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Don’t Pull My Finger!

Don’t Pull My Finger
By Jeff Folschinskyfart

Dude, trust me, you don’t want to pull my finger, because I’ve been known to fart out fire. Now, I don’t mean that as a euphemism, I actually had flames coming out of my butt. It burnt a hole clean through my best pair of Levi’s. They’re now on display at Ripley’s museum. You can go take a look if you don’t believe it.

Anyway, the first time it happened, it surprised the hell out of me to say the least.

Luckily the only thing that I hurt was my car which I have trouble driving now. It works just fine; I just have trouble driving anything that smells like burnt plush and butt hairs.

Of course that might be just in my mind since my sister borrowed my car a few days ago and it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Then again, I’ve seen her room, so that’s not really saying much.

I’m not sure what caused this gassy miracle of nature. Since all the doctors I’ve gone to don’t seem to know a thing. Although the gastroenterologist that I talked to thought he had a couple of theories. Unfortunately since it was taco Tuesday the night before our examination, and he’s now recovering from third degree burns, I figured I’m not going to get too much out of him now.

I felt really bad, because with my condition, I guess nervous stomachs and rectal exams don’t really mix. Trust me; I’ll never make that mistake again. But just as an apology I sent that Doctor some nice flowers along with various moisturizing creams.

After that, I realized I had to change my diet and cut out all foods that my body could turn into ignitable fluids. Which is harder than it sounds, but trust me; it only takes one bad incident at an Indian food restaurant to make you realize that you really have to be diligent about these things. After all, this obviously wasn’t just about me anymore. I was doing this for the good of humanity.

It’s like that dweeb in that comic book was always saying, “with great power, comes great responsibility”.

Not that I thought I was a super hero, although I could have probably taken out a criminal or two if I had a few enchiladas in me.

I guess the diet thing is working because I haven’t had an ‘incident’ in a few years. Well there was that one time at Mardi-Gras but no on seemed to notice so I don’t really count that. Besides after that I put tequila on the black list and everything just seemed to work itself out.

And you know, for the life of me, I don’t know how this all started. Maybe I’m a freak of nature, or maybe this is just my college years coming back to haunt me. If it’s the latter I really wish someone would have clued me in that this was a possible outcome.

I mean yes, all of those all-nighters of beer-pong and quarters were fun but if I knew this was a going to happen I probably would have shown a little more moderation. Well, maybe not much but maybe enough to tip the balance in my favor.

One of my new age type friends put forth the theory that I had a curse put on me. I’m not really sure what to say to that. I mean, I don’t really know any gypsy’s and even if I did, it’s not really like me to be rude or disrespectful to them. And that has really nothing to do with me being afraid of the supernatural. That’s just how I like to live my life.

Oh well, I guess this will just be one of those mysteries that is never figured out. And like the old saying goes, there’s no use in crying over spilled milk, or in this case, exploding flatulence.

THE END

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