No, not the store The GAP, the gap since my last post. Has it been 6 days? This is what I mean about having a job. I like to eat and have a roof over my head, and often that takes priority over posting here. Sorry. I’m really apologizing to myself since I am blissfully free of readership. I still have the spammy bots though, which try to post helpful crap on the site in the guise of comments to my posts. They are all the same. The robot wants to help my site get noticed. I love most robots, just as I love most people. But I do not love asshole robots or asshole people. I also love happy memories of things I have seen. These things rarely involve puppies.
Today for some unknown reason I was reminded of a high school basketball story. We had been practicing pretty hard and everyone was getting tired. One of the players went for a rebound and as he did so, some inner pressure that had built up within his lower digestive system became too much for nature’s release valve to handle. The combination of physical activity and a ton of gas, probably caused by cafeteria fish sticks, pushed the sphincter to its limits and, as it performed its designed function, a loud blap echoed through the gym. Our coach (who has since gone on to become somewhat well-known in high-school and college basketball circles despite being an asshole) immediately blew his whistle to stop play.
He went on and on about how farting while playing basketball was uncouth and that he considered the gymnasium to be his house. And that we were visitors in his house. One of the other players had been at the other end of the court and was walking back to where we stood. Just as he rejoined our group, but before he could hear any of the pious anti-farting lecture, the kid rips a monster. He really “roasted the pigeon” as I like to say. This was one of the most excellent things I have ever witnessed. The coach turned all pink and then red. He was pissed. We all started laughing of course because it’s like when your dad is having a meltdown and you realize how absurd it is and you start laughing and then get your ass kicked by your dad and even though he’s punching you in the head you are still laughing. Dads love that.
My coach was a dick. He didn’t care that no one had washed their jock strap for a month or that a couple of players smelled of ammonia. That’s fine. He actually thought the gymnasium was his grand home and that we had defiled it with a single fart. Thing is, he was only about 25 at the time, so he had to be a real jerk from his very spawning onward. I hope that now, in his senior years, he can barely keep his own sphincter shut long enough to get to the bathroom.
More stories later if the spirit moves me. – Phil Reebius