When Klay Farts

Ahhh, today seemed to be a long day. We have heat back... I am actually looking forward to a break from it; realize, this is something that you will rarely hear me say. It has been so hot that I haven't gotten much horsework done, which isn't really good, because I have a lot of it to do. The horses all look so good.

So, today, I got in trouble. Can you believe that? I actually got in trouble! Ah! I was flabbergasted really. Utterly upset. The indecency of it. And all I did was beat my little brother up, on the trampline. Imagine a mother getting upset over seeing her son tossed around a few times, held down by his neck, smothered a little bit, rolled on, tossed down and smothered again. Really, how could some poor mamma bear get a little worked up over watching her son get a sleeper hold, a choker hold, a "what the heck ya call it" hold, and a "jump in the air and land on him" hold. Huh, I can't imagine what in the world she would have been upset about, it's not like I got make-up or perfume out and really tortured the poor kid. He weighs more than me now anyways! I guess trouble must just like following me around.

What he did to me was far worse. He farted while I was holding him down.

Allow me to educate you. Dad fluffs, his farts really don't stink at all, but they make a lovely sound. If you were deaf, you would never know that he had farted. Cody, well, he toots. You can smell it a little bit but it isn't really unbearable. He also makes a noise. If you were deaf you would certainly have an inclination that someone had farted when Cody lets one rip. Mom and I, well, we only fart in the bathroom. As long as you leave the door shut and let the war zone alone for a few minutes, you'll never know either of us had ever farted. Now Klay, on the other hand; HE FARTS! You're eyes water, your nose thinks that it died and went to a sulpherous, wretched version of nose hell. You're ears are assaulted by this sound that makes me quake in my boots. It's like cannons compared to pellets, or buckshot. It is an all out war weapon. ( He is reading this. My eyes just started watering, my nose and ears assaulted by his deadly weapon. That I continue writing is an act of God, really.) And then there's the one that is silent but deadly. You don't hear it coming. It's like a silencer on a gun. You're standing there, smelling a daisy, and all of a sudden you wonder why it smells like a dead gopher who's been lying in the sun after eating rotten potatoes and rotten eggs and week old fish guts lying next to an angry skunk by a malt plant. You swear you will never smell that particular kind of flower ever again. You're nose feels like it might have just fainted, and fallen off of your face.

The miracle of this stinky story is that I didn't give up. I really ought to recieve a military medal of honour for that. And he smothered me a little too. It was blessed relief.