Wednesday, January 09, 2013

wind-break break

Some people step outside of their offices for a smoke break. Tonight, I had to step outside for a fart break.
The problem was becoming embarrassing. Gluck gluck gluck, said my small intestine during class, despite the fact that I hadn't eaten anything all day-- certainly nothing that would cause all this gas. Bloot bloot bloot, answered my colon in its best German accent. The subterranean syllables of this gastric conversation were easily audible to the three students sitting across from me; as my insides inflated, the situation was fast approaching a threshold of bearability. In a few minutes, I was going to have to either fart or shit. I was betting on fart-- my colon didn't feel as if it were harboring a planet-destroying Genesis device. At a guess, all this noise was an empty threat: baleful borborygmi.

But the pressure continued to mount as millions of bacteria churned out their waste gases. You realize, of course, that a human fart is in truth a metafart: we fart out the farts of our intestinal flora. Finally, I said to my charges, "I'll be back," but instead of heading back toward the restroom, I made a beeline for the front door. "I'm going out to my car," I told K, who was in the front office as I exited. I saw her smile and nod.

It was cold outside, and dark. I strode purposefully across the parking lot, got out my keys, unlocked my car, and sat inside. I knew that, by sitting down, my gut would press against my belt, and the belt's return pressure against my gut would help propel the gas out of me. It took but a moment for the first fart to occur.

Frrrrrrrt, declared my ass, perorating directly into the car seat. I waited, for I knew these things arrived in pairs. Sure enough: a more subtle brrrrrrffff happened a moment later. The relief was immense and intense: I hadn't realized, until that moment, how desperately I had been clenching my sphincter shut while inside the tutoring center. And as I suspected: no odor. No odor meant no poop. My colon was an empty gun, an impotent Death Star. All praise and honor be unto Thee, O Cthulhu, Lord of Flatulence.

I walked back inside, a spring in my step. No one was any the wiser.


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