The Phantom Senior Citizen Poot

Alrighty. Here I am at work, in my office with the door open. My coworker is at her desk, and I hear her talking to Mumbles. Those of you who have read some of my previous posts know exactly who Mumbles is...

The conversation slowly morphs from the upcoming election to caring for the elderly. As some of you are aware, Mumbles is nearly 65 years old and is scheduled to retire next May. He is also an ex-police officer who loves nothing more than the sound of his own voice as he regales whoever is in earshot with tales of his "policing" back in the 1960's during the civil rights movement when he spent countless nights exhausting himself from swinging his night stick at the skulls of "suspected marijuana users"...

Anyway, Mumbles is talking with my coworker, and they're having a ball. Then comes a knock at the back door. Mumbles finishes his statement with a guffaw and, as he stands to go answer the back door, he...

...well, he rips one, if you know what I mean. *Skwooomp* Yep, he floated an air biscuit loud enough for me to hear it from fifteen feet away! Initially, I wasn't sure if I had heard what I thought I'd heard.

So, to get some sort of confirmation, I emailed my coworker and asked her if Mumbles had just farted. She confirmed that he had, in fact, tooted his ass-horn. What we couldn't figure out, though, was why he didn't say, "Excuse me", or "Oops", or something of that nature. At first I just assumed that, due to his pompous personality, he didn't give a rats ass about what he'd just done.

But then I had an epiphany. He is 65, after all, right? I think my coworker and I witnessed Mumbles' very first Phantom Senior Citizen Poot. You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't ya? The sound of a poot slams into your ear drums, causing you to spin around and search for the source, and there he is: Salt and pepper gray hair, slightly stooped posture, sans-a-belt slacks, and a cardigan. No one else in sight. "But this dude never broke stride!", you say to yourself. That's right. He gave you a taste of the Phantom Senior Citizen Poot.

It's a rare occurrence among the younger elderly so, if you ever catch one, like me and my coworker caught today, consider yourself lucky. I rank a personal Phantom Senior Citizen Poot experience right up there with sightings of Bigfoot, UFOs and Elvis. That's how rare they are...

I'm a lucky guy...

Football...Why Do I Keep Doing This to Myself?

I think it might be time for me to "give up" football. I've gotten to the point where I'm so emotionally invested in my teams that, when they decide to play crappy football, I tend to get way too angry.

I say things I shouldn't say. In fact, I say things no man should say in front of his wife. I know I shouldn't get so pissed off about a dumb game that's not putting any money into my bank account, regardless of which team wins or loses. I tell myself to try and stay calm...

...but it just doesn't work. Before I know it, I've reached the end of my patience and I'm cursing my team, the opposing team, the referees and the commentators, my breathing increases to the point where I almost feel out of breath, and I can barely stave off the urge to throw the remote control at the television.

Football is supposed to be fun to watch, but feeling that way is no fun. It's simply not worth it and, ultimately, it's a waste of my time. Time I could be spending doing something else with my wife...

So, at least for now, my teams (and they know who they are) can kiss my ass. I'm done rooting for you, and I'm too loyal to start rooting for anyone else. So, my only option is to tell you all to kiss my ass...