While blogsurfing this morning, I made my way over to one of my favorite bloggers, Bluz. Part of it is that he's just so balls to the wall truthful, about all manner of things. This is what caught my eye:
Bluz Mother: Tell Uncle Bluz what you did in Sunday School.
Sammy: I busted one.
Bluz: What did the other kids say?
His post got me thinking.
When I was younger, I was obsessed with farts. Trying to make them loud, trying to make them quiet, trying to make them last, trying to make them go away.... Then one magical day (after a story my mom told us, God love her) me and my brother stumbled onto this idea so magical, so brilliant that it must've been handed down from God himself.
We were going to try to bottle and save a fart.
There was a lot of trial and error in this process, let me tell you. We tried Folgers containers(good to the last drop!), mason jars, plastic bags, but nothing really worked. Farts are sly. Farts are sneaky. Somehow, they just...leaked out.
Then, as we were about to scrap this whole idea, enter the plastic bubble.
You know those quarter machines? They dispense all kinds of shit-terrible prizes, encased in those plastic bubbles? Yeah.
We had three or four of those, and we both went to work. You had to be quick, and cap them almost instantly.
We spent probably a whole day doing this. Then, we just sort of...lost track of those bubbles.
It was about a year, maybe even two years later when we located one of those plastic bubbles. We could tell it was one of our 'special' ones, because my brother had considerately written 'fart' across the bottom.
We studied it, like an artifact from an ancient culture. There was never really any doubt that we would open it. We argued over who would do the sniff test, though. We finally decided to open it with both of our faces crowded close together.
I could describe the smell to you, but I'll leave you with just one final thought.
Let me just say... Those things keep.