This is a true story. I’ve noticed a disturbing trend that’s developed over the last six months or so — when I wake up in the morning, my room often stinks. It smells of really horrible farts, to be specific. So, after giving it considerable thought and working through all of the angles, I’ve come to the only sensible explanation: I’m being stalked by a Fart Ninja.
Now, you’ll have to give me a moment to explain my logic on this but once I’m finished, I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me.
First of all: I only fart for comedic purposes, so it’s obviously not me creating the problem. And when I do, said wind tends to be rose-scented, so I think we can safely scratch me off the suspect list.
This has been happening for awhile and it has followed me from Central America to Texas and now to Southeast Asia — someone is stalking me, sneaking into my room as I sleep and stinking up the joint.
Now, this has to be a guy — I’m not trying to be a misogynist here but every woman I’ve ever met swears that she never passes gas. This comment is usually followed by a huge honking blast and a giggle.
Since it can’t be me and I’ve never managed to catch the perpetrator in the act, I’ve applied the logic of Occam’s Razor (now with four blades and a lubricating strip!) and have come to the only obvious conclusion: I’m the target of a Fart Ninja.
I’ve tried everything I can think of to catch him, including sleeping with one increasingly-watery eye open. My elaborate Rube Goldberg trap with a paint can full of sand swinging from a rope hit me right in the balls the first morning. I considered scattering broken glass around the door but then remembered that I get up in the middle of the night to pee.
He probably has some Teflon-coated, carbon-fiber yak-leather ninja shoes anyways. The bastard.
So for now I suffer and wait and watch.
But I will catch you, Fart Ninja. And when I do, we will dance.