Plankton

Went to the dentist today to get my implants checked out. They were fine, but I had a fart brewing in me for about an hour before the next appointment.  I held it in. In spurts.  But when I got out it tornadowed like a mother fucker on 6^th ave. Then I got on the subway downtown. And, wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing started brewing again. I started bloating like a gulping belly whale.

I got out at 15^th St. and went to the dermatologist. My stomach started making noises like a garbage disposal eating a bicycle chain. Then I started to try to cough away the farts…as in aheeeehhhhhheeeeeeemmmmmmm-fffffffffff-ttttttt. Stank.

I got called in to my appointment and came out skin cancer-free. But I had a fart in me like a 13-month old baby.

So I pay my bill while squeezing my cheeks. Then I casually, tight-cheekeked, strolled out.  I hit 6^th Ave and the air FLIES. I walked two whole blocks with my ass farting. It was glorious. I felt like I gave birth to a baby gas giant planet.

This is what it seemed like walking from 15^th St to 16^th St: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbhhhhhhhttttttttttttttttttttttttrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhpppppppppppp. This is what it felt like: “Phrt.” Squeek?

Saw The Afghan Whigs alone and Lotion with Joe last week. I have stories to tell. Stay tuned. Joe is one cooooool duuuude. Gin? JD? Eggplant? Pepperoni? Chicken? A mile walk to the 1 train? A night on my couch? This man can adapt.