Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

The Most Unusual Valentine’s Gift Ever

Dearest Sophisticated World Traveller,

Happy VD to you my dear!

I do hope you are spending a nice easy morning recovering from your harrowing trip to Roma.

Allow me to present you with my bestest Valentine wishes. I know you will be waiting impatiently for the postie to bring you flowers and chocolates from me, but I have to warn you now that … erm… there won’t be any…

It’s not that I forgot… or wasn’t sufficiently organised in advance to mark the occasion… I simply wanted to surprise you with something completely non-traditional. You wouldn’t want flowers or chocs anyway, would you? So I have the honour of bestowing an amusing story upon you, as a mark of my deepest affection.

Are you sitting comfortably?

The Earthquake

Last night, a friend of a friend of my neighbour’s third cousin told me that she was very excited upon leaving work, to learn that her husband was taking the children out late night shopping. She bought some tasty nibbles for dinner and fairly sprinted home, planning to enjoy a child-free evening of blissful peace and quiet in front of the television.

Sadly, before she could get her dinner on a tray and switch on the idiot box, a call of nature propelled her loo-wards, where she spent about thirty precious minutes of telly-time straining with a surprise bout of constipation. She finally managed to evacuate something the size of a small continent, but not without much pain, suffering and actual injury. What a waste of good telly-watching time! Also, her stupid husband brought the children home at 7.30 pm, so she only managed to get halfway through Prizzi’s Honor. Oh well..

Here comes the funny part: She was sat knitting in her daughter’s bedroom while the daughter was getting ready for bed, when a tiny but uncomfortable pressure in her lower intestine compelled her to discreetly lift one buttock by only a centimetre, confidently expecting to get away with a very small and silent gasous expulsion. Sadly, though,
“the best laid plans of mice and men…”; the resulting nuclear explosion (which rent the very skies) was not only the loudest fart in the history of flatus reflex, but also had the novelty of causing, as it passed through the woman’s poor, distended sphincter, an audible flapping…

The young daughter was not only shocked, horrified and vastly entertained all at the same time, but also wildly overexcited because of the Coca-Cola her idiot father had foolishly allowed her to drink at dinner. She went sprinting through the house, screeching, groaning and crying with laughter, thus drawing as much attention as possible to the horrendous faux-pas. I don’t think the mother had ever been more embarrassed (and yet strangely proud at the same time).

Isn’t it a shame that such an amusing episode could simply never occur in my house? I would love a good laugh like that from time to time.

With delicate love and silvery, fairy princess kisses,




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