…well, not anything worth much beyond an, uhm, passing… thought. But it’s a real gas.
So I have this idea for a story. Maybe someone can flesh it out. Not me. I have no ear for dialog, plot or descriptive narative.
So, here’s the thing: there’s this guy with neverending, really killer flatus. It’s causing real hell in his everyday life, has driven him into hermitage, complete isolation. Sitting, sleeping, driving. It never stops.
I even have a title for the story:
The Wind in the Pillows.
Knock yourselves out.