I came to the conclusion two years ago that my best ideas come after good farts—after real seat-shakers. Once my body rids itself of gases, it’s as if my brain shakes loose.
My last good fart happened yesterday. A solution to a long-existing family problem arrived to me like a prophetic vision. Also, I balanced some difficult budget sheets at work with ease.
The trouble is, I require obnoxious amounts of ice cream to build up mammoth farts.
Recently, I’ve been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. Doctors have urged me to cut down. I can’t. The rumbling won’t allow it.