Hey

So, uhhh...

Hey.

We'll just pretend like I've been writing here nonstop since 2005, and we'll also just go ahead and pretend that there are more than 2 of you out there who will receive some sort of alert that there's a post here. I'm guessing it'll be Al, keeper of AOL email addresses and Level 12 Soco Whisperer, and me, my biggest fan. I'll certainly be notified that I wrote something here, likely consisting of the first google alert to hit my inbox since hitting boxes was something I was way more concerned with. Hear that, ladies of 2005?

Good times.

I think about writing all the time. I also have lots of time where I could write, but don't. So if I want to write and I have lots of time to write, why don't I write? 

The answer was inside of you the whole time.

(Wait, what?)

So today was a day of karmic payback. I wish it was the universe rewarding me with a lottery win what with all the holding of doors for ladies, agreeing to attend stupid stuff I'm invited to when I'd much rather stab my eyeballs with a shared needle, and pretending to like Swedes. But no, this was a much more subtle type of payback.

You see, a few days ago I was asked to take a picture of someone who was contorting themselves in a specific way.

(No, not porn. Perverts.)

Anyway, during the 3rd or 4th attempt to catch the best version of this pose I was rewarded with an unexpected fart from our contortionist. It was, as you'd expect, hilarious both in timing and in the way farts are just always hilarious.

So, me being me, I made a point of bringing it back up a few times for my own enjoyment. I'm nothing if not a beater of jokes to death.

(Also a terrific lay, believer in kegels, and 5-time Hit It & Quit It champion)

Now, before I go on I should note that I'm not a huge farter. Don't get me wrong, I find it hilarious. I just don't do it in front of my wife and I honestly don't even do it that often.

(Thanks, mostly cheese diet!)

Ok, so that being said I do find myself with a wicked case of the fawts (Boston medical term) and as long as nobody is around I'll let em fly.

Today was one of those days. I was driving between appointments and found myself with ample amounts of gas just ready to pass. In between amazing rhymes, obviously. So I let fly. Repeatedly. Then I pulled up to my appointment and locked the car per my usual routine. No big deal, I thought. I've farted in my car many times over the year. In fact, I never even gave it a second thought.

Until I sat back down in my car and realized that somehow, through this unprovable concept of karmic payback and some sort of gastric magic, it smelled exactly like my least favorite vegetable, Brussels sprouts.

Fucking brussels sprouts.

All that kindness I've displayed over my 27 years on this earth and this is my reward? I hotbox myself with brussels sprouts? I don't care how blind, I'm never holding a door for another woman.