Being One With My O-Ring

Ok, so I heard from my nephew Jared that he doesn't much care for bidets. I wholeheartedly agree with him. There is something unnatural about having warm water squirted on my "grommet", to clean up after going #2.

I've experienced that once myself. Uh uh, not ever again. If I want warm water sprayed on my "bungalow" then I will be in a shower. That's it. That's only it.

Speaking of O-rings. My wife and I got into a discussion about whether someone knows whether a fart is going to turn out "juicy" or not. I believe that this is an inherent genetic ability of men. We just know when a fart is a fart and when it is not. Of course, there are instances when we fool ourselves.

Take for instance: Once, in my much younger days, a bunch of us guys were sitting around the firehouse lighting farts. Man, you should have seen all of those flames shooting out of our nether regions. Some were like flame throwers, other like little balls of flaming gas.

I was sooooo ready when it came to my turn. I was wearing coveralls and work pants. The minute I got my legs up and that flame ready, I let go. Literally. Woof. And I am not talking flamage. I am talking leakage. Major leakage. Seems my rings was a bit loose from something I had eaten over the last few days. Whether it was the Raisin Bran or other greasy stuff, I let loose.

It is incredible how fast your sphincter can clamp down the minute it discovers an escapee from the colon factory. *Ka-Chang*!!! "All hands set Dog Zebra". We have a leak. My butt cheeks slammed together tighter than the skin on Bruce Jenners face.

I stood up, non-chalantly walked (waddled) slowly towards the bathroom, with my butt cheeks locked together so tight, you couldn't have slid a credit card between them. This ATM was closed!!!

Once in the bathroom, I hit the shower. Slid off my coveralls, checking for noticeable "bacon strips" or grease marks, and then removed my pants. These went immediately into the garbage, as did my tighty "non-whiteys". After a quick shower and change of clothes, badda boom, badda bing, I was back in action. Never to be remarked on or mentioned in front of others again.

Ah the joys of youth!!!