Ever since my significant other and I chowed down on four monster beef and bean burritos earlier today, we cannot stop friggin' farting. It's like my goddamn butt hole, which in our family, we call our Fart Gun, has an endless supply of ammunition. And these are above average farts, too. Long staccato puffs of methane gas are ripping out of my anus, even as we speak.
Unfortunately, I haven't been able to take a shit yet to help get some of these ass blasting clouds of death out of my bowels. Damn you, El Monterey burritos! Get the hell out of my belly! I think you're killing my cat!
My cat, Victor, has been hiding his little furry face in the chair next to me for hours now. I'm debating on whether or not to check his pulse. I don't see any part of his body rising or lowering to suggest he's still breathing. Hold on a sec and I'll check him out.
Hell, I didn't have to. My wife just cut the cheese, from the bedroom and prompted Victor to poke his head up in fright. Then he looks over at me as if to say, "Is the monster going to get me, daddy?" Before I could respond to his imaginary inquiry, I just blew out a slew of air biscuits, further scaring the shit out of him. I wish somebody could scare the shit out of me right now. I think it would relieve the pressure so I could feel better.
My blinking brown eye is nearly raw and almost bleeding from all the colon calamities that have ensued!
Unfortunately, I don't have any Gas-X pills or that pink stuff, Pepto Bismol. My bloated belly is so loaded down with windy pops and booty bombs that I think I'm going to explode. Lord, help me, please!
Oh goddamn it... There goes another one! What in the unholy hell of Sphincter Turbulence is going on here. Is there no end to this?