The immaculate fart

Flatulence. That glorious expulsion of sulfurous gases to the sweet symphony of organs, pipes, whistles and the rolling of drums, that causes one to sigh with immediate relief followed by almost equally immediate feelings of repulsion and self-disgust.

One lazy Saturday morning, as I lay in bed overcoming a vicious hangover, passing a stream of wind without much resistance under the heavy warmth of my goose down comforter my thoughts naturally turned to farts (for the lack of a better term). And as I am inclined to do, I dedicated the better part of an hour to these thoughts, every so often raising a cheek to cut one (I was unusually gassy that morning. This is not a Saturday morning ritual in case you are wondering). Alas this was not the best course of action, but really who is at their best on Saturday mornings? So anyway as I finally get up to take a leak, tossing the comforter off with a casual flick of my hand, I am hit with what can only be described as a fog of such palpable, suffocating density that my body instinctively recoiled at the first inhalation of this vaguely spicy smelling gas and my head snapped back in such a sharp manner that I banged it against my headboard.   

Having overcome my initial shock, I rubbed my head rather gingerly as I gathered my wits. Of course my natural reaction was then to let out a little chuckle and a shake of the head that could be translated to “you devil!” Well anyway, I aired out my room and all that and then went to prepare some food. Refried beans; Breakfast of champions.

A lament

So I am 23 years old at the time of this writing. I recently noticed a troubling trend in my life which needs to be eliminated or corrected at the very least. I have a feeling that this may be a pretty widespread problem mainly among men but I sure some women have experienced it too. Well to get to the point this blog is about t-shirts. And ex girlfriends.

Granted I have very little experience when it comes to relationships, I have only been in two, but for the life of me I can't understand why I keep losing my best t-shirts to these wretched, thieving whores. Okay, I exaggerate. Both these women were nice, well decent I'd say, or rather tolerable and that's a stretch. Now, normally I wouldn't care if they took any random shirt which has little value to me. However there are those shirts that just have a special place in your heart. And I have lost two of my dearest. And anyone who wears t-shirts on a semi regular basis knows how hard it is to find these blessed threads. My wardrobe has been robbed of two of its brightest stars. When I used to wear either of those t-shirts women would ogle me from across the street and rape me with their eyes. I am going to miss that feeling of being violated. Of course when I would approach them about this they would just play dumb, but I guess that's how the game is played these days.

Which brings me to my second point. These bleeding ex girlfriends. When a relationship is over, the respectful thing to do would be to return all personal effects especially if you are the breaker. The breakee needs something to lift his spirits after this woman with a black hole for a heart dumps this poor sap (me). I feel like the break up would go so much more smoothly if all my t-shirts and CDs were nicely packed in a box and gift wrapped. "I think we should break up, here is your break up gift". At least that way I would have something to rip open, and lo and behold, its my favorite t-shirt! "Aww thanks honey. You're the best"!

Anyway, I have thought about asking for these t-shirts back but I'm too nice (read: I'm a big pussy). So if and when I get into a new relationship I am going to be completely honest with the woman and tell her my closet is off limits to her. Or the more likely scenario where I am frantically searching for a hiding spot for all my t shirts worth retaining.

So yeah. Currently I am wallowing in self pity at the loss of these t-shirts. I am going to have to start aggressively looking for new favorite garments. Maybe a new girlfriend. But I'm not too sure about that. Which reminds me, I should probably never let these floozies see my awesome Pink Floyd boxers. I will jump out of my fourth floor apartment window if I ever lose those.