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Cheese coincidence

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This is a vinegar valentine. It’s not mine, but it could be if I had a talking dog. I do have a blanket that I sleep under at night and a nose to smell farts.

I am that dog at times, though. My girlfriend found this particular valentine funny and so did I. We laughed and, eventually, I started puffing for the first time in my life. Labels are important – especially when we’re talking about euphemisms for bodily functions.

I’m shopping at Target last week, unable to decide on anything in particular while I pick up one object to replace it with another and then go back to the original. It’s maddening and extends to my cheese purchases. I settle on a neat little package of cracker-cut slices.

Later, my girlfriend learns that I’ve purchased cheese and points out my subconscious decision to procure fart cheese.

But it turns out that it’s not Limburger – it’s Dubliner.

PUFF.

The booty, so to speak.
The booty, so to speak.

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