A monk pooping.

“Who Farted? It Wasn’t Me!”

Timmy and I have a lot in common. One of these attributes (special powers?) involves the ability to make fantastic farts.

Allow me to explain.

Loud farts are always funny; whether it’s from you or not, it’s always something you could make fun of. Of course, if it happens to you in public it’s also embarrassing. But that doesn’t make it unfunny.

Stinky farts are not always funny. But they are always embarrassing (and on very rare occasions, deadly) whether it’s coming from you or not.

Now Timmy and I could produce some of the loudest and stinkiest farts I’ve ever encountered my whole life. That’s what makes it fantastic! On very special days, we even have synchronized gassy attacks. (NOTE: This is especially true on days when we have eggs in our diet, specifically the boiled kind.) It’s like an orchestra–I play a tune, and a few minutes after he responds with equally beautiful music. Even better, it lasts the whole afternoon/night. Even when we sleep (or one of us does, and the other is trying to, thus we were able to tell this wonderful phenomenon continues even when we’re unconscious).

Don’t get me wrong–I know it’s gross.

Trump makes a face.
Yes. I know. (Image source)

But being gross is what human beings are naturally good at anyway. From the moment of conception, your father expels one half of you from the same tract where urine flows. When you’re mother gave birth to you, she probably did some pooping while on the delivery table in between trying to puff you out of her birth canal. (If you were born through a CS section, like me, you’re probably cleaner. But then you also gave your mother a permanent scar so don’t feel too smug.)

I totally forgot the point of this blog post. I don’t think it has any point at all.

Suffice it to say that Timmy and I were pretty gassy lately, especially since trying to have a “healthier” diet which consists of lots of fiber, and eggs once every three days. We both make fun of each other, and blame our farts to the other person most of the time. Which probably just evens it out. After all, both parties should be equal in a relationship. Except when they’re carrying heavy groceries–Timmy should always get the heavier one since he’s the bigger bee, but not by much.

As what the monks of Tibet say, farting in each other’s presence is a measure of true and everlasting love. And the monks of Tibet are the wisest freaking creatures on this planet. Why do you think they live so far away from us, gross average humans?

A monk pooping.
He even poops in contemplation. What a noble human being! (Image source)

P.S. Timmy just made three successive loud stinky farts as of this second. I love him so much.

 

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