Neanderpundit

I just saw an article linking Obama to Oprah, and while I know she’s been selling his Kool-Ade for a while, I got a momentary flash of her lying on the ground while Dumbo Boy sailed in on spread ears wings and nailed her down.

Use your imagination. Have a barf bag handy. Yech.

So last week, in Ord, Nebraska, I’m putting in a servo-driven auto door on a machine. It’s a simple deal, really, just time consuming- but it involves a lot of climbing around on the machine to get it done.

I had treated myself to a Starbucks Carmel Frappucino (the only reason to go to Bucks, for me- I hate their coffee) earlier in the day, and the dairy products and caffeine invariably give me gas- sometimes, BAD gas. And I had eggs for breakfast, so the cloud was rising.

SO I’m standing on the front edge of the machine, leaning over, and one of the office women walks out right behind me. Her ear is at ass level, and just at that moment I felt a huge, horrid fart coming on.

And held it in.

I mean, I don’t know this woman from Adam, and everyone there was so nice, I was loathe to shit all over her head.

Damn, this holding farts in stuff is nasty. I don’t know how women do it. It only made it worse, later, when I could fart.

Pursuant to the post below, I have to talk about something I’ve kept hidden for a long time.

I have a genetic disorder. It’s rare, but it’s probably common amongst my readers. You, gentle reader, might have it too.

I cannot drive or walk past a sign that says “GUNS”.

This horrible disorder affects my every waking and sleeping hour. The longing for fine double rifles, the lust for old automatics, the dreams about the designs of John Moses Browning… it’s all too much to deal with every day.

Imagine the disapointment, every time I walk into a gun store and don’t walk out with a pristine Browning A-5 in Sweet Sixteen, or the sorrow I feel at having a largely inadequate gun cabinet, or the pain of not owning a brace of fine cased shotguns by Purdey or Holland & Holland.

Do something now before it’s too late. Millions suffer from this horrible disorder, and there is no cure. Imagine as the Oglet grows older, knowing that her father will always long for, but never own, the 470 Nitro Express that Merkel showed off at the Shot show.

Give till it hurts. And don’t forget the ammo.