Welcome to Fart City, you stinky fool. Maybe if you hadn't eaten broccoli for dinner, you wouldn't be here. But we both know that isn't true. You were born a farter, just like the rest of us.
In Fart City, everyone farts all the time and thinks it is hilarious. You walk up to someone on the street, they fart in your face. You wait in line at a fast food joint; there's a chorus of farts in front of you. Smoking is banned in fart city after too many ignited farts. So is Chipotle.
Life can be difficult sometimes in Fart City. If you sit down and try to have a serious conversation with your friend about their drinking problem, they will fart indiscriminately throughout the conversation. You will fart yourself; you can't help it. A breakup will mostly be an exchange of tears and farts. It's hard to take religion seriously when your preacher is farting his guts out during the sermon. Try talking your way out of a ticket when both you and the police officer are farting every other word.
Banned.
People have tried to change Fart City from the inside. Certain elected officials have done their best with little to show for it. You can't make a heaven of hell, and you certainly can't take the fart out of Fart City. Still, some tried, all for naught. Maybe I was one of those people, back in the day. Maybe I came to Fart City a brash young idealist, ready to take on the world. But it beats you down, this place. Every day I wake up and think about how they'll lower me six feet under, a steady music of farts my funeral dirge. Then I fart loudly and awake from my reverie. Welcome to reality, asshole. It's a bag of farts.
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