Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit

The sort of secret blog of Beans, a.k.a. Jules, a.k.a. "Legs for Miles" a.k.a. "Rackie the Boob Queen." Fine, ok, not the last two. Starting July 2006, sometimes "Mike," aka "fagadoccio," is a co-poster on the blog. The co-poster child, really.

Monday, October 03, 2005


Listen, I wanted this site to be FUNNY and FOOD RELATED but also CLASSY. Nevertheless, you will, reader, forgive the following story which takes for subject none other than a simulated odor of flatulence.

Due to the impecunious state my retarded money management lands me in, I have been bringing my lunch to work in big nasty tupperwares instead of ordering the compose-your-own salads that, Christ on High, I love so dearly.

The other day I brought BROCCOLI to work, grilled Broccoli. I opened the tupperware and as the plastic lid burped open, my tiny windowless office instantaneously smelled like a thousand rotten "ghost poops" aka farts had been taken all up in it. I mean. I closed the lid but there was no stopping the thick poopy air from filling up the office.

I suddenly had a flashback to my childhood. My mother, in her viking accent and characteristic impatience with people who think things are gross ("ISSS ONLY MOLD!!! EAT IT!"), was holding up leftover broccoli from the night before: "IT SMELLS LIKE GAS BUT IT TASTES GOOOOOD!"


I personally don't care about fart odor. I'll say it right now. When people fart in a car or something, I usually just laugh. One time my friend who was dieting put all the cheese from her hot pizza into my half-full chai spice latte, and after the cup had sat through a 2-hour lecture, I held on to it because I thought it smelled so FUNNY. "SMELL THIS SHIT" I would say, and stab it out under people's noses. THen I would smell it for the 300th time and laugh til I had tears in my eyes.

But it would have been foolhardy to assume that my GOVERNMENT office was full of stink-embracing idiots like me. In fact, most of the people I work with are pretty straight-laced, smart, and classy. It was 150% certain that as they whooshed by my office in their striped suits on their way to a board meeting, they would silently register in their minds that Jules had literally made a huge diahhrea fart in her office. And that's just embarrassing. I mean, it just is.

So what to do? The shit-smell was parked like a truck, no fan was going to change that. I just had to clear my name.

So I sat at my desk and everytime someone passed by my door I would holler, "WHAT DELICIOUS BROCCOLI!!" "MMMM BROCCOLI SO GOOD HMNAHMNAHMNAHMAHA" "BROC-O-LI! BROC-O-LI!" etc. I picked up my phone and pretended to be schmoozing with someone: "ooooooooh NOTHING, just EATING SOME BROCCOLI IT'S DELICIOUS BUT SMELLS LIKE FARTS BUT ISN'T FARTS, IT'S JUST BROCCOLI what are you up to?"

Stinky, stinky dame. Must be all the iron?

Lesson learned: 'tis apparently better for your office mates to think you are a vegetable-worshipping turrets-riddled loser than believe that you make crazy air-dumps in your office.


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