Happy birthday, Dannis!

The story of the loneliest picture on the Internet

Hello, newly-appointed bread baking experts!

I hope you are all sitting tight at home, being bored, and watching a lot of television.

I’m taking it a touch easy this week because my birthday is coming up this Sunday and if I can’t have a proper celebration, I might as well fuse to the couch.

I will be turning 39. Holy shit. I know, I can’t believe I’ve made it this far either, based off of the disturbing things I’ve ingested in my time on planet Earth.

One day, the mothership will return to gather me up and send me back to planet Zorvex in the outer regions of the boner galaxy Cialis. I will report back on my time here and talk about my extensive research on how to abuse a gallon of ranch dressing.

In the meantime, enjoy the following picture of how I will more or less spend my birthday.

This photo of me has gone viral (an unfortunate term right now) on a lot of occasions. Some of you may have already seen it.

Might as well whip it back out just in time for my birthday!

Yes, that’s really me. Just absorb the beauty of this picture. The empty restaurant. The Boone’s Farm bottle in my hand. That giant cake. The lighter I used to light the lone candle. My suit. Harvey in my pocket.

But when it hit Reddit’s Photoshop Battles, that’s when the shit hit the fan. People were messaging me, emailing me, asking, “Dennis, is this you? It looks like you. Holy shit, you’re famous.” Famous.

Famous my ass.

Every now and then, the birthday photo still pops up in strange places (I’m #12). I was notified of the picture recirculating again just a few weeks ago.

I won’t go through all of them (a lot of them involve race issues), but here is my favorite.

Not only am I the greatest food writer in all of history, I am also the pilot of the Starship Enterprise.

To be honest, I’m not sure how the image got out in the first place. It was my Facebook profile picture for a while because I thought it was hilarious. I don’t recall sharing it anywhere else on social media so the mystery will never be solved.

When it first spread around, there was rampant speculation as to who I was. Strangers thought the photo was candid and wanted to give me a hug. But it was actually a test image for a scripted video series that never made it to fruition aside from the pilot. My friend Ryan and I worked on it for a very long time.

And watch his series, Fucked! In SPACE! while you’re in quarantine.

Here’s the pilot: Table For One at White Castle for Valentine’s Day.

We wrote the script for a second video, but we (mostly me) never got our shit together. Man, making videos is hard!

If you’ve known me for long enough, you probably already know this story, but since I still think the whole thing is funny, I will never get tired of thinking about it. So that is the way I accidentally got pasted all over the Internet. The insanity lasted for a few weeks, then finally died down aside from the occasional flare-up.

Things have obviously changed a lot since then.

I know. A rollercoaster of a story that you probably didn’t care much about to begin with, but it’s a funny reminder of what my life used to be, and where I am now. Good times, good times.

So see you next week, clowns!

Share, if you please.


And there’s this, to support future pieces:

Venmo: @dickholedannis

One last fun fact.

My mother and I share the same birthday.

I guess we won’t be celebrating together any time soon, which is making me sad, but we all figured out how to video chat with each other (a true miracle) so we’ll at least get to see each other face-to-face in our own way. The hugs will have to wait for later, but as long as we’re safe, I don’t mind waiting.

Can you turn Cheddar Bay biscuit mix into bread?

You jerkoffs took all the flour

Hello, bing bongs!

I write you from the confines of our apartment, where we are holding up and atrophying away from sitting all day. Davida has received her unemployment debit card, but there’s been no news regarding my status yet. This sucks balls and ass. I can only imagine how difficult it is for entire families right now.

The upside is, we have Animal Crossing now, for the Nintendo Switch, so that has been a bright spot in an otherwise bogus time. I’ve been watching Davida catch fish, pick fruit, and bonk people on the head with her butterfly net.

We went out for a brief excursion to the grocery store (we’re on our last few rolls of toilet paper) to get supplies. People are still being insane about the toilet paper thing! We ended up empty handed.

Make that bread, and so on and so forth. Link in bio.
March 25, 2020

Also, it turns out every single one of you guys has transformed into a master baker. Justine (above) made a beautiful loaf of bread; check out her blog, Boney Appetit!

Seriously, what the fuck. As I obsessively scroll through Facebook and Instagram, all I see are loaves of bread. Bread here, bread there. The world is now 100% bread.

If you want to know something dark and secret about I, Dannis Ree, the greatest food writer in all of history, it is buried deep inside the cavernous depths of my ass…

I’ve never baked a loaf of bread.

