The Fart Incident Of 1997

So do I baby, so do I.
So do I baby, so do I.

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On the eve of my departure from High School way back in 1997 my family took me out to dinner at Outback Steakhouse. After a wonderful dinner we drove home and discussed the coming months and my plans for the future. Because of the deeply seasoned cooking that Outback uses, I, as a result passed gas, emitting a horrible smell into the small car chamber, which contained my Mother and Father up front and my girlfriend and I in the back. The smell spread across the car like a tormented spirit. My girlfriend began screaming at me, knowing instantly it was mine. She scrambled to reach for the handle to open the window, clutching her hand tightly over her mouth and nose. It was too late. She had already vomited all over the backseat, and more importantly, on her own two feet. She was wearing sandals.

This happened so quickly my Mother wasn’t really sure what was going on in the backseat. In the midst of the veritable maelstrom of movement and smell my mother realized the problem. She whipped her head around to reprimand me. In this very action she inhaled a mouth full of my repugnant stench and let out a terrible scream. My mother screamed at my father to pull the car over, he did so without hesitation. My mother swung open her door and also began to vomit all over the side of the road. I began to chuckle to myself.

The chuckle became a laugh, and then evolved into a maniacal belly laugh, much like that of an evil villain in a movie. I rejoiced happily in the beautiful bit of wind breaking virtuosity I had just preformed. Hearing the noises coming from me, my mother in a red eyed fury with vomit dripping from her mouth screamed teary eyed the following statement: “You little shit ass, I’m going to kill you…you think this is funny?!?!!” I bent my head down, defusing my laugh in my hand. My girlfriend sat in silence staring at me. The car was silent. I peered through my fingers seeing my father in front of me with his head resting on the steering wheel, making a slight hammering motion with it against the wheel. With all eyes glaring at me the only noise that could be heard was the sound of my father hitting his head upon that wheel. My Mother gestured to my father to continue driving with a sharp extension of her arm like some kind of German dictator. My Father put the car in drive and we continued are home in complete silence.

And that is the fart incident of 1997.

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