My sisters gas

Once there was a chemical leak so bad that everyone in a 2 mile radius had to go the hospital. People were puking up and all I wanted was eat eggs. Roommates who would have Mexican standoffs over dishes with food growing sentient. But the moment my sister starts to fart, I’m pretty much that little girl screaming & crying.

There have been dead things left in cars in the Arizona summer that have smelled better. It’s awful. My sister 4’11”, maybe a little a buck after an all you can eat buffet had potent enough gas to make the chrome melt off of a trailer hitch.

Again, this me wanting to run away.

2 thoughts on “My sisters gas”

  1. your fucking ignorant, why would you even think of using this image as a joke. i hope by some miracle i find out who you are so i can knock your fucking teeth out

  2. First of all, it’s “You’re” or “You are.” And if this kinda of post causes you such displeasure that you can’t capitalize your “I”s then you need to get off the internet and get laid(or jerk off).

    For the sake that this is going to go over your head, this is meant as humor. It’s that thing you do when you laugh. Not when you beat people who are different than you and thinking it’s funny because they are different and deserve this punishment given by you. This is what you do when you laugh at something that is juxtaposing a very violent image with my (over)reaction to my sister’s farts. That is humor.

    If it helps you sleep better at night next time I’m complaining about an over reaction on my part to someone’s gas, I’ll use a dead canary. Or would that also meet your ire as it comes from a time when working standards in this country were poor and human life was cheap? Maybe it would be a mistake to assume that and you just can’t stand to see a dead canary without spelling out the context of a gas leak causing death of said canary. Because it would have to spelled out for you.

    Which ruins a joke.

    So if my some miracle I meet you on the street, I’m going to give you a hug. You need it.

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