My friend Sara Lee does all of that for me.

The flour aisle was as empty as the toilet paper aisle. Except there were lots of boxes of Cheddar Bay Biscuit Mix. You know, the very same biscuits that they sell at the pinnacle of all seafood restaurants, Red Lobster.

And there was plenty of yeast.

Davida picked one of the boxes off the shelf and said, “Can we get an extra one? Because I know you’re about to ruin one.”

I asked myself, with sheer glee, “Dannis Ree, if you add yeast to a box of Cheddar Bay Biscuit mix, can you turn it into a proper loaf of bread?”

I am a goddamn champion.

I mixed all the ingredients together into a large mixing bowl.

This herb packet is supposed to be the base of a garlic butter you brush on top of the biscuits, but I decided that I just wanted the bread to be seasoned. Plus, I’m lazy.

Because I bought active dry yeast and not instant, I needed to wake up these little burping and farting yeast babies by mixing them with warm water and sugar.

Wake up, guys, you have a lot of work to do!

To make things as simple as possible, I decided to go with a no-knead technique.

I mixed in the yeast and eyeballed the water, because I am amazing at everything I do and nothing could go wrong. I am an expert, just like everyone is a coronavirus expert on social media these days. Did you know you could destroy coronavirus if you sprayed it with a mixture of urine and gin and ran over it with a truck?

I let the dough sit all day, close to 10 hours.

It looked suspiciously unchanged, but then I lifted up the bowl to check the bottom.

Hooray, bubbles!

I took a whiff to see if I could detect the yeast farts after they digested the sugars from the flour. Success. It smelled like bread dough.

I was tired after staring at the dough for 10 hours straight so I let it sit in the refrigerator overnight to slow down the fermenting process. Then Davida and I watched some Tiger King, the most hilariously insane story I’ve ever seen. Fuck food writing. Maybe we should start an illegal tiger mill from our tiny ass apartment.

The next afternoon (we’ve been sleeping until the afternoon, because everything is stupid right now) I pulled the dough out of the fridge.

It didn’t particularly rise, per se, but it did expand across the bowl. I’ll call it a win.

Then I tossed a healthy amount of cheddar into the dough, working it in carefully.

The dough was very sticky and not terribly fluffy. Hmm.

I shaped the loaf into a giant turd.

If you are going to be the best food writer in all of history, it is important to compare food to the substance that came out of your ass that morning.

My coworker Travis suggested I bake the loaf under a pan to generate some steam while it baked.

I gave the bread a helmet, cranked the oven up to 450°F, and let it bake for 20 minutes. Every time I use the ° symbol when I’m writing something, I Google “degree symbol,” find a result, and copy and paste it into my document, just like I did right now.


Then I removed the bread helmet, put the helmet on my head, and baked the loaf for another 20 minutes, naked.

Holy shit!

Once I saw the result I almost shit my pants. I couldn’t believe how nice it looked. The apartment smelled like the interior of a Panera Bread, which is the highest compliment you can pay to a bakery.

As the perfect compliment to this magnificent product, I pulled out the good stuff, Butter Garlic Flavor dip from Little Caesar’s.

This shit is precious. I used to champion Papa John’s, but it turns out Papa John is a horrible racist, which means I’ve been eating racist pizzas for years.

This interview is amazing.

Plus they slowed down his voice so the monster really shone through.

When you are a self-appointed expert on bread, you have to take a look at the texture of it and say, “Wow. Look at the crumb structure on this bread. It looks amazing. Marvelous. Good job, Sara Lee.” Then you spend the rest of the day, nodding, while saying, “Crumb.”

But in this case…instead of a crumb structure, this loaf was pretty much a solid brick of cooked dough. I’m amazing.

Davida and I took a crumbly chunk off the bread. It tasted, well, just like a Cheddar Bay Biscuit with a subtle yeast flavor underneath. Its texture was less of a fluffy bread, or even a dense sourdough, and more like pound cake. We stood around the stove, munching on it. I dunked a bunch of pieces into the golden nectar of the Garlic Butter Flavor Little Caesar’s dip, secretly imagining me slathering it all over my groin.

“Well, that was a nice little fucked up lunch,” said Davida, going back to her game of Animal Crossing.

So was this a real loaf of bread? Maybe not. Am I now the greatest baker in all of history?


Here’s business as usual — if you liked this, share it on social media! I’m @fartsandwich.


