This past weekend, Jack and I invented something over a couple of beers and some espresso vodka shooters. I am certain it is going to make us filthy rich. We will live in a mansion bigger than the one in ‘The Great Gatsby’ and we will affectionately call each other ‘Ol’ Sport’ in normal, everyday conversation. This is absolutely going to happen as long as those reading this post keep their slimy hands off our idea.
This whole story starts with my disgusting, smelly older brother. I explained my brother in detail in the post entitled, “Sh!t, Dog, Sh!t.” If you haven’t read it yet, go ahead and do so now.
I don’t mention him being smelly in the prior post, but fact of the matter is: he stinks. In awkward social situations most people hold in flatulence to avoid embarrassment. In turn, we all end up with a killer stomach ache by the end of the day. The guy stinks, but at least he doesn’t suffer in silence. Might I also mention my brother is kind of a child? He busts a gut when he, well, busts a gut. If I say anything about his problem, he makes it my problem. He will cup, waft, and throw this problem in my face. He has been known to lock truck windows in the closed position with the goal of tormenting me. He always wins. I wanted to win just once.
Stinky was being his regular self and Jack and I started playing around with some solutions to the problem. I thought maybe we could invent some sort of underwear that allows the wearer to let it out with little consequence. Could we really make methane gas smell like carnations? (because roses stink). I’ve been told this already exists in China where the streets are overpopulated. This has not yet been confirmed. The other issue with this possible solution is my brother doesn’t even wear underwear, which was an overshare on his part and I am deeply disturbed by it.
Jack made a vital comment that changed our project forever, “It has to be a pill. Everyone wants to be able to take a pill these days and have their problems magically disappear.”
I tend to slightly disagree, but it is easier and less ‘diaper-like’.
There are already pills out there to aid in digestion or stop gas in its tracks. This is going to be a pill that allows you to let it rip and instead of invading the noses of others, you will be nurturing them.
Jack wanted to name the invention “Angel Dust”, but I believe that name is already taken by some sort of street horse tranquilizer. That is not the message we would like to convey to the masses. I knew it was our destiny the second the name rolled off my tongue, “Angel. . .Fluff”.
I think we’re on to something here.