No, before you ask, this is not one of my Made Up Band Names post,
because as band names go, this one would be kind of weak, I have to say. (Like
what genre of music would a band have to be in to pull this one off? Joke
Gothic? Clown Metal Punk? I have no idea.) No, this is literally a thing people
would’ve needed for me today. I would’ve needed an actual obituary that
explained that my cause of death was a shower fart cause that almost totally
happened. I can see this alternate reality in which this obituary would’ve been
written.
“The Bloody Munchkin died on Friday, May 4th, of
head trauma related injuries after she let out a fart in the shower that was so
potent that it caused her to faint, fall in the shower, hit her head hard
enough that she lost consciousness. She was found several hours later by her
husband. The cause of death was immediately identified by the potent whiff of
fart left lingering in the air. She is survived by….”
The Eulogy would be outstanding:
“I want to talk about The Bloody Munchkin, beloved wife, mother, shower farter….”
“I want to talk about The Bloody Munchkin, beloved wife, mother, shower farter….”
And the Epitaph. Oh the Epitaph! Can you imagine?
THE BLOODY MUNCHKIN May she RIP ones for all Eternity
This was almost a thing that actually happened today. I mean
it was real touch and go there for a second. Let me explain how though. So I
have this not fun at all cold that has left my sinuses in a ruined shambled. My
sinuses have become the olfactory equivalent of Thunderdome. Two go in, but
only yellow snot comes out. So the smells that come in my system are trapped
there for the time being.
So I’m in the shower and I fart. This itself was touch and
go. The gas hit me with such force and so abruptly that I wasn’t quite sure
what might be coming out of me at that very moment. Caught off guard and with
my sinuses left defenseless, I was unprepared for what did come out of me. Eu De “dead skunk stuffed inside a rotting zebra carcass” might be putting it
mildly. Actually, a better description might be what my dog’s breath smells
like after eating what ever’s been lying on the ground in the hot sun for three
days followed by a grass burp chaser, but since you’ve never had the
displeasure of knowing what that smells like (wish I could say the same, but I’m
not that lucky) you’re just gonna have to trust me when I say it was pretty
bad. So bad that my head spun for a bit and I had quite the hard time getting
my bearings, so I swayed a little bit. It was that powerful. I had to lean on
the shower wall and hack up a lung for a while. It was not pretty.
And somehow this alternate reality popped into my brain, and
I thought how embarrassing it would be if I actually went out like that. I
mean, it would be my luck to go out like that. I think I’m genetically wired to
go out or at least get injured in the clumsiest way possible. My mom broke her
wrist on her way to our porch because she was reading the paper and missed a
step. She also recently bruised some ribs because she stumbled over a crack in
some pavement because she was changing the song on her iPod. The less said
about some of my more clumsy moments almost leading to my death the better.
There’s something about my family tree that leads me to believe I won’t go out
in a blaze of glory or even a romantic, consumptive way, but I’ll be doing
something totally random like tying my shoe or trying to cut up some vegetables
and then I stop paying attention for 3.2 seconds and boom! Curtains!
So I guess this my friendly reminder to live everyday to the
fullest because you could be taken out by your own shower farts. You’re
welcome.
And in light of news that Adam Yauch, AKA Beastie Boys' MCA just passed away, I'd like to reiterate that life it incredibly too short. I feel like a piece of my childhood just died. In fact I haven't felt this bad about a celebrity since Pat Morita died. Cultural touchstone people! I almost thought about not posting this, but given MCA told me I had to fight for my right to party, I really don't think he'd mind much.
