Passing Gas A Rude Boy


It’s not an Olympic sport but passing wind is free form, like free style figure skating or swimming. 

The only difference between the two is that passing wind is frowned upon by society.  There are no trophies or bouquet of flowers for people who pass wind in public.

Point of correction.  It is not my intention to do it in public.  It is the natural act itself claiming its right to be.  When it is time for the wind to exit my body, off it goes. 

It does not care where I am: attending a workshop, waiting to pay at the grocery store or at the bank, to find out why my balance is minus zero when I thought I had $20 left.  This is a hypothetical situation you understand.

Passing wind has no sense of timing.  Let’s just call it like it is. Example.  A young man has been making moves on a young woman for months.  She finally agrees on a date.  He tells his homies that he’s just about to clinch the deal. 

She arrives dressed to kill and knows the difference between China and Korea, and basketball history.  The wind chooses that moment to drift by.  Did she just do that, pass the wind?  The look on her face screams, I’m the guilty one.

Bad example.  It could be anyone in that room.  The killer is the elevator.  I pass the wind and someone enters on the second floor.  OMG!  I’m going to the 14th floor and he is going to 16, and the elevator is smelling like the beans I had for lunch.

I can see the person who just entered the elevator frowning.  Do I apologise for passing the wind or just ignore the pollution?

He knows!  It’s just the two of us.  I’m the culprit.

“Have a nice day!” I say as I exit on the 14th floor.  What can I say?

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