At Which Point I Am Divorced

I have to get this off my chest, because I am laughing hysterically at my desk for no apparent reason.

Last Saturday, Old Sarge came in from picking green beans for me and announced he was going to get a shower and head for Wal-Mart. Now, I know he had an upset stomach because I was the unfortunate soul who used the bathroom next. He made the comment that he had some God-awful gas going on and I believed him. I didn’t think too much about it until the phone rang and he came out in his undershorts to answer it. Old Sarge is walking around the living room, talking on the phone and he turns his back to me. There, right in the middle of his sagging back end, is a huge brown stain. Oh dear, I’m thinking, he sharted.

And I started laughing. Hard. Can’t-get-your-breath-tears-rolling-down-your-face-sides-are-killing-you hysterically laughing. Doubled over, can’t talk, high-pitched wheezing laughter. He doesn’t know what the hell I’m laughing about, just keeps walking around, which makes me laugh even harder if that’s possible. Until he makes ready to sit in his recliner.

RM: NO!!!!
OS: What??
RM: You c-c-can’t s-s-sit down BWAHAHAHAHA!
OS: What in the hell is wrong with you?
RM: M-m-m-me? N-n-nothing, but y-y-you h-have (gasp!) POOP all over y-y-your shorts! BWAHAHAHAHA!
OS: (turns around to look) Oh shit!
RM: I KNOW!
OS: (running to bathroom) Don’t you DARE tell anyone about this!



Well, I didn’t tell just anyone!