WORDS

Freedom of speech isn't a free pass to spew hate.

It isn't. You can twist those words into anything you want, but they don't come close to making it alright to vomit hate.

You can dress it up any way you want, but hate is hate. 

The sad thing is, the cowards who hide behind The First Amendment lurk in the shadows of anonymity across the Internet. It's very rare you actually know who is saying those God-awful things. 

In my opinion, those are the truly dangerous people. 

The idiots who get on those cable new shows and yell and scream and turn fifty shades of crimson have one agenda. They want attention. Maybe they weren't hugged enough as kids. Their political affiliations aren't the point. They're just spoiled, bratty children who want attention. 

As stomach-churning as most of what they say is, they have a right to say it. They're not doing society any good. They're part of the problem. They're part of the cancer which is eating away at our country and our world but they have a right, as stated in The US Constitution, to say what they want.

They're not the scary ones, though.

The scary ones are the individuals who troll on the internet.

The scary ones are the ones with no faces and who use many different voices and pseudonyms. The scary ones are the hate-filled bigots and blowhards who refuse to take any sort of responsibility for the damage they cause.

It's easy to be brave when you're using a fake name. 

To them I say this:

If you truly believe you have the right to say what you feel, no matter how heinous, then step out into the light and speak up. Say it! Let's see how brave you are in daylight? Fully exposed. 

What's wrong? Afraid you'll burst into flames?

Shield yourself in The First Amendment. 
Wrap yourself in the American flag. 

Until there's a change, you do have a right to say what you want. You are protected under The First Amendment.

But know this.

Some speech, especially speech that crosses over into conduct or action is unprotected. The use of a racial slur to threaten or intimidate someone, for example, is not protected by The First Amendment. 

A story that made headlines recently concerns Comedian/Actress Leslie Jones. 

Twitter users tweeted Jones photos of gorillas. 
Jones became the target of comments which bordered dangerously close to harassment. 

It wasn't one or two people who attacked Leslie. There was a mob mentality in the hate-filled tweets. The blind leading the blind. The ugly leading the ugly.

It should be said people like this are usually referred to as trolls, and a more appropriate word there never was because these individuals (I'd use the word people but that makes them sound too close to something that resembles human beings) which is such a appropriate description. They are ugly and belong under bridges. 

When you are a celebrity, you have to have a tough skin. It's not a business for the easily hurt or offended.

The issue is not whether or not Jones has thick skin. The issue seemed to be more that she had black skin. 

The issue wasn't can Leslie Jones take criticism or whether or not she can dish it out and not take it. The issue is that most of the comments aimed at her were racist. Big-lipped coon  and ape are ugly words which ooze hate.

One troll in particular, the editor of Breitbart Tech, Milo Yiannopoulos, seemed to have a personal vendetta against the co-star of this summer's Ghostbuster reboot. Tweet after tweet attacked not only Jone's race but her physical appearance. It is alleged this troll also created different accounts posing as Jones to fan the flames. 

Yiannopoulos has since been banned from Twitter. 

Doesn't mean he or she or it won't be back, crouched in the dark, tapping away angrily on the touchpad of their phone posing as someone else.

Jones herself has been accused of tweeting comments which some deem as controversial. She is a comedian, it must be said, and every comedian has their own voice, their own tone and rhythms. Her voice is in her delivery, just like George Carlin's or Jon Stewart's or Carrot Top's or Bill Burr's. 

It has been suggested by some, Jones has repeatedly made derogatory comments about white people. 

Derogatory? Hate-filled? Racist? 

I don't think so. 

I think at first glance Jones' words are inflammatory but consider the source and the truth behind her words.

Leslie Jones is an African-American woman. Her voice is markedly different from mine and the way she expresses herself is different from the way you and I would say the same thing. I can't say the things she says because I haven't been where she has been. Just as she can't speak for me the way I would. 

The point is, I'm a 51-year old white male. I wouldn't say what Jones said because I can't and because I shouldn't. 

Race has always been a hot topic for comedians and satirists. Exposing the differences between the races is has always been fodder for great material. 

Richard Pryor wasn't a racist. He talked about everybody!

As far as the use of profanity, certain words have their place. 

If your 20 minute set onstage, though, consists of 11 minutes of just using words like fuck and shit because you didn't do the work to find a smarter word which would have worked better, then you're just lazy. 

Jones is a comedian. Certain words are part of her vocabulary. They are part of her personality as a performer, part of the fabric of her character.

I don't know her as a person. I only know what she puts out into the world.

The point is she has the right to say what she wants to say. Her speech, her opinions, are protected by The First Amendment. 

The trolls who attacked Leslie Jones used hate speech. 

Remember the exception to The First Amendment I mentioned earlier?
The use of a racial slur to threaten or intimidate someone...

There is a difference between the two. I don't think this is a case of double standards. 

In most of the tweets exchanged between Jones and the trolls who attacked her, Jones took a defensive stance. Only when she went on the offensive did she come close to crossing the line. Never did she though, in my opinion, come close to violating the First Amendment.

I think she got backed into a corner and came out swinging. 
Can we all say we would never do that?

There are some who claim this whole series of events was somehow a publicity tactic to help promote Jones and her new film Ghostbusters. 

Really? 

REALLY?

I can't imagine any actor putting themselves through such a horrible ordeal for the sake of opening weekend ticket sales. 

It's a stupid hypothesis created by stupid people. 

Which goes back to my original point. 

There are a lot of stupid people on the internet and for the most part they can say what they want to say. 

Sadly, haters are going to hate and they will continue to do so. Especially when they can hide on-line. 


Politics aside, this is a human issue. This isn't about political correctness. This is about social correctness.

When did we get so mean? 

When did HATE become in fashion?
When did it become okay to attack so openly and with such an air of entitlement?


I get it. I do. 
We're all angry. We're all frustrated. 

Is the answer HATE?
Because if it is, then we have to ask the question in another way.



and that's 'Jody' with a 'y'
copyright 2016
all rights reserved

Bucket of Nickles

The Facebook LIKE button.

If I had a nickel for every please LIKE my whatever I receive every day. Well, let's say I would have a big, ol' bucket of nickels.

Big Ol' Bucket Of Nickles. 
That would be an awesome name for a country band.

Yeah, that annoying LIKE button. It's all a little desperate. Isn't it?

And I've done it! I've sent those desperate please LIKE my whatever requests to people on Facebook. So, I can say that.

It has a dark side too though. Doesn't it? This little blue and white hand with the thumb sticking up.
Sometimes it's more of a negative than a positive. Sometimes it's more a middle finger in your face than a thumb's up.

Well think about it.
You send someone a request.
PLEASE LIKE MY.....(fill in the blank)
Two things happen.

The first is the person LIKE's your whatever. Sometimes they message you. Most of the time they don't. Most of the time, them LIKEing your whatever is like them making an anonymous donation made to PBS during one of those pledge drives.

The second thing that happens is that nothing happens.
You don't get a LIKE. 

Boom! Middle finger! Right in your face!

You stare at the little box that says INVITED. You sign out of Facebook. You refresh the page. You shut down your computer. You put shoes on and get in your car and drive. You don't know where you're going. You just drive. Somewhere far enough that you'll gone be long enough for The Universe to make right.

How long is long enough for that invite to get to who it was sent to?
An hour? Half an hour?

You wait. Then you rush back home. You turn on your computer and open The Book of Face and go to your...and then...you...see...and your hopes fade...

Some people just don't LIKE anything. You look at their page and see they haven't LIKE'd anything on Facebook. Nothing. Not one thing.

It's okay. Really. There's no rule that says you have to LIKE everything on Facebook.

It is surprising when friends don't respond to your requests but again, it's okay. 

WHAT'S NOT OKAY...sorry...let me try that again...

What's not okay is the people who have had your invite in their inbox for a year and haven't responded or done anything with it but continue to send you requests to LIKE their whatever's. 

Balls. It takes balls, but then again that's Facebook. 
The Land of Anonymous Balls. 

Don't send me a request for anything until you at least respond to my request. Nothing. 
I won't like your band or your restaurant or one-night-only reading of Dr. Seuss or whatever. 

That's right! I said it! 
Middle finger right back at you!

And speaking of...

This needs to happen:

And so does this:

I doubt very seriously Facebook will make these options available but a guy can dream.

LIKE it or not.

And that's 'Jody' with a 'y'

Copyright 2016

All Rights Reserved

Bring On The Talking Monkeys

You think I'm joking?

And that's 'Jody' with a 'y'

Copyright  2016

All Rights Reserved

WHISKEY. TANGO. FOXTROT.

What are we doing?

Please. Somebody tell me because I just don't know anymore. 

From all appearances, whatever we're doing looks a lot like a truck filled with cases of nitroglycerin racing towards a concrete wall at 175 MPH. 

Wiley E. Coyote should be President. He's the only one prepared for this craziness. 

Yes. I know he's a cartoon character but he ain't the only one. 

We are tearing each other apart. And this is so not a political commentary. It's a human commentary. At the rate we are going, the human race is going to rip itself apart. 

Every morning I wake up there is another press conference. Every morning I wake up there are more senseless attacks and more senseless deaths. Every morning. Every fucking morning. 

Every day begins with sadness and anger and violence and death. 

Everyone is pissed off and there doesn't seem to be any way to alleviate the scolding hot water that is about to boil over and burn us all. 

Black lives matter. 

The lives of cops matter. My life matters. Your life matters. 

All lives matter.

ALL LIVES MATTER. 

ALL  

LIVES  

MATTER.  

You know what doesn't matter? 

All the stupid bullshit we distract ourselves with every day just so we don't have to think about how awfully sad and desperate things are in the world. 

There's nothing with distraction. We all need it. We would go insane without a little distraction every now and then.

Let's just not vote for it to be President of the United States. 

The world is going to Hell in a hand-basket.

And it seems we are going to need a much bigger basket.

What