Flat You, Lance

I’m bored, like excruciatingly, nails running down a chalkboard bored. And I have no clue what I want to write.

Maybe it’s what’s happening in Ukraine that’s causing me to feel down. Or perhaps it’s the impact of the death of our friend. Or maybe it’s both of these, along the impending responsibility of when the right time will be to put our 17-year-old dog down.

The moral is I’m feeling weak and vulnerable, and I don’t like it. What I need is to cheer myself up, so here goes nothing.

A fart moves at 6.8mph, or as fast as a car did in the 1930s. And so you know, it passes through the hole down below about 14 times per day.

James Joyce, the author of “Ulysses,” wrote in a letter about his wife. “I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere, I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.”

How sweet.

So all that fart research kind of helped my mood, but I could use more.

How about the Razzies? The awards for worst cinematic underachievements. Dave let me know that since Bruce Willis had a record-breaking eight nominated movies this year, the award show created a category just for him – “Worst Performance by Bruce Willis in a 2021 Movie”.

You can’t make this stuff up. Tune in on March 27th to see the debacle.

And I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but in the spirit of this post, you need to know I just tooted, a loud one. And neither Dave nor Evelyn even batted an eye,

I’m feeling better. Not because I passed gas mind you, but because I was scared of being vulnerable with you, and it turned out less painful than I thought.

Fingers crossed for a better day tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn

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