My lovely little E bought us tickets to "The" Stratford Festival's production of 'Into the Woods', which we traded for seats last night at the Avon. After seeing "House of Wax" in the theatre, we were in desperate need of the culture.
While on a washroom break at the end of Act 1, I heard some unfortunate individual have explosive diarrhea. Before I could give much thought to the obvious question ("How long was he waiting to drop THOSE kids off? Did he make poopie in his pants?") an unholy symphony of flatulence erupted from several of the posteriors lined up along the urinals. It sounded like Hot Butter practicing before a show!
I've fallen victim to contagious yawns many, many times--hell, just writing about yawning is making me yawn!--but I've never caught a fart.
And I can't say that I care to bear witness to such a rare beast as the "Creeping Fart" ever again.
But if I do, Gentle Reader, I will tell you all about it.
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