Dear Distressed Jeans,
I love you (in a platonic way).
You are wicked and mordant and have the most awesome sense of written comedic timing ever. But I must say that when you wrote your post as to why you couldn’t make it to Britney’s “Southern Fried Soireé,” you simply had me at the following line:
“because chicken fingers give me gas and I simply cannot indulge in Fritos and Twinkie pie since turning 30 and becoming macrobiotic.”
I’d like to say it’s your wittiness and your observations that made me laugh out loud and choke on my delicious quickie lasagna just now. But I would be lying callously.
It was the gas.
I’m almost 30 myself, and it’s still ALL about the gas. Fart jokes are simply among the most hilarious things ever. I’d like to believe I’m sophisticated and worldly, and that I can get very technical jokes– such as my all-time favorite joke that my friend Slade told me about two atoms:
Atom#1: Oh no! I think I’ve lost an electron!!
Atom #2: Are you sure?
Atom #1: Yes, yes! I’m POSITIVE!!!
***cue in the crickets chirping loudly and the two nerds who get the joke laughing their asses off**
But anyway… back to you. You are hilarious, but thank you ever so much for the best laugh I’ve had in a while. And, dare I say it? Thanks for all the gas!
