Never Fart Outside When You Think You're Alone

Because odds are, you're not.

The other night, I was sitting outside, staring up at the sky, feeling that all was right with the world. Except for the fact that I had to fart something fierce. So, I looked around with my piercing x-ray eyes that have obviously lost their acuity since my days as a detective fighting evil.

I could see no one. So, I got her done. Let it rip. Cut the cheese. It was pretty nifty sounding; echoing throughout the neighborhood. I giggled a little because I felt so free and the stars looked so pretty and I REALLY felt as though all was perfect with the world.

Until, I saw the shadow of a figure and the undeniable lit end of a cigarette on my neighbors porch. Zube Boy calls these neighbors The Dudes. 'Cause they're dudes dude. Seriously, dude. They're always hanging out on the porch smoking cigarettes and peeling their vehicles up and down the street, duding it up. I should have known one of them would be out there dammit.

I mean, it's funny when Zube Boy pokes fun at The Dudes, but I've shot any bit of dignity and sneering down my nose at them to bits. Last night, Zube Boy said, "Dude, The Dudes are all fighting and shit." Instead of my usual turning-off-the-lights-and-running-to-the-window-cause-I'm-a-
nosy-as-shit-neighbor routine, I got all sheepish instead.

I replied, "Dude, whatever."