I own a few log cabins in different regions of the world. I usually go to these cabins by myself. One reason is that I can really just allow myself to enjoy nature in its most primitive form. Another reason is that I freak the fuck out when I do a lot of peyote and it is best that people aren’t around me. Last night I was enjoying a Elk steak dinner at one of these cabins (I would tell you where if it wasn’t for the Pirate Ninjas) when I felt a little butt bubble brewing down below. As I have already said I was alone. So I executed the half cheek tilt maneuver and let out what I was planning on being an award winning fart. How wrong I was. The second that the fart started to happen I knew I was in trouble. There was an overwhelming feeling that a fart should not feel like that. It felt a lot like something else. It felt like I had shat myself. Low and behold I had guessed correctly. There is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness when something like that happens to you. Even if the bathroom is five feet from you the irreparable psychological damage has already been done. It made me think a lot about my mortality and getting older. Once I reach the age when it has become a daily occurrence that this could happen to me, I need to pull the plug. I will probably kill myself in some heroic fashion. Perhaps, a Viking funeral while I am still alive. Either that, or I could try to make a better effort to bring an extra pair of undies and stop doing massive amounts of peyote.
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