(no subject)
Hello! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy, what is it, 21st January! Right, we've caught up, now let's talk about flatulence.
Actually, you'll be relieved to hear I don't really mean flatulence. Wikipedia insists, in its petulant, pissy little internet pedant way, that flatulence only applies to flatus, or bottom-burps, whereas what I want to talk about is eructation, or mouth-farts. Or, no, not mouth farts. Definitely not mouth farts. Let's say belching (and yet, be unable henceforth when we hear the word, not to think of the phrase mouth farts. All clear? Excellent.)
I have a bad case of the belching. (And also: eww.) It happens, sometimes. Possibly it's the IVs which I forgot to tell you I was on, or the chest infection I omitted to mention led to those IVs, or the steroids I haven't got around to telling you I've started in addition to the IVs which I still haven't told you about, but which you've probably picked up on by now. Gosh but you're a clever little thing, aren't you?
Anyway, belching (and anyway, eww). It's weird, but sometimes when I'm ill - and on IVs - and on steroids - and desperately handsome, something else I'm afflicted with but I don't like to burden you - I get this thing where I burp. Only, really burp. Massively so. Like it wakes me up at night, this need to vent these hideous internal gases. And when they come, not often, not many, but when they do: massive - like proper, full-on belching. (Eww.) And also, they smell of compost.
Now look, I'm not proud. Only that's the problem, I am. I know I shouldn't be, I'm a gay man, I shouldn't even burp, I should just... I don't know, prance about and be cattily witty about fashion. But I'm painfully aware that whatever else they are, no matter how parenthetically vile they might be at a gross physical level (and by heavens are they gross and physical), they are nevertheless, on their own level, a big deal. Like that tallest-ever-whatever-the-shit-it-was-in-Dubai that they opened the other week - yes, isn't it vile, and isn't it gauche, and isn't it capitalist and hubristic and altogether too utterly utter for words, but come on baby give it its due: by jimininy that bastard is tall. And yes, my belching is disgusting and noxious and inexcusable and loathesome, but isn't it also, taken as a belch, almost incandescently impressive?
Look, please be aware, this update has already reached its high point. (It was the word 'eructation', which turned out not be the slightly rude thing you thought it meant after all, but at least it had class.) So don't go expecting a sudden moral, or a biting satirical purpose to all this belching talk. It really is a post about what a big burp I've done.
Because the other night, I don't know what happened, maybe it was the drugs, or the infection, or some obscene conjunction of stars and prophecy and upper gastointestinal gases, but I woke up, bloated as a pig, sat up, and delivered a twelve second belch.
That's it, that's the 'anecdote', the point for which you have ploughed your way through this entire update. Doesn't sound like much, I know. But - just think about it for a moment. Twelve seconds. That's longer than it takes to breathe out a really big breath. It's longer than you could comfortably sit in a waiting room with a stranger before saying "So! Eh?" and tutting. Longer than, I don't know, longer than it takes to count to 12, I expect, unless you're deliberately going really slowly just to wind me up. It's not all that long, I suppose is what I'm saying, but, and this is very much the point, it's longer than any burp you've managed, and so I win.
There you are - happy mouth fart!
Actually, you'll be relieved to hear I don't really mean flatulence. Wikipedia insists, in its petulant, pissy little internet pedant way, that flatulence only applies to flatus, or bottom-burps, whereas what I want to talk about is eructation, or mouth-farts. Or, no, not mouth farts. Definitely not mouth farts. Let's say belching (and yet, be unable henceforth when we hear the word, not to think of the phrase mouth farts. All clear? Excellent.)
I have a bad case of the belching. (And also: eww.) It happens, sometimes. Possibly it's the IVs which I forgot to tell you I was on, or the chest infection I omitted to mention led to those IVs, or the steroids I haven't got around to telling you I've started in addition to the IVs which I still haven't told you about, but which you've probably picked up on by now. Gosh but you're a clever little thing, aren't you?
Anyway, belching (and anyway, eww). It's weird, but sometimes when I'm ill - and on IVs - and on steroids - and desperately handsome, something else I'm afflicted with but I don't like to burden you - I get this thing where I burp. Only, really burp. Massively so. Like it wakes me up at night, this need to vent these hideous internal gases. And when they come, not often, not many, but when they do: massive - like proper, full-on belching. (Eww.) And also, they smell of compost.
Now look, I'm not proud. Only that's the problem, I am. I know I shouldn't be, I'm a gay man, I shouldn't even burp, I should just... I don't know, prance about and be cattily witty about fashion. But I'm painfully aware that whatever else they are, no matter how parenthetically vile they might be at a gross physical level (and by heavens are they gross and physical), they are nevertheless, on their own level, a big deal. Like that tallest-ever-whatever-the-shit-it-was-in-Dubai that they opened the other week - yes, isn't it vile, and isn't it gauche, and isn't it capitalist and hubristic and altogether too utterly utter for words, but come on baby give it its due: by jimininy that bastard is tall. And yes, my belching is disgusting and noxious and inexcusable and loathesome, but isn't it also, taken as a belch, almost incandescently impressive?
Look, please be aware, this update has already reached its high point. (It was the word 'eructation', which turned out not be the slightly rude thing you thought it meant after all, but at least it had class.) So don't go expecting a sudden moral, or a biting satirical purpose to all this belching talk. It really is a post about what a big burp I've done.
Because the other night, I don't know what happened, maybe it was the drugs, or the infection, or some obscene conjunction of stars and prophecy and upper gastointestinal gases, but I woke up, bloated as a pig, sat up, and delivered a twelve second belch.
That's it, that's the 'anecdote', the point for which you have ploughed your way through this entire update. Doesn't sound like much, I know. But - just think about it for a moment. Twelve seconds. That's longer than it takes to breathe out a really big breath. It's longer than you could comfortably sit in a waiting room with a stranger before saying "So! Eh?" and tutting. Longer than, I don't know, longer than it takes to count to 12, I expect, unless you're deliberately going really slowly just to wind me up. It's not all that long, I suppose is what I'm saying, but, and this is very much the point, it's longer than any burp you've managed, and so I win.
There you are - happy mouth fart!