Explosive

Gas is a pretty funny thing. I mean, it doesn’t take a stroke of comedic genius to know that farting and burping are tumultuously entertaining, especially when flames are involved. But, think outside of that. Think to those times when you’re so bloated and distended that you can’t decide if you’re having a heart attack or actually experiencing death, at it’s finest, and stop looking so coy! Everyone has gas, at least 200 ml at any given time to be exact, and you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been there, you’ve done that, and you’ve sat there praying to Jesus in his sweet baby manger with little baby Einstein toys floating above {shout out to Love Bites on that one} to give you the power you need to just, well?, let ‘er rip.

That was me last night. I was sitting on the couch with a bulging belly outlined on its underside by my jeans and on the top by my tank top, both legs pointing straight out, my hands resting gently on my bulge, stoned out of my fucking mind.

At first I felt beyond nauseated, which led to me screaming at Avery to go to the drugstore and get me a pregnancy test before I actually did him bodily harm. I like to think that most women follow that logic: If you feel sick to your stomach at a completely random time and haven’t had any alcoholic beverages to cause a babbelas or anything to eat that is out of the ordinary, you flip and think you are pregnant. Before he left, Avery thought it would be a good idea to pack a bowl for me, so as to make me feel better. I love him dearly, he’s a phenomenal scientific mind, but he has a vagina for brains when it comes to anything medical, particularly when it comes to me. After all, this is the guy who, knowing full well I’m deathly allergic to pine nuts, made a meal in which every dish had pine nuts.

I was at the point of feeling so horrible that I would do anything just to feel better, so I hit the pipe, and then became much acquainted with the feeling of being completely subdued and feeling disgusting. It’s not pleasant. I don’t recommend it. I was laying on the couch staring at the wonders of our apartment ceiling and contemplating all the profound things that come to mind when one thinks of a ceiling, all the while praying to just vomit already so I can feel better, when things sort of shifted from that nauseated feeling to straight pain. Not just any pain, though. It was like I had too many things inside me and was going to burst. It was the pain of too much goddamn pressure inside me, and instead of my stomach hurting, my chest was killing me. Heart Attack! That’s all I could think, and I layed there thinking at the age of 22 I’m too young to die like this. Dying cause I tried something on my snowboard that I thought was death defying but obviously wasn’t, that’s fine, but a heart attack? Come now! How was God going to play me like that?

Avery came back, I told him how I felt, and he told me it sounds the same as when his Mom has really bad gas. Naturally, he had to go back to the drugstore to get me something for gas, and came back with GasX. I downed about 5 pills, and wallowed in the misery of how absolutely ghastly I felt, when I guess either my body gave into the mastery that is my mind control or the pills started to work. All of a sudden I turned into the ice cream man, if the ice cream man’s song was comprised of various alternating horns all playing a single flat note. They were the kind of farts that men gloat about. They were long, they were loud, they were full of force, and I even admit that I was rather impressed with myself at first. Avery sat on the other side of the couch just looking at me amazed, and all I could say was “At least they don’t smell.”

So, there I was, sitting on the couch, pants unbuttoned, shirt up to where my boobs would be if I had any, stoned out of my mind, so full of gas that I actually thought that at any minute I would actually take flight from the force of the gas coming out of me, with my boyfriend sitting near me laughing uncontrollably. He actually called our friends and held the phone up so they could hear me letting loose, and if they didn’t pick up, well I’m sure that’s an amazing voicemail to receive.

All-in-all, once the GasX started working, it wasn’t bad. Not only did I get to sleep in the bed all by myself because Avery was scared I’d fart all over him, which I think is absolutely ludicrous given he is the master of the Dutch oven in my world which is saying a lot since I have four brothers and a father who are all very open about their gas and spent 18 years of my life sharing a room with Mattai, but I was so cozy and warm all night.

Yum!