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Wiped out today and when I'm tired I eat. And I'm tired all the time. My weight keeps creeping upwards and my tummy was noticeable in yesterday's RHLSTP photos. Will I ever break the cycle? Of course not.
My stomach was unsettled by the end of the day, so much so that after a sleepy fart turned the bedroom into a gas swamp and I knew there was more to come, I had to go and sleep in the spare room. Which I made so full of marsh gas that even a shrek would have refused to sleep in there. It was unshiftable. Why are farts so unpredictable? Some light and odourless, some that do their rotten work, but dissipate after their work of terror has done and some that refuse to shift, cannot be wafted and are as close as a gas can be to being a solid. If there were a solid the immovable stink would make sense. But they are not. They are a gas. A gas that will never go. Especially if you keep topping up.
As I tried to sleep in my own airy filth I wondered what the longest time a fart had ever lingered was. And whether it was possible, in the right circumstances of density and lack of ventilation for them never to go. Half between wakefulness and sleep I somehow imagined a room that George Washington (I don't know why him) had filled with his terrible ass gas (he'd had admitted it was him - he could not tell a lie), that to this day was still filled with his noxious fumes. It would be horrible, of course, but equally, you'd go and visit it if you were in the area. Wouldn't you? No question. The chance to smell the anal emissions of such a great historical figure, to know you had a piece of the great man inside you. However acrid and disgusting the stench was, you'd pay probably up to fifty dollars just to see what it was like. And marvel at the power of the lingering guff.
Tickets would need to be expensive because it would cost a lot to keep the fart in place when so many tourists were walking through. But if it was as bad as what was coming out of me, Prince Andrew could march ten thousand men through there and the stink would still cling to the room like a frightened bat.
Maybe I should just open a fart museum. Get notable figures to let off into a jar, so that people of the future can find out what their intestines smelled like (though so much variance, you might need to collect a fart a day to get a real picture of their fart life).
I doubted anyone would pay to be in the same room as I was tonight. In fact I was pretty sure that once the night was over I would have to hammer the door shut with boards of wood and leave a note to say no one should go in there for 500 years. I don't know what the half life of my colonic embarrassments were, but I knew it would not be safe to return at least within my life time.
