gregory
Great things are afoot
Stolen from ADVrider
This is another classic moment of monumental assholish behavior. I should be mortified by my behavior lo those many years ago, and truth be told, I am somewhat embarrassed now. But, God, it was funny then!
______
Years ago, my ex and I accepted an offer to visit an old college friend in San Diego. LC and I decided to make it a rather long weekend, and since Joshua Tree was on the way, we spent a few days climbing before rolling into San Diego. My friend, Kurt, was working as a sommelier for a very posh Italian restaurant in La Jolla, and he had arranged for the three of us to have dinner there as soon as we arrived.
LC and I hadn't planned on "dressing up" for any reason, so we had absolutely nothing to wear that was suitable for such a fine dining experience. Worse, we were IMMEDIATELY rushed off to dinner as soon as we arrived, and we were both still wearing the clothes in which we had just spent 3 days climbing. And we were filthy. Clearly, we didn't belong at Il Fornio. But our slovenly appearance was overlooked as we were guests of the sommelier, and we were quickly seated on an outdoor terrace with a stunning sunset view of the Pacific Ocean.
Bruschetta with garlic, a massive melt-in-your-mouth-tender steak grilled to perfection with garlic butter, roasted vegetables with garlic, bread with garlic, a few bottles of red wine, an exceptionally rich desert, cocktails following dinner, followed by a few excellent espressos. It was by far the best meal I've ever enjoyed, and everyone within a city block was about to pay dearly for it.
Rich foods cause me a significant amount of intestinal distress, and garlic acts as an accelerant. Espresso is like a match to rocket fuel. There were no quiet rumblings to portend the horror I was about to unleash on La Jolla's finest; the squittals commenced before my second espresso was finished, and the sounds of my intestines tying themselves in knots could easily be heard over the sounds of the ocean. It was the sound of walruses mating. Heads turned.
The internal pressure was intense, and it built rapidly; I thought I might explode. I also thought...wrongly...that I could let just a little gas escape and we could quietly make our way to the car. I carefully relaxed my sphincter ani externus...and the gates of Hell's furnaces opened wide.
I've never heard sounds like it before or since. My ass fucking ROARED! The expulsion of gas practically lifted me out of the seat, and ALL conversation around us stopped. Every head on the patio swiveled hard in my direction, and there was an awkward...but brief...silence.
WWWHOOOOSHHH-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG! Again.
And the stench was glorious. Truly beyond anything I've ever known. Death and rotting meat and garlic. A hint of fresh basil.
My wife sat there stunned with her mouth open...but only until the smell hit her. My friend, Kurt, looked at me in amazement.
WHARRGARBL-WAHRRGARBL-WAHRRGARBL-SQUEEEEEEE! SQUEEEEE-WHOOOooooshhhhh.
Kurt practically fell out of his chair with laughter and I joined in. My wife wife gagged. The fabulously dressed silicone-enhanced trophy wife at the next table glared, and quietly hissed, "That's disgusting!" I took that as a challenge.
WAHG------WAHG-WAHG-WHAG. SQUEEEEEEeeeeeeee.
It was like a dense fog; damp and heavy with a gravity all it's own. It enveloped everything. It was like that green mist..the creeping death...in "The Ten Commandments" with Yul Brenner and Charlton Heston. You could taste it; you could feel it on your skin.
Kurt and I were howling. LC sat in stunned stoic New Englander silence.
I don't have a clear memory of what happened next. I know that there was an exit from the patio, and we took it. I also know that I destroyed Kurt's guest bathroom, and his fiancé didn't particularly care for me after that night.
My wife eventually became my ex-wife, and that night might have had something to do with it. I can't say I blame her...if something that vile and frightening had come out of her, I would have reconsidered our relationship as well.
This is another classic moment of monumental assholish behavior. I should be mortified by my behavior lo those many years ago, and truth be told, I am somewhat embarrassed now. But, God, it was funny then!
______
Years ago, my ex and I accepted an offer to visit an old college friend in San Diego. LC and I decided to make it a rather long weekend, and since Joshua Tree was on the way, we spent a few days climbing before rolling into San Diego. My friend, Kurt, was working as a sommelier for a very posh Italian restaurant in La Jolla, and he had arranged for the three of us to have dinner there as soon as we arrived.
LC and I hadn't planned on "dressing up" for any reason, so we had absolutely nothing to wear that was suitable for such a fine dining experience. Worse, we were IMMEDIATELY rushed off to dinner as soon as we arrived, and we were both still wearing the clothes in which we had just spent 3 days climbing. And we were filthy. Clearly, we didn't belong at Il Fornio. But our slovenly appearance was overlooked as we were guests of the sommelier, and we were quickly seated on an outdoor terrace with a stunning sunset view of the Pacific Ocean.
Bruschetta with garlic, a massive melt-in-your-mouth-tender steak grilled to perfection with garlic butter, roasted vegetables with garlic, bread with garlic, a few bottles of red wine, an exceptionally rich desert, cocktails following dinner, followed by a few excellent espressos. It was by far the best meal I've ever enjoyed, and everyone within a city block was about to pay dearly for it.
Rich foods cause me a significant amount of intestinal distress, and garlic acts as an accelerant. Espresso is like a match to rocket fuel. There were no quiet rumblings to portend the horror I was about to unleash on La Jolla's finest; the squittals commenced before my second espresso was finished, and the sounds of my intestines tying themselves in knots could easily be heard over the sounds of the ocean. It was the sound of walruses mating. Heads turned.
The internal pressure was intense, and it built rapidly; I thought I might explode. I also thought...wrongly...that I could let just a little gas escape and we could quietly make our way to the car. I carefully relaxed my sphincter ani externus...and the gates of Hell's furnaces opened wide.
I've never heard sounds like it before or since. My ass fucking ROARED! The expulsion of gas practically lifted me out of the seat, and ALL conversation around us stopped. Every head on the patio swiveled hard in my direction, and there was an awkward...but brief...silence.
WWWHOOOOSHHH-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG-WHAG! Again.
And the stench was glorious. Truly beyond anything I've ever known. Death and rotting meat and garlic. A hint of fresh basil.
My wife sat there stunned with her mouth open...but only until the smell hit her. My friend, Kurt, looked at me in amazement.
WHARRGARBL-WAHRRGARBL-WAHRRGARBL-SQUEEEEEEE! SQUEEEEE-WHOOOooooshhhhh.
Kurt practically fell out of his chair with laughter and I joined in. My wife wife gagged. The fabulously dressed silicone-enhanced trophy wife at the next table glared, and quietly hissed, "That's disgusting!" I took that as a challenge.
WAHG------WAHG-WAHG-WHAG. SQUEEEEEEeeeeeeee.
It was like a dense fog; damp and heavy with a gravity all it's own. It enveloped everything. It was like that green mist..the creeping death...in "The Ten Commandments" with Yul Brenner and Charlton Heston. You could taste it; you could feel it on your skin.
Kurt and I were howling. LC sat in stunned stoic New Englander silence.
I don't have a clear memory of what happened next. I know that there was an exit from the patio, and we took it. I also know that I destroyed Kurt's guest bathroom, and his fiancé didn't particularly care for me after that night.
My wife eventually became my ex-wife, and that night might have had something to do with it. I can't say I blame her...if something that vile and frightening had come out of her, I would have reconsidered our relationship as well.
