A few weeks ago, Ike Carrotstick* was telling us all stories in the car, and after thinking about it for a while, I commented, “Ike! You tell such great stories!”
“Thank you!” replied Ike, pleased that his listeners recognized his talents.
Then, last night after dinner, whilst at the metro waiting for our train, I told our group to gather around, because I had a story to share. They all gathered, and I began,
“I was at the Starbucks, and I really had to fart. Coffee does strange things to me. Anyway, I was trying to figure out how to do it deftly, when I realized the music was playing really loudly, with a heavy bass in the background. So I timed my gas exertions with the music, every time the bass hit I would cut one. After a while, I was feeling much better. Then, as I was gathering my things to leave, I noticed everyone was staring at me. (pause for effect) I remembered I had been listening to my iPod.”
Everyone nodded and smiled. “That wasn’t you,” Sara said.
“Haha, you’re right, that wasn’t me,” I confessed, “I read that online and thought it would sound better if I said it was me.” Everyone laughed, except for Ike.
“Ike, do you have a better story you would like to share with us?” I asked, opening the floor to Ike.
“Me? No. No no. I don’t have anything to share,” he replied.
So 5 minutes later, we’re all on the metro, and Ike leans over, whispering, “Did you share that story for a reason? Was it related to anything? From the restaurant?”
“No,” I shook my head innocently, “it wasn’t related to anything. I just thought it was funny.” Ike looked uncomfortable.
“You cut one in the restaurant, didn’t you?” I asked/accused.
“No…”
“Maybe just a little one?” I held my index finger and thumb up, to indicate the size of the fart.
Then his confession came pouring out: “It was actually after, while we were getting up, totally by accident. I thought it was the perfect crime. Then I wondered if your story was me getting busted in disguise. I wasn’t raised in a trailer, I swear!”
For shame, Ike. For shame.
*Name changed.
