Oh My Canadian Ass

The computers are pretty packed in here in the Com Sci building. Not much room for air. I can hear people breathe behind me and beside me. It's not the sound I'm afraid of, it's the smell.

You see shitty thing is that farting is much more embarrassing than just the sounds they make. It's the smell that really gets me. Pushing it into the seat just isn't enough anymore. You see, I've learned to cook with my slow-cooker. Only slow-cooker chili can cook-up deep-down gas of that potency. Hot, Long and Silent. These slow-cooked creepers are deep-down deadly. (wow. illiteration. weird.) I'm powerless to stop these perfect killers.

First I try one out. Let it out, listening. Nothing. Excellent, no-one will know it's me. Stage one is a success. I wait a few seconds and take a whiff just to see what I'm dealing with here. When this monkey can't take his own smell... well I'm in trouble. It's bad, unnatural. The mantra in my head it "He who smelt it, delt it. He who..." I'm starting to sweat.

There a few ways you can tell if Canadians you don't know can smell your ass. First, they clear their throats. Then, eye's darting to identify the source. When that finds nothing their next move is to make excuses to look around 'naturally' to search out the tell-tale signs of the perpetrator pretending not to smell it. It's those scared lying eyes that give you away.

Look we've all done it. we all know what to look for. I've never been blame for a smell i didn't make and i've denied many smells i did. People know. They just know.

Eitherway, I'm sure people know. Next time I left, and released my shame on the way to the john. Hung around in the can for a while and came back. Didn't the bastard follow me. I just packed up my bags and when home where a can fart fearlessly and sit infront of the fan.


Today's Song of the Day is "West End Blues" by Louis Armstrong off the 1923 album "The Hot Fives Vol. 3."

Crazy Fact: "West End Blues" became one of the first recordings named to the Grammy Hall of Fame.

njoy