And yes, please consider a paid subscription. Things are going to be dicey for a while. While you’re at it, keep supporting your local restaurant scene if they’re still doing takeout or delivery. Every cent keeps your favorite places in business.

Venmo (ugh): @dickholedannis

And lastly, it’d be nice to hear from you, in general, so don’t forget to say hi. We’re taking this shelter-in-place thing seriously, as should you.

Please be safe. Love you guys.

Is toilet paper edible?

Because seriously what the fuck

We are living through some frightening times. It is okay to be scared.

From where we’re sitting, Davida and I are probably going to have it a little rough for a while. We both have service jobs. Paulie Gee’s Logan Square, where I make pizza, is mostly on lockdown, doing takeout and delivery only, for the time being. Pretty much the rest of Chicago’s restaurants are just straight up closed, and the entire industry is terrified about our future.

Davida’s job at a spa is also currently on hold, which means she and I are going to be playing a lot of video games for a while.

This is hard. This is really, really, heartbreaking. For the love of God, just stay home for a while. This has gone way beyond the hand-washing thing. Being bored is not going to kill you.


Unlike you clowns, we haven’t been able to hoard toilet paper. Go figure.

I’m trying to limit the times I’m going out. You’re all insane:

So, this got me thinking the same question as all of you.

“Dannis Ree, as the greatest food writer in all of history, you must have an answer to this,” I said to myself. “Why the fuck are people buying so much toilet paper?”

Then a lightbulb went on in my head, and I nodded to myself.

You all must be eating it.

To answer my suspicions, I asked an all-star roster of industry folks one question: Is toilet paper edible?

Here are the answers.

Daniel Gritzer, Culinary Director at Serious Eats

Happy #MAR10, from your friendly kitchen goofball.
March 10, 2020

Daniel says, “It is, but you have to sprout it first. To do that, pack it into a mason jar, piss into the jar, seal it, and set it behind the toilet for 17 weeks. After that, I really like it with stewed kidneys, just to enhance that inherent pee flavor.”

Ali Khan, Host of Cheap Eats on Cooking Channel

Am I the only that doesn't like rocking winter gear in restaurants?
Well, what are ya gonna do when you crave a Wagyu double cheeseburger made from 40 day dry aged ribeye steaks, local cheddar, house made pickles, a custom burger sauce on an in house cemita bun?

Stay bundled up and burger up!! TGIF!!
January 18, 2020

Ali responded with, “Mmmmmmm. No. But IMO edible is an ideal vs a feasible possibility.”

Interesting. Also, Ali has a blog called Bang For Your Burger Buck and a YouTube show called Ali vs. The Dome. Check them out.

Allison Robicelli, Staff Writer, The Takeout

I spent the past six days in Chicago for work with no husband and no kids. Planned on hitting the town but it was cold and icy, meaning I was “forced” to spend the whole week stuck in my quiet hotel room, “forced” to eat takeout in my pajamas, “forced” to binge watch Curb Your Enthusiasm while on (legal!) edibles. Anyway, here’s an action shot of me wearing four coats on the train after eating duck at Sun Wah to prove that I did, in fact, engage in at least one social thing. I’ll do something exciting on my next trip. Maybe. #BestVacationEver #livingmybestlife
January 25, 2020

Allison says, “Probably? I mean, it’s fiber.”

Duff Goldman, Owner of Charm City Cakes and Host of Ace of Cakes, Food Network

Ever wanted me to judge your kid’s cake decorating skills in person? Now’s your chance! Join me, Geof, and friends for the Kids Decorating Competition at @duffscakemix! Link in bio (and over on the @duffscakemix profile) for more details, dates, and tickets!
June 24, 2019

Duff responded with, “If you cook it right, sure.”

Josh Scherer, Host of Mythical Kitchen, author of Culinary Bro-Down

Josh says, “Toilet paper is edible. If you think it isn’t, throw three squares of Charmin into your next smoothie and tell me if you notice the difference. You won’t.”

J. Kenji López-Alt, Chief Culinary Consultant, Serious Eats, author of The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science

Thankful to still have this little buddy (and his sister Shabu) around after all these years. Still as grumpy and lazy and awesome as ever.
November 28, 2019

Kenji replied, “Inasmuch as “edible” means “fit to be eaten” and I can definitely fit toilet paper in me, yes?

Also, Kenji has a ton of shit going on. He’s a chef and partner at Wursthall, and he’s coming out with a children’s book, Every Night is Pizza Night, to be released later this year.

