Tooty Tootwell

Want to hear something gross? I know you do, otherwise you would be reading some other, more refined blog. Because classy just isn't what we do here.

Anyhoodle, I started taking a multi-vitamin. It's mostly awesome, my hair is great, my skin is luminous and I fart all the time. For real. ALL THE TIME. Like at least twice an hour. That's 50 farts a day. And not the little lady like toots either, long, loud, bad eighties comedy movie farts. Let's be honest, farting is quite enjoyable for the farter, it's like, oh, I don't know, a really good sneeze. Or an orgasm.

Sadly, for the fartees (those left smelling the farts) it's proving somewhat less enjoyable. Because they smell like old, almost sour milk. Which is totally odd, because I don't drink milk. So, I was getting a little concerned. That can't be normal, right? I'm probably dying right now. I am probably going to die before lunch even and then I'll get to St. Peter and he'll be all, "Hmmm, died from milk farts, huh? Well, to get into Heaven we'll just need to know how you spent your last hours on earth." and I'll be all looking around for some clue as to what kind of answer he's looking for and then I'll get all nervous and blurt out the truth which will be "Googled ex-boyfriends to see if they're fat and/or married to ugly chicks" and then he'll shake his head and point to the down elevator.

So I decided to use my Googling skills to save myself. Better to Google for good than evil, right? Just in case? So I Googled the most important question I could think of "Can you die from farting?".

Good news. You can't.

And my ex? Fat.