Do all couples, married or not, in long-term relationships come up with ridiculous games to play with each other? Jeremy and I started playing a game in the mornings called, “Was That My Butt Or My Mouth?” Most of those knowing Jeremy can probably guess what this involves, but for those who do not I will explain. Jeremy has an uncanny ability of tossing out the Assberry Tarts. This happens often while he is showering…I am sure most men (and women, although they probably wouldn’t admit it) can relate. You’re in the shower, the water is all nice and hot, your still sleepy eyed…completely relaxed. You have virtually no control over the loosening of your balloon knot. We have a fairly deep and echo-y shower, so the sounds that emanate from my true love can be downright hilarious. Sometimes they are so hysterical, that I can’t help but bust up laughing because, DUDE, that sound just came out of your asshole! Yeah yeah, I know…farts are immature..blah blah blah….yeah, suck it. They are fucking funny and you know it! One day after this occurred, Jeremy started making farting noises and I had to determine if the noise was made with his mouth or with his butt. Sometimes it was plainly obvious, but other times it was not so easy. Luckily for me, I only had to wait a few moments before the answer was presented for me. Kind of like an open ass test!
We also started playing a game called “Guess What I Ate To Conjure Up That Gem?!” OK this isn’t actually a game we play together. It’s more of one I play by myself. Not with my own bombs (I don’t fart often enough to worry about this, just ask Jer), but with his. I am trying to make a mental list of all the items that make it smell like a dead Ton Ton is seeping from my husband’s nappy whale eye. That way when he eats one of them (no I am not the kind of wife that would ban her husband from eating the foods he loves), I can be mentally and physically prepared for the inevitable nuclear fall out. Jer was kind enough to tell me that the item that creates the smell that wakes me from a dead sleep, cursing God’s name, is none other than French Onion Dip. That could gag a maggot! Oh…I’m gettin’ all emotional just thinkin’ about it.
This leads me to another fine story on the same topic. The infamous bottled fart! Jer may dislike that fact that I am posting this but, babes don’t worry…I will even up the score. Back in the Spring of ’99, I was attending college at Wesminster University. During this college stint, I was living in the dorms and would often call Jeremy at night before I started my sheep count. One balmy evening, Jeremy tells me that he wishes I was with him so that I could partake of his ass magic. Well, of course being the smart ass that I am, I tell him to save me one. So he does. Into an empty Aquafina water bottle.
A few days go by before I am over at his house, again, and by this time he has completely forgotten about this bottle. I, however, remember because, as I will soon find out, I am a TOTAL MASOCHIST! We walk into his bedroom and I spot the bottle on his dresser. As I’m reaching for it, I say, “Oh is this what you saved me?” Had I seen the look on Jeremy’s face at this time, I would have made no mention of it and would have tried to destroy it before he remembered. From behind me was a look of sheer terror. Apparently, a bottle that seemed to me to have normal water bottle condensation, had been bone dry when Jer first added his Ass de’ Toilet to it. So, I dared to go where no one SHOULD EVER DARE TO GO! I cracked off the lid….and Jer proceeded to squeeze the offending stench from its opening. HOLY GOD IN HEAVEN! It was SO BAD that we had to open all the doors and windows of the house and bail. We didn’t go back for hours. Then for weeks later it was like flashbacks of ‘nam. You’d get just a hint of the smell and dive behind the couch screaming, FIRE IN THE HOLE!
Now to make things fair… here is a SHINING moment from my past. When I was about sixteen or seventeen I worked for a very brief time at a dry cleaners. I would say the name, but I honestly don’t remember what it was. One day I wasn’t feeling too hot, and had to go take care of business. Weeeellll…the toilet overflowed, terds were swimming for their life…it was not pretty. Being the overly-sensitive teen that I was, I couldn’t face having to tell someone what I had done. So I just left. Yep. I closed the bathroom door, grabbed my coat, and went home. Didn’t say goodbye or anything. And I never went back. I totally pulled the ol’ Duke and Dash!
Ah, good times!
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