bush approval rating Brain Farts Brain Fart brain farts brain fart brain-fart brain-farts brainfart brainfarts LEO Louisville Eccentric Observer parody lampoon satire Louisville Kentucky Kevin Gibson kgramone@aol.com kgramone humor cat's ass fart anna kournikova zeitgeist bush approval rating
Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.
Unless you're as bored as I am.
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Brain Farts: Dinner in Hell |
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By Kevin Gibson |
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," he replied, and he dragged deeply on his generic cigarette.
She hated that he smoked. He constantly smelled like an ashtray, his teeth were
yellow and he spent more than $200 a month on the cancer sticks. But she loved
him.
He sat staring at the menu, his mouth slightly ajar. He looked like an idiot
when he did that, she thought. Like someone who was not intelligent enough to
even be in a restaurant. Or occupy human flesh.
He looked up, shrugged, and said, "What?"
"Nothing, honey," she said. Smiled. He turned his attention back to the menu and
scratched his nose. His right index finger inched closer to his left nostril.
She nearly screamed. He fell short of the pick, and she breathed, but then he
snorted loudly, and she heard him swallow the runoff.
She cringed on the inside. Really. She physically felt the inside of her
forehead wrinkle up, felt the insides of her eye sockets narrow and her
cheekbones tighten. It was an inside cringe, perhaps the first in the history of
humanity. She felt she should never tell anyone.
"I ain't gettin' no salad this time," he said.
And his grammar. His god-awful grammar. Why was she with this person? Why was
she here in public with this putrid, asinine person? Surely, she was enduring
torture for the sins of a former life. That must be it. But can anyone have
sinned so much without being sent straight to hell? Or is this hell? Is there
even a God? She suddenly remembered she hadn't shaved her legs in weeks. It
startled her.
"What's wrong?" he said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Oh, how she longed to kill him. "Nothing, sweetie," she said.
"You sure?"
"Yes." She realized her fingers had clamped down on her thighs and the
fingernails were digging in hard. Must let go, she thought. Painful. Must let
go. But first, how to find a way out of this? She must get out of this
relationship, out of this pathetic, clip-art rendering of a life she lived. My
god, she thought, the things she's missed while being with this garrulous twit
-- the time she's wasted. Must it go on?
"Honey?" he said.
"Yes, dearest." The suspense was deadly. Her blood boiled and her head swelled
as she awaited the next ridiculous statement that would splatter forth from his
damnable lips. She gripped the sides of her head, eyes closed tightly enough
that she could hear eyelashes grinding together.
"Isn't it hard to believe we've been married a month already?"
Oh, how she wanted to kill him.
E-mail this writer at kgramone@aol.com And
remember, this is Dryer-Lint Awareness Week.