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Foose Fart


As I mentioned before a coworker and I play foosball during our lunch most days. Sometimes we play more than just on our lunch, but who’s counting? When playing, I have a sort of wide stance that helps bring me closer to the foosball guys on the table…sort of helps me see the action.

But the other day the stance worked against me. Now rarely do I pass gas in public or outside the bathroom, but I guess my body felt comfortable dropping a small pop. And I was okay with that- I felt it’d be a silent passing and we’d be on our way.

However my sphincter had other plans. The pop was short like I expected, but I forgot the fundamentals of a fart: it still smells. And so when I caught a whiff of the wind of my breaking, I immediately stood up from my stance and walked away from the table. I played it off as me having difficulty focusing on the foosball game and I could only hope the trail of inside stench would follow me.

Luckily my opponent didn’t notice…or at least he was polite and said nothing. I’m glad this happened. It reminds me that I am alive. It reminds me that no matter how big or small the passing is, gas rhymes with ass, and neither is a good smell.

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