I really can't believe I haven't blogged this one yet. It comes from 1989 (give or take).
My friend Maija and I were babysitting at a friend's house and we were playing pool after the kids went to bed. I was twelve. Maija was always a lot cooler than me, in many ways, but this story has to do with her ability to fart on command. So she farted, on command, and I was pretty jealous. I decided it couldn't be that hard to do, and started trying to push a fart out. Pushing and pushing and...suddenly I had to RUN to the bathroom.
Up the stairs I ran. Into the bathroom. Whipped down my shorts. Sat down. I thought for sure I had crapped my pants. I looked in my underwear. Nothing. I looked in my shorts. Nothing. I looked everywhere. Nothing. Hmmm. Curious.
But then I saw, on the OUTSIDE of my shorts, a tiny turd.
It's like my fart blew so fast through my underwear and shorts that it didn't have time to solidify until it made it safely outside. I don't know? You tell me.
3 comments:
Those little sneaky ones are quick and sticky. Who knows how they operate.
Mitch is reading this post right now and almost peeing his pants he's laughing so hard. He says that's a "classic jailbreak"
I was in your pants until you ran UPSTAIRS at an impressive rate. I was hanging on by a hair when you flipped your shorts so fast it sprung me up up up and then I got a grip on your shorts. Phew n pee u. I stunk bad azz, I remember.
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