Article #4

Flatulation
By Jason D. Zastrow Esquire
This is quite an easy topic for me to write about since I'm so familiar with it, and all. I would have to say, by far, farting is my national past time. Fuck baseball, my ass cheeks are so skilled they can whistle Dixie in seven different octaves. Flatulation and myself go way back. In kindergarten I amused my homies with what I, at the time, called my "bass butt trumpet." For your information, it has since been renamed "ass kazoo." Back to the story. I would entertain the masses all day with my rhythmic styling. You may be asking yourself what the fuel for my fire is. Nothing more than pizzas and other assorted fast foods. The more grease, the heavier the rotation. You may also be wondering how my fragile body can produce such outrageous wind. Even though my exterior is built like a four-year old asthmatic epileptic girl. My colon is stronger than a herd of African elephants. Some people do not appreciate the smell I produce. Obviously those folk need to broaden their horizons and incorporate some culture into their feeble existence. You see, I consider my aroma to be a sort of natural cologne. Anything from nature surely can not be bad, people. Another historic achievement I have made with my wind passing abilities is that I won a skeet shooting competition and I didn't even have a shotgun! So, to sum this up, think twice the next you're about to stand down wind of my rectal cavity.