August 11, 2004
speaking of farts
When we left the motel in Illinois, we headed over toward Indiana, just to add another state to our list. We didn't eat breakfast that morning. Recondo stopped at a WE GOT IT ALL store for some gas and I smelled chicken frying. Sure enough, the place had a chicken-kitchen in the back and they were just bringing a hot batch of battered chicken livers out of the fryer.
I like fried chicken livers. I bought six and ate 'em all in the car around 11:00 in the morning. Recondo was getting extremely homesick for his own toilet, so we hopped the Interstate for the first time on this trip. We drove to Indianapolis, then took I-64 toward Lousiville, Kentucky.
By the time we crossed the border into Kentucky, those chicken livers were beginning to percolate. I needed to unload some gas, so I eased one cheek off the leather seat and let loose a whomper. Recondo is half-deaf and the fart didn't smell, so he didn't notice.
But I felt another one coming just a few miles farther down the road. I performed the same cheek-lift off the seat and produced something loud and growling, with a tail on it like an alien creature. Whoa! THAT was a nice 'un!
"What?" Recondo asked.
"I didn't say anything," I replied. Still, no lingering aroma from TWO gaseous butt-explosions.
But I wasn't finished yet. As were were riding through Louisville, I turned loose a third blast that sounded like someone ripping up linoleum from an old kitchen floor. That third one had some fallout and hang-time, too.
"Damn!" Recondo said. "There must be a paper mill around here somewhere. Smells just like rotten eggs."
"Yeah," I agreed, "must be a paper mill."
I couldn't help myself. A fourth one came rolling down the pike and I let it go. It was loud enough that even half-deaf Recondo heard THAT one and the aroma was so bad that I disgusted even myself.
"Got-dam, Smith!" Recondo bellowed, while rolling down his window. "You are a rotten bastard." I had to agree. When YOUR OWN farts start to smell bad TO YOU, you ARE a rotten bastard.
"I think I have weapons of mass destruction up my ass," I told Recondo. "I believe that we should stop in Lexington for some disarmament. Once we find a motel room, you can call UN inspectors if you want to, but trust me. I WANT to disarm."
We spent the night in Lexington.
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