Richie Nakano, Industry Relations at ChefsFeed

Come for the conversation about why my friends think I’m boring now and current state of the restaurant industry, stay for the anecdote about how a bowl of Hapa ramen probably ruined one of @reneredzepinoma’s shirts! Thanks for the conversation @chefchriscosentino, it was really fun
Link in my bio
#Repost @chefchriscosentino
We all grow up, we all make mistakes thats part of life , how we learn from them is the true test. @linecook & I sit and talk about life, changes and as always he instigates the conversation. Listen to #losingyourmindwithchriscosentino Link in Bio
August 27, 2019

Richie: “Yes. And the problem is that people over complicate their TP recipes. A simple Charmin Cacio e Pepe is both affordable and nutritious.”

Mike Sula, James Beard Award-Winning Writer, Handsome Man Who Looks Suspiciously Like Dannis Ree

You might remember Mike Sula from this fantastic piece earlier.

He said, “After I’ve used it? Yes.”

Chef Ethan Lim, Hermosa

Ty @dickholedannis for the piece in @chicagomag! Stories are great, and I enjoy all of them.
Link in bio
________ 📸 @iwaslikeyo
February 20, 2020

Ethan says, “Yes. I have consumed papers in multiple forms.”

Davida, GBOAT (Greatest Babe of All Time)

We crushed it tonight. My first meal cooked nearly on my own in the new apartment— under Dennis’ loving guidance of course. Homemade salmon & kimchi fried rice! It was so lovely. I love food. I love him.
June 30, 2018

Davida was trying to play video games while I asked her this very important question.

“Well, first of all, I’m trying to fight robots and I’m on fire. Fuck, can you ever really be prepared for a question like this? Can’t you ask someone else? I hate quarantine.”

There you have it.

Out of 10 replies, only one no. So I guess in a pinch (disgusting pun intended), experts agree that you can eat toilet paper. Nobody’s asked me what I think.

Maybe, you can, I don’t know. Roll sushi with it.

Right now, I don’t know what to say. Just take care of each other. We’ll be doing our best over here in our little apartment to keep laughing when we can, and helping out in the ways we know how.

Here’s the share button (which I still have never clicked on):


And please consider subscribing so we can get some toilet paper while we figure out what’s next.

I hate this, but Venmo: @dickholedannis.

(At least we’ll have more time to write.)

Do all cat treats taste the same?

Looks like Dannis ran out of ideas again

Hello again, my beautiful dickholes!

How many other newsletters are there that affectionately greet you as a dickhole right out the gate? See. You should all feel special. Thanks for being here and letting me address you as a dickhole.

Haha. Dickholes.

At this point, as you all know, Davida and I have a pair of very beautiful cats. They make a lot of appearances in my writing. In case you’re new and need an intro, here’s some pictures:

November 15, 2019

This is Cricket.

She’s very small. Her favorite food is candy corn. She is the reason why I eat a lot of cat food.

When @airbudfan69420 and I finally moved in together, she brought her cat Nugget (short for Vonnegut) along with his favorite chair. One time I heard him farting and it was a monumental event in my life. #pizza #internationalraccoonappreciationday #playskool #gatorade
October 1, 2018

And this is Nugget.

I will never get sick of this picture of him. His eyes. His baby chair. He has the funniest high-pitched watery meow that makes me laugh every time I hear it.

Their favorite mutual hobby is beating the shit out of each other.

Whenever Nugget walks by Cricket bites him in the ass and then things go straight to hell. It’s amazing.

The only time they truly get along is when they get, shh, don’t say the word too loud:


We don’t spoil them very often, but the last time Davida gave them treats (even just writing the word is risking them busting through the door like the Kool-Aid Man), she rattled off the copy on the back of the package out loud.

“There’s a picnic out back and I’m invited! Chicken! Liver! Beef! Yes, please! A veritable smorgaueshborg (sic) of carnivourous (also sic) goodness, all for me! Turf and Turf…and Turf flavors! No vegetarians allowed today-this is a meatlovers feast. A triple TEMPTATIONS™ treat!”

Jesus Christ.

“Do you think that the cats really know the difference between any of these flavors?” I asked Davida.

She raised her finger, pointed at me, and her face cracked into a big grin. I nodded solemnly and knew what must be done.

So today I tried three different cat treat flavors to see if they really were different, or if our cats are just dumb.

This is the tuna-flavored cat treat.

The filled treats look kind of like shredded wheat cereal.


Except the novelty of these particular treats is that they’re filled with a soft center. So, like Combos for cats!

