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I love fried food but fried food doesn't love me

fabulouslyghetto

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walking home from a munchies run this guy who cut a u-turn into the parking lot I'm walking through is grillin me like I'm a whole snack! It's fuck hundred degrees in charlotte so I'm wearing a white wifebeater (no bra) and some krute athletic shorts. Naturally I put a lil umpf in my step to make the cheeks clap with every stride like the bad bitch I am when fate smacked me in the face once again and I let out the LOUDEST fart in the universe as he's approx 3 feet away, of course his window was down cuz why wouldn't it be? This happened in front of a store that's across the street from a high school, any other day of the week the chaps are outside blasting ratchet music and hollering the way overcaffeinated teens do but today of all godforsaken days they decide to act like they have some goddamned home training and use their inside voices or the teacher told em shut the fuck up. There's no way he didn't hear this fart. I could not bare the look on his face so I immediately set my sights forward and marched as if nothing happened.

it was thosee damned chicken tenders at lunch. ](*,)
 
For the record, this wasn't an unexpected fart. I had been lettin em loose since I left the store, I was pretty much walking like I'm smuggling diamonds across the border but in my rectum. Notwithstanding, why do bad things always happen to such good, beautiful people? ](*,)
 
I expect Papa Bear is happy that this incident worked out the way it did ...
 
You have to own your farts. Like fingerprints, no two farts are alike. I name mine. I almost let loose a raging Roseanne on the train just now, but seeing that there were mostly black folks on the train, I thought that may be rude so I waited. By the time I got off the pressure had been building so much that it was one of those three parters: right there on the platform stairwell . . KAV-AN AUGH! They're going to have to repaint that section of the stairwell but I make no apologies.

In fact, I have a Sting brewing right now . .

 
You have to own your farts. Like fingerprints, no two farts are alike. I name mine. I almost let loose a raging Roseanne on the train just now, but seeing that there were mostly black folks on the train, I thought that may be rude so I waited. By the time I got off the pressure had been building so much that it was one of those three parters: right there on the platform stairwell . . KAV-AN AUGH! They're going to have to repaint that section of the stairwell but I make no apologies.

In fact, I have a Sting brewing right now . .

Bitch I hate you.
 
At least it wasn't a shart.
 
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