making a big stink

You know how some people will try to convince you that their shit don't stink?

I'm not one of those people.

In fact, I'm the first to admit that I can be awfully farty. The amount and intensity varies on what I've been eating, but usually I fart several times a day and they're nothing too dire. Occasionally, though, my flatulence is so foul it could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon.

For example, when G and I were in Vegas, I was standing at a ticket redemption machine and let one rip. The noise was drowned out by conversation and the electronic doodling of slot machines, but there was nothing to be done for the smell. Christ, I would have welcomed a stogie smokin' man strolling by at that point.

"Oh my god!" G moaned, pulling his shirt up over his nose. "Jesus, baby!"

I reacted in the only way I could: breaking out into gales of laughter.

"It's not funny! I think my nose hairs caught fire!"

Fast forward to last Friday, around 3AM. I woke up from a weird dream about seeing Watchmen with my mom and G, and I realized I had to pee. I reluctantly climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, and then I hurried back and pulled the comforter over my head because it was freezing in my apartment and I'm too damn cheap/broke to turn on the heat. Sighing contentedly, I fell asleep...

...and woke up about an hour later, flinging the covers off me as though they were on fire. It took a second to realize what had woken me up this time, but even though I was horrified, I had to laugh.

Dear Reader, I'd dutch ovened myself.