This is the result I got for Googling Combos.

I can’t stop staring at that guy’s face. His eyes are dead. What has he seen?

I crumbled one up to see if there really was anything inside.

There was a hint of something vaguely paste-like. I thought, “Well, Dannis. Maybe you just got a bum one. Crack open another.”

I broke another one open. And another. Yet another. I fell to my knees. The filling. It’s a lie. It’s all a lie. There’s hardly anything in there! And our cats have no idea they’re getting robbed!

Soft center my ass.

After I ate one I thought, “Wait. This tastes like chicken, not tuna.”

First ingredient?


Now, I realize I’m an award-winning writer who knows everything there is to know about food and that I have a very sophisticated palate, but seriously, all you can taste is chicken.

Tuna my ass.

I narrowed my eyes and looked at the next treat, supposedly turkey-flavored.

I took a bite, got angry, and then popped another in my mouth. All I could taste was sour. More lies. No turkey.


Well, I guess I don’t know everything then.

In a feat of defiance, I had a brilliant idea. Why not try this turkey treat with some turkey meat?

Unlike the turkey-leg-shaped cat treat, Aldi turkey deli meat is shaped like a rectangle.

I took a bite of the turkey deli meat and my eyes narrowed again.

“This turkey doesn’t taste like turkey either. The lies never end,” I whispered to myself.

I had Cricket help me with the catnip-flavored treat.

She ate one, then I ate one. My eyes narrowed yet again.

“I don’t actually know what catnip tastes like, so I can’t be angry right now,” I said to Cricket, who was happily munching away. “But my trust has been broken by this false marketing.”

I watched her carefully for a minute and chewed on the slightly grassy-tasting and grainy cat snack. If Nugget and Cricket have any real catnip they go batshit crazy. They’ll run around in circles, and meow at the walls frantically. I gave a catnip-flavored treat to Nugget too to see what would happen. Maybe they’d go all MMA on each other and turn into gladiators and shit.

Nugget began to vibrate.

Just kidding. Nothing happened except that he stared at me silently, begging for more.

“God, you cats will eat anything,” I said, as I popped another cat treat in my mouth, forgetting that just last week I deliberately tried to give myself diarrhea. “You guys are so dumb.”

Hey, everyone!

The usual: If you had fun reading this, please share it on social media and forward it to all of the relatives that you hate. Here’s the button I don’t think I’ve ever actually clicked on.


And yes, the plug: If you’re here, consider a paid subscription so I can share more food with the cats. Whether or not you know it, you’re what’s pushing me to keep being creative nearly every week.

Also, I know things are scary right now. Hang in there. Wash your hands. Take care of each other. And if you’re afraid, Cricket will make you feel better.

The Bad News Gummy Bears

Can too many sugar-free gummy bears actually give us diarrhea?

Hey, dickholes, how’s it going?

Today’s post is a very special one because it involves deliberately giving ourselves a form of gastrointestinal distress.

There’s a lot of farts in this one, so I have a feeling some of you are going to stop right here and that is okay. Self care is important, so if you’re scared, feel free to run away. Run far. Don’t look back.

Now, if you’re still around, you are a force to be reckoned with.

On to butt city.

As the greatest food writer in all of history, I’ve made a lot of really cool friends along the way. One good friend is Mike Sula, pictured here.

I mean, just look at him.

He’s stunning.

Let’s look at him again.

Mike is also the greatest food writer in all of history. He’s won an actual James Beard Award, unlike me (the difference between us is that I’ve won all of them).

We’ve known each other for years now, and we see each other now and then. I currently work with him on pieces for Kitchen Toke, which is a gorgeous magazine about culinary cannabis.

Mike and I text each other about writing and food-related things, and in the past few months, he’s repeatedly brought up the subject of these gummy bears that he keeps around the house. There’s nothing particularly special about them aside from one fact.

They’re sugar-free.

This particular sugar-free gummy bear’s main ingredient is maltitol syrup. Maltitol is a sugar alcohol that’s used to replace the sweetness of sugar in lots of food products. Sugar alcohols aren’t fully sugar or alcohol but kind of a hybrid of both.

In certain quantities, maltitol has some really wonderful side effects. For some people, it’s just a plain ol’ tummyache or gas. But in other people, it’s instant diarrhea.

Since Mike has won a James Beard Award, you know you can trust his discerning palate to teach you about food. Here is another picture of Mike.

Because he enjoys these sugar-free gummy bears, I decided to buy a five pound bag off of Amazon. I blew $25 of your subscription money for this.

Since I am a very investigative non-journalist writer, I decided it would be a great idea if I ate a bunch of sugar-free gummy bears to see if I would get diarrhea like some of you normies out there, or if I am a secret gastrointestinal champion that will save us all.

I realize these stuffed animals are very small, but Jesus.

This is an alarming amount of gummy bears.

They’re cute, though.

I mean, they’re a candy that’s made in the shape of a very dangerous mammal. What’s not to love? In most circumstances, a bear would just eat your face, so in this case, you can turn the tables and eat the bears.

Mike usually keeps very specific tabs on how many he eats. One of our text exchanges went like this:

Mike: I had 12 on an empty stomach

Me: You even count how many you’re eating in a session?!

Mike: Going above 8 is asking for trouble

Me: Which brand?

Mike: Albanese


Mike: Make sure you do it right before you go to work

As you can see, Mike is such a good James Beard M.F.K. Distinguished Writing Award Winner friend that he feeds these danger bombs to his friends.

After we received the package, Davida ate a bunch. Ignoring Mike’s suggestion, I only had a few because I had to go to work.

She took a handful (more like two baby-sized fists worth) of bears and poured gin all over them to let them sit and get fat.

During my shift, I polled my coworkers about this sugar-free diarrhea bear phenomenon.

One of my coworkers, who shall remain anonymous, but whose name rhymes with Shmangela, said, “If my sister has one of those she’ll shit her pants!”

I asked another coworker, whose identity I won’t reveal, “Ben, have you ever had sugar-free gummy bears?”

He looked at me and said, matter-of-factly, “Oh yeah. Insta-runs.”

This was getting serious.

Here’s Nugget looking at one of the gummy bears. Don’t worry. We didn’t give one to him, but I wouldn’t put it past him to give himself severe diarrhea after eating something forbidden.

Around 10 pm when I was clocking out, I got a text from my partner in the experiment, who shall be also be unnamed for privacy reasons.

Davida: I’ve been farting like crazy all night

She would like me to note that she did it daintily.

Naturally, once I got home I crushed 12.

This was us the next morning.

I was as inflated as a beach ball. I would grunt around in bed, letting out the same-sounding five second fart, every five minutes. It was like Groundhog Day, except with my ass. The bedroom smelled like the exact opposite of a fresh basket of laundry, and it sounded like we’d let an entire flock of very tired ducks beneath the covers.

Davida disappeared for a few minutes and came back, clutching her stomach. She said, “My butt feels spicy. I’m dropping out of this one.”

But we weren’t done quite yet.

The gin-bathing bears mocked us from the safety of the refrigerator.

Ever have a gummy bear that tasted like gasoline? Me neither, until this moment. Just one of these bears could fuel a space flight to Mars. The exterior was as gelatinous as this photo would have you believe, but inside lurked a chewy normal-gummy bear core. It was like a small gummy bear, trapped inside a giant mushy gummy bear. This diarrhea journey now reached the depths of the metaphysical.

I ruminated on the soaking liquid. “It might actually be diarrhea gin.”

“That’s actually my favorite Breaking Benjamin song,” said Davida.

The reference flew way over my head.

(Psst. Say “diarrhea gin” and then the name of the song. I had to think about this way too long before I understood the joke.)

“Let’s light one of these on fire!” I said, in a drunken display of madness.

We went outside, on our wooden porch that could easily go up in flames. I brought out my crème brûlée torch for this special occasion.

It lit on fire and for a moment, a tiny moment, I thought we truly achieved something. But what, I will never truly know.

I came home from work, the night after Davida proclaimed that she would no longer be part of the experiment.

There she was, babin’ out on the couch, happily chewing away on a handful of gummy bears. I shouted, “What are you doing? I thought you weren’t going to eat any more of them!”

“They’re awesome,” she murmured, through a mouthful.

I’m still farting like crazy.

Hey, if you guys remotely enjoyed this one (I’m still clutching my stomach), share it on social media. Here’s a button to make it easier.


And if you’re still along for the ride, consider paying for a subscription. I’ve been bad about it, but you’ll get some exclusive content (paid subscribers got a good one last week!) And yes, it’s retroactive, meaning if you sign up now, you’ll get access to everything.

God, my office stinks. Thanks for nothing, Mike.

It did occur to me just now that I really never did achieve diarrhea, and I plowed down a lot of those things. But I’m one step closer to achieving my superpower:

Farting on command.

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