You may need to back away from your monitors once or twice while reading this post because I don't know what sort of noises and odors will come along with the words.
You see, I'm gassy. I think I've added a little extra fiber to my diet, but I'm not pooping more. In fact, I'm pooping a bit less. Instead, I'm farting. It's not stinky most of the time, but we are talking audible farts here.
I go to church and sit there with my cheeks clenched trying not to let loose with a whopper that can be heard over the angelic sounds of the choir. I walk across a parking lot, along the sidewalk, down the street, and worry who might be behind me because I know I'm going to cut the cheese good and loud. No two ways about it.
I gave the dogs their breakfast one morning and BRRRRRRRRRWWWWWTTTTTTTT let her rip so loud that the boys all jumped back from their bowls. I could outgun Hell's Angels with my butt.
What to do, what to do, Oh Lordy, what to do?
Good thing I lost my teaching job or those kids who pretend to be so tough would, in reality, be frightened and appalled by the cloud that currently follows me.
Ahhhhhh, there goes another one.
Run, I say, run! I don't know where it might land and sometimes they are squirty.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble
And my butt bubbles.
Infinities of love,
Lola the Windy Shakespeare