The Heartbreak of Flatulence

It's been a lifelong curse. Fuck psoriasis, this is the Heartbreak of Flatulence.

Everybody farts, but some people are exceptional. I guess that if we were still swinging from the trees, it wouldn't be a big deal. The wind would carry the excess wind away. But now we have cars and elevators and boardrooms.

Most days it's only a stale odor, like cheese left too long. But some days it is a powerful sulpherous stench, a room-clearing gagging miasma. Problem is, I can never tell which sort of a day it's going to be until I let the first one off.

I seem to get fired a lot. Cube farms hide the perpetrator of excessive flatulence for a while, but eventually people figure it out, you start getting ostracized, and then I know it's only a matter of time before somebody finds a problem with my work and I'm out the door, leaving only bitter memories and lingering scent of rotten eggs behind me.