With the welcoming of the beautiful yellow orb, my lunch times have been spent in the neighbouring park hating everything around me, whilst eating a terrible choice in food.
Today, however, brought a new demon to my doorstep, Farty McFarterson.
Sat in the park minding my own business, keeping the smells of my rancid internal organs to myself, I was greeted by a familiar sound and unwelcome smell. Mr Farterson had began his chemical warfare.
One can accept time and time again, one will toot in the outdoors because one must, but Mr Farterson decided to let 'er rip at least a few dozen times in the space of ten minutes.
Completely oblivious that perhaps if one's sphyncter is not able to keep a hold of it's only task, that medical advice might be required.
To Mr Farterson, you are the personification of this tragic suburban town.
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