by Sally Putterman
Some people would be very shocked if they heard me fart. Tooting is not who I am. It is not a part of my body’s vernacular. I’m not the type of person to let one rip in the middle of a party or a family gathering or even among my most intimate relations.
I save them up. I store them in the deepest recesses of my bootal cavity until an appropriate time and place presents itself, preferably someplace devoid of populace, someplace isolated. Usually the toilet. Then, oh but then, I release my gas with such power and passion that its glory knows no bounds.
When I am alone I am loud and proud, but in public I am silent but deadly.
“Who did that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I know it wasn’t her.”
As far as anyone else is concerned, I don’t do that sort of thing. Through skill and training I have been able to maintain my secret and protect my identity.
I am the Anti-Poot.