To the girl at the gym

I'm at the gym, and I go to the only remaining cross-trainer left in the gym. Not the treadmill, haven't worked my up to that. And really, I hate the gerbil-in-a-wheel look everyone has when they're on a treadmill. Every so often you'll see someone poke their snout at the water bottle for a drip, then snuggle in the hay for a poop, and they're back on the wheel.

anyways, so i'm there right, and i smell this funky smell. like vodka sauce (which i just discovered) mixed with monkey poop wrapped in a hobo's bindle on his way to Smellyville. Now, I can't just get up and leave, it would be too obvious. plus, i just thought, "well, everyone toots, I just have to be a decent 'uman bean, act mature and in a few moments it'll be over."

10 minutes later and the woman is still passing enough gas to kill to a rainforest in Burundi. I almost left, but stuck it out until she left.

Now here's the problem. Everytime she would do it, people would look to the slightly taller, heavier and definitely blacker male next to her because conventional wisdom is that white females, no matter how meaty, don't pass gas. But when is wisdom conventional, aside from the time in college i tried to test my theory that a fart captured in a gatorade bottle would smell like Mountain Blast.

I was right, but it was a shallow victory.