Fart

Gas.

What: Sedan trip from the west coast of Florida to the east coast.

When: One day last week.

Who: Eighty-eight year old woman.

Why: Returning from the vacation condo to the real home.

With: Her uncontrollable hound.

Highlight: Her inability to stop talking about how wealthy she is.

Lowlight: Increasingly flatulent dog. Seriously. After four hours, it was still outgassing.

What kept me sane: Figuring if both scents of farts were pooch originated, or whether she was playing fart tennis with the dog.

Conclusion: Old women should not be foisted upon innocent limousine drivers, cross-country jaunts are only fun with friends, and flatulent dogs should be FedExed.

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