I'm Farty McFly!

First off, five separate people were directed to this blog after Googling "Barry Gibb teeth." I can't tell you how strangely satisfying that is to me. I loves me the innernecks.

Anywhich, as a youth, my friends and I had a term for when you farted and it smelled like someone's house. We called it "housitosis" and it always fascinated me. Strangely enough, my housitosis flatus usually smelled like my grandparents' laundry room. Don't know why... maybe I needed to clean my lint-trap more often.

So, today, I was taking my midday dumpage and I had the most crystal clear, unambiguous housitosis episode ever. It was as if my cloud of stink had mystical, time-traveling qualities, as it whisked me back through a time chunnel to the outdoor bathrooms of Camp Mishawaka, circa 1975. As I closed my eyes (partly to visualize my time-traveling and partly because they were burning from the egginess of it all) it all came flooding back. The bathroom (known as "The Whitey"), the cabins we stayed in, the lake, the sauna, the dining hall -- it was literally like I was there. Of course, this was the camp I cried at every day because I was homesick due to the fact that I WAS ONLY 10 YEARS OLD AND AWAY FROM HOME FOR FOUR WEEKS, so my memories were tinged with an eggy sadness, but it was really fucking trippy.

I sat there for a few minutes, reminiscing, until I could take no more. It wasn't that the memories were too much... again, it was the egginess. So I bid a-doo to Camp Mishawaka and set the flux-capacitor for 2007, once again. Once safely back in present time, I wiped a single tear from my eye, then did some other wiping, and left my past... behind.

Thank you, housitosis, for a truly memorable flush-back.