Monday, February 27, 2012


Based on a reoccurring scenario that follows any visit to a local Irish pub, and the inevitable bowl of steamed "Dublin mussels." What's even worse, or better (depending on one's perspective at the time) is that nobody else at the table seems to want to partake of the appetizer but me. Darn it.


  1. The sad truth is that once a relationship breaks the Flatulence Barrier people may enjoy more comfortable digestive systems around each other, but eroticism is gone forever. That does not mean the relationship itself is doomed to a gassy death, only that the sexual part has arrived at its disastrous end, like the Hindenburg at Lakehurst.

  2. Oh the humanity... another night on the couch.