart Game I need to stay away from the Chinese food buffet. The one “problem” with having a healthy diet is that when you eat crap, bad things happen. A little while ago I was cajoled by my co-workers to skip my lunchtime workout and go with them to the Chinese food buffet down the road. They promised me that the place had some of the best ginger beef in Calgary and I should stop being so damn healthy and just have a righteous pig out for a change. I’d been good lately, so I thought, what the hell? It was a mistake. I’m not talking about skipping a chance to burn calories in favor of ingesting way too many calories kind of mistake – everyone needs to do that now and then to not go insane – but it had been a couple of years since I’d has such a colossal grease-fest, and when I got back to the office I slipped into an MSG-laced food coma. Normally a trip to the gym at lunch revs me up for the afternoon, but I definitely didn’t earn my pay during the second half of that day. I was a wretched, Net-surfing bag of poo. After work I was starting to recover, or so I thought, from the ill effects of the gorge and took my son to his karate class. Having an hour to kill I went for a run, and about ten minutes in I realized that my normally clean digestive system simply did not know what to do with all this greasy Chinese food, so it just decided to convert it all to methane. It felt like someone had strapped a leaf blower to my ass. It was so intense I almost thought I was getting a little jet propulsion boosting effect from it. Even though I was outside and literally running away from the gas, I could still smell it. Seriously, it was baaaaddddd. You know that green puke stuff from The Exorcist? The vile, hell-spawned projectile vomit? Well, imagine Linda Blair cut one instead; that’s what I had. I was dropping so many toxic air biscuits all over creation that I imagine a vengeful god would have smote me for befouling the earth so. I figured I was safe from this at least, being that I haven’t heard of any oil sands executives getting struck by lightening bolts recently. Still, I’m surprised birds weren’t dropping out of the sky along my running route. By the end of my run it seemed like I had blasted out several cubic feet of toxic fumes, but it was still coming. This is the part where you realize why I will never, ever win a Father-of-the-Year award. My son came out of his class and we got into the car. I should note that he is a willing player in what is known as “The Fart Game” (and don’t pretend like you’ve never played it). While at home he will feel one brewing, run up to where I am sitting and let her rip, then run away giggling. All is fair in love, war, and the fart game. I locked the car windows so he couldn’t open them then expelled a noxious stench so diabolical that even the guy who cleans the toilets at Taco Bell would have gagged. “Ahg! Gah! Daddy! Ah! It smells so bad!” Fumble, fumble. “Daddy! Open the window! Seriously, I’m gonna puke!” “No way, kiddo! Who is the master of the fart game now?” “Daddy!” [insert realistic gagging noises here]. I fumbled for the lock release on the power windows while changing lanes and radio stations at the same time, but I was too late. The gags were followed by a massive, wet, retching sound as my son blew his groceries all over the inside of the car. Puke and fart smell, together at last. Needless to say, the rest of the drive home was completed with all four windows open. My son was not impressed. My wife was not impressed. I was kind of impressed that one of my farts could make someone puke, but annoyed that I had to spend my evening cleaning little boy vomit out my car. I’ll know better for next time and open the window. Better yet, I’ll just go to the gym and avoid the Chinese food buffet in the first place.
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 00:33:33 +0000