With Gusto

Muh

“There’s something important about Quintin that I need to tell you,” I say to you. I take you over to where I’m writing this, in the university computer lab, and we watch me write for a minute. I tell you that I ate a banana and a bran muffin for breakfast and that any second I’m going to fart, and I’m going to make you and the people around me smell it. I’ve farted half-a-dozen times by now, and the people around me shift in thier chairs, too polite and uncomfortable to say anything. Soon, I say to you, they get annoyed. But I have other goals: I want someone to protest this. I want to fart so much that someone gets up, points a finger and accuses.