Passing gas is sometimes considered a reaction to a good meal from a satisfied consumer, but actually farts are made during the release of gas that your body produces during digestion. My farts however are starting to push my friends away. I have always farted throughout my life, like most people, but recently things have been getting out of control. I think it has to do with all the meat substitutes, vegetables and beans that go along with any vegetarian diet. The meat substitutes look and taste like meat, but there is no feeling of guilt while eating the soul of a dead fluffy, cuddly chicken.
Due to the fact that most fake meat is made primarily of soybeans it is starting to take over my digestive system, aka the fart factory. I never have a stomach ache or massive amounts of diarrhea, but the gas my body produces is deadly to the human nose. I can feel my farts singeing my nose hairs as I turn my head back to take in the sniffle. I do this as a warning to myself so I know how the present company will react and what immediate action should be taken. I sometimes pretend to be doing a little dance to wave away the stench that is coming through my jeans ready to invade the innocent nostrils surrounding me.
One time I was in a well-known dancing establishment getting loose on the dance floor when I accidentally let one get away while getting down low. As the molecules started to bounce off each other, the noses began to turn and people fled for the doors. Luckily I had prior knowledge to the terrorist gas attack that was being unleashed and I was the first to evacuate the dance floor. Since there were so many people getting busy on the dance floor at the time of the incident, it was impossible for them to identify the culprit.
My friends have stopped inviting me to dinners for fear of eating tiny poop fragments floating from my sphincter to their food. I sometimes get scared at friendly get-togethers because I'll never know when the beasts will be unleashed. The most common phrase I will hear in a night is "Oh, Charlie!" followed by a thesaurus of words describing their displeasure with me.
My girlfriend has the worst of it. She gets the Dutch Oven at least 10 times a night. Every time I pass gas I can see the romantic feelings she has for me dying bit by bit. It's only a matter of time till I get a one-way ticket to Dumpsville. I'm hairy, unemployed and chubby. Soon the stink will get to her, and I'll be left in an empty bed filled with only my farts to snuggle with.
Perhaps I can start putting my farts to use and become a professional farter. I could dress up like an asshole and push air through my asshole. Maybe I can be hired by some kind of fetish fart lover on the internet where I will be given compensation and become a huge rock star for my "Air Bowel-ads."