Yesturday was Fat Tuesday and my co-workers and I, decided that the nightside staff would order Cajun foods and celebrate. We had the most delectible plethora of spicy food stuffs you could ever imagine, although it wasn't authentic it was Upstate NY Cajun.
Throughout the evening I felt a weariness beginning to grow within my gastro-intestinal loop. Upon returning to my fishbowl, I was under the furry of gaseousness produced by Cajun Upstate Fat Tuesday horror. It wasn't a sit on the can and pray you don't have to wipe yer shoulders evening. But it did prove to be a poor night for sleeping and I made it a point to involuntarily gag on numerous occasion due to the eminations from my lower O-ring. (Label11records guru and members of the Knoa affectionately call the recording venue down in NYC the fart tank....my apartment morphed into a similar venue)
I've never been a horrendous purvayor of gas...but last night I kept myself awake with the stench. It was a weird situation...it was so aweful that I reveled in my disgustingness. It made me laugh, it made my eyes water. I went out side to pass gas, and it followed me in, I had to check my underoos. Had I a little lady in my life I'm sure that the relationship would have ended on the spot, one evening, and it would be all over.
The lingering fetidness, the vileness, the malodorousness, the rancidity of my evening hung in the air like a dark green sinking cloud this morning. I don't usually keep my door open due to the rifraff that constantly meanders past, but today I welcomed the outside world, and watched as the foible of my evening egressed to the sunshine that is Downtown Schenectadirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment