Looking at this gives me gas

I did a terrible thing to myself over the weekend. My lactose intolerant body consumed cheese fondue. Not all cheeses are created equal, and not all cheeses have the same amount of lactose, but the cheese I chose to dunk my dinner in appeared to have copious amounts of lactose because after the first few bites, I farted. We were in a nice restaurant, but it was too painful to hold in my gas. So I did what any civilized woman would do, I lifted my left butt cheek and let it all out. It wasn’t just a couple toots, I was farting the entirety of dinner. I guess I could have slowed down on the cheese consumption, but I wiped the pot clean. There was no cheese left, it was all sitting (and stirring) in my belly. I left the restaurant with a slightly bloated stomach which would have been way more distended if I didn’t fart it out. I was very pleased that my abdominal discomfort was mild instead of alien-baby-painful. We made it back home just in time for my first bowel movement, and my butt made it to the toilet by the second wave. First came solids, then came sludge, then it was full on liquid poo. The smell was a mix of dookie aroma and sour cheese rot. I will spare you the details, but the toilet looked like a war zone; a war armed with super soakers full of mud water and herbs and spices. How does something so delicious create something so foul? No matter what it does to me, I can’t quit cheese.

Looking at this gives me gas.
Looking at this gives me gas.

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