Neanderpundit

Made spaghetti & meatballs last night. Sampled the sauce all afternoon as it cooked. Woke with what can only be described as death dealing hell farts. The acid in the sauce gave them an acridity you usually don’t experience, and the meatballs were- well, freaky. I hit the john before five, and am happy to have made it in time.

At least until he can fart properly again.

My uncle Calvin was showing me his blackberries one day, and cut forth with a long drawn out series of what, for lack of a better word, I call “motorboat farts”. Dry and droll as ever, he remarked ‘A man can fart like that, can’t be too much wrong with him”

I tend to agree. Fart well, Aman. And we’re looking forward to a Fartcast. Which is like a podcast, only without the aroma.

Aside from waking to a fresh puddle of cat puke, the nimrod had filled the litterbox so full that there was no more room for anything. So the wife cleans it out, a distasteful job under any circumstances, but when it’s this full I think, hell, leave the litterbox alone, stop feeding the cat.

Anyway, god forbid the literbox be clean for twelve seconds, the cat has to come in and leave a deposit. Then after a few seconds of careful scraping, he RUNS AWAY FROM THE BOX like the HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES was hot on his tail. I swear to god,he cleared one of the kitchen chairs. If I could get him to move off my spot on the bed that fast, I’d be pleased. Fucktard.