Fuck: I've Already Farted in All of My Classes

Okay, before we get started I want it to be known that this isn’t a statement that I wanted to make. I thought they would come out silently; you’d go about your day with nothing but a subtle, lingering taste of baba ganoush in your mouth, and I’d go about my day with the satisfaction of knowing that I put it there. But as we all know, toots have a mind of their own - and now I need to address mine. 

Thankfully, this isn’t the first time I have been in this position. Something about my middle school dances would bring out the worst in me, literally, and I got used to making apologies to unlucky, oftentimes surprisingly understanding, 7th grade slow dance partners. My school actually stopped doing “Snowball” slow dances and began just switching dance partners every time I let it rip. While assuming the role of the snowball farter came with the typical stress and glory of being on top, I became a machine at that shit - 1 fart every 2.3 minutes exactly..

College classes aren’t as understanding, though. Econ 001, the first class to feel the wrath of my last meal, got an especially bad one. Luckily, I was able to successfully blame it on the guy sitting next to me, whose name I later found out was Pedro after I had heard he’d transferred schools out of shame of my infamous fart. When it happened I went, “Oh my gawwwddd! The guy sitting next to me whose name I will soon find out is Pedro just had a stinky stinky fart! Pedro, you’re so fartttyyyy!”. Do I feel bad about what happened to Pedro? Dangerous lifestyles have dangerous consequences. I knew I’d bring people down with me from the beginning. 

The second one wasn’t as easy to blame on someone else. It was in a one on one meeting with my Philosophy professor. I panicked and tried the Pedro excuse again, but it didn’t work nearly as well this time. When that didn’t work I tried to blame it on the professor but he was adamant that he only farts around his favorite students. All things considered, though, he was pretty chill about it. He just let out a little giggle, and a little cough, and then started referring to me as Farty McQueefster to my classmates. Teachers have put me through worse. 

Now, just three weeks into college - I’m beginning to lose track of who I really am, as I am becoming Farty McQueefster. My passions, desires, and relationships are fading into the background as I am becoming one with my farts. Sometimes, when I smell my fart, I take in a big whiff and whisper to myself “that is me, and I am it”. Even my mom calls me Mr. McQueefster now. If this is being published, then it means it's probably too late for me. But, next time you’re sitting in class and get a fleeting whiff of McQueefster across your face, just know that there is a human being behind those farts. Queefster out.