I’m not quite old, but I’m definitely not young anymore. That sucks donkey dick. I don’t feel old. I try to find humor in things to lighten the sucky parts of life, and there is a lot of suck.
So I laugh at farts and present them theatrically whenever possible. I am a firm believer in the only correct way to fart, is to do it with one leg cocked in the air.
It’s been difficult for me to make friends in my life and to keep them (not because of my farting) and to maintain somewhat of a normal social life (whatever normal is). When you have internal conflict and hate on yourself, it’s hard for others to like you too. I often revert to some sort of assholeness as some sort of bizarre defense mechanism to keep people at a distance, or possibly unconscious masochistic self punishment for something I subconsciously feel I must atone for.
When I’m not that guy, I’m a recluse in hiding. Even when others are home, I’m often in my own world, somewhere, not wanting to come back to reality . . . unless it’s to laugh at a fart. So I get stupid, I smoke the herbals, I get creative and retarded. All artists are tormented by something, it’s a requirement, I think. Art is the only thing that keeps me sane and so does laughter, so I laugh at farts.
Farts were funny growing up in my home. Well, not always. I got in trouble for bustin ass in my sister’s face—more than once. I’ve gotten yelled at for dramatically broadcasting my flatulence to the family on more the one occasion. It never stopped me though. The woman still looks at me with disgust to this day when I let one rip. I always laughed at farts and still do—always. I’m immature, I know. I refuse to grow up. Never!
I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing moments all because of those god damn barking spiders, but that has, and never will, stop me. Even if it’s inappropriate for a man of my age to laugh at the passing of the gas when I’m in my golden years.
I will still be laughing.
Happy Father’s Day.