Death of a Gerbil

Once, many moons ago (well, way after the Mayans all died off, so not quite THAT long ago-- hell, it was even after tight-rolling your jeans was cool, so really.. just a few years ago), I had a brief friendship with a fella who shall remain nameless.  (Let's just say that currently, he apparently has a thing for foxes.)  ANYWAY, this fox fella, he once said to me "never let the truth get in the way of a good story."  Fucking fantastic words to live by.  But yesterday, it occurred to me that, you know, what if the truth IS the good story?  Because sometimes, I come up with some pretty stupid shit that I've said and done throughout the years.  And in this little nugget of shitheadded awesome, I did not, in fact, let the truth get in the way of a good story, and friends, this is just a taste of what a horrible person I really am.  As I think I scarred some of my siblings for at LEAST a couple of days.

As anyone who knows me knows, I'm pretty open about shitting and farting and find such matters utterly hilarious.  Basically, I'm a 13 year old boy caught in the body of a 35 year old woman.  Not such a bad way to live, you ask me.  And I will never forget that one fine day on a hot summer afternoon while driving my two sisters and one of my brothers to god knows where (a detail that no one gives a shit about, least of all me).  So, we're driving and this lovely woman, me, squawked out some pretty foul smelling air shit.  I rolled up the windows in the middle of July and fucking cranked up the heat.  And if any of you have ever done that, you know and can appreciate the complete and total satisfaction of torturing your passengers.  In fact, it should absolutely be one of the things you need to put on the über hip Bucket List of Things To Do Before You Die.

Ok, back to this story, that isn't really even much of a story:

So, I've got three of my adolescent siblings trapped in the back of my car, hot as fuck, windows rolled up, heat cranked on high.  I can barely see them because the gas is just horrific.  Through incessant whining and begging and pleading for relief (I gave them none), they asked me "Jesus, Sissy, why do your farts smell SO BAAAAD??  Mom's aren't even that bad!"  I looked 'em dead in the eyes and said "A gerbil died in my ass and now it's rotting.  I can't get it out so I have to keep farting till it shoots itself out of my ass and into my underwear.  Pooping is a real bitch right now."

Suddenly, it got real fucking quiet in there.  The questions came later.