GAS! GAS! GAS!

The digestive tract is a wonderful thing. Somehow, it manages to take even the most disgusting and seemingly inedible foods and turn them into fuel. Jack in the Box tacos, menudo, durien - you name it, your intestines will break it down and you can run on it.

But there are some byproducts.

I have a confession to make: I fart a lot. Maybe "confession" isn't the right word, because I'm not sorry. "Proclamation" might be better. The only thing I will occasionally apologize for is enjoying it, which I do. Immensely. There are few things in life more satisfying than hearing the resounding BRRRRAAAAPPP of a healthy anal concerto and thinking to yourself "Yeah... I produced that."

It's a science. There are some facts that most beginners don't know about. For example, hard surfaces are the best to fart against. The piano bench at my old house was made of some kind of rich, heavy wood that was a perfect sounding board. I hated practicing the piano, too, so occasionally when I would finish up a flawless rendition of some Rachmaninoff piece I'd blast off against that thing with a protest salvo, usually followed by my mom screaming "DANIEL!" from the kitchen and the barking of the neighborhood dogs.

Another key thing to remember is that shorts are the ideal uniform. Not only do long pants muffle the sound, in pants there's always the possibility of trapping the gas in there and getting blindsided later when you're getting undressed.

We still have to recognize our own strengths and weaknesses, though. For example, I'm not the best when it comes to sustained noise. For whatever reason, if I'm going to let out a really long fart, it's almost always silent. Or at least as silent as, say, inflating a mylar balloon. There have only been one or two times in my entire life that I've been able to put together a seven-to-ten-second streak of continuous sound, and I'm pretty sure both of them were after unsuccessful attempts at the Gallon Challenge. My farts come in burst mode; they sound more like a Harley-Davidson starting up than anything else.

Nobody can touch my smell, though. I'll be honest, it's nauseating. People who say they like the smell of their own farts are pussies, because mine are fucking toxic. My diet consists mostly of protein powder, red meat, Guinness and fruit. If I give you a warning that one's coming down the tubes, you had better evacuate the premises unless you want a case of the dry heaves. If I ever successfully gave anyone a Dutch Oven I'm pretty sure I could go to prison.

If I'm drunk it's even worse. There's something about beer that makes my stomach into a nuclear reactor, so that once I start farting it's like the final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. If I could turn all the way around to check, I wouldn't be surprised if I could see thousands of lost souls pouring out of my butthole, with Indy in the background screaming "MARIAN, DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES!"

I just want to end this with a plea to all the girls out there: for every fart your boyfriend has let out around you, he's gone through extreme discomfort to hold in about ten. (Of course, this doesn't go for me. I fart on my girlfriend all the time.) Also, as long as you want to keep up the charade that you don't fart, go for it. We know the truth. You may never live up to my Herculean standards, but you can at least be honest with yourself.