Arepas and Gravy

I don’t like to talk about flatulence, passing gas, farting, whatever you want to call it. I don’t think it’s a topic for polite company, and I could go the rest of my life without ever hearing a single fart joke.

The obvious pun

But something must be said about Señor’s special powers.

Señor’s flatulence is like a chemical weapon. If Senor doesn’t want me around, he knows what to do. You may have noticed that there isn’t much plant life around our apartment. That’s not urban blight.

In fact, if Señor were a wild animal, he wouldn’t have any need for teeth or claws or camouflaging markings. Oh no, his only defense mechanism would be the massive stink he is able to beget from his hind end. By this date in evolution, the Señor species would have no natural predators.

I married a special, special creature.

Tags: Marriage

This entry was posted on Monday, December 7th, 2009 at 5:00 am and is filed under Marriage. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.