Continuing with something a little different for 2P News, a peek back into history for stories you won’t hear anywhere else. Your humble correspondent has witnessed a plethora of events he has been loathe to share. That is, until now…
BREA, California – Strange things happen in places other than just Calgary, so let me tell you the story of my second cousin Jack Hoffman.
The time was back in the 1970’s and he was living in New Orleans, working for Royal Douche Shill. He met some friends to go partying in the French Quarter during Mardi Gras. As is all too common with my family, what he had eaten at the Acme Oyster House and Galatoire’s Restaurant plus a quart or more of Dixie Beer was generating severe intestinal pressure. The group was staggering down Bourbon Street and not wanting to gas the entire group, he ducked into a dark alley, dropped his pants (in case it was a wet flatus), bent forward and released an anal zephyr of epic proportions and hurricane force.
What he couldn’t see was that right behind him there was a little person lady who had just come out of a side door and was walking up that same alley toward Bourbon Street. Since she was close to eye level with Jack’s buttocks, she caught the blast right in the face. A burst of Creole profanity alerted Jack to the fact that he had company and it was at this point that he made his critical mistake. Instead of apologizing as he should have, he started pointing at her, jumping up and down and laughing like a maniac. Well, this wasn’t just any old little person lady, this was a voodoo priestess little person lady. She said, “Zo, monsieur, you theenk thees iz fonny? I weel show you fonny!” Then she started chanting, dancing and making mystical signs with her hands. Jack ignored what she was doing and strolled back to where his friends were waiting.
A little while later, though, quite unexpectedly he emitted a huge smelly fart. It wasn’t all that noticeable compared to the din of street noise, but his friends were a bit put out. Then, one hour later, it happened again. And yet again another hour later. He couldn’t help himself. The voodoo priestess little person lady had put a curse on Jack that made him pass gas loudly every hour on the hour. There was nothing he could do about it. He went to physicians, witch doctors, exorcists, just about anyone who might help, but to no avail. One would think that a little person voodoo queen in New Orleans would be easy to track down, but try as he might Jack could never find her to apologize and beg her to remove the curse.
He began wearing adult diapers with extra lining and activated charcoal pads to reduce the sound and smell. But finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and disappeared into the Barataria Swamp south of New Orleans. The locals say that sometimes on a hot summer night when the air is very still you can hear a strange rumbling noise off in the distance that many people claim is just swamp gas. But it’s not swamp gas, it’s Jack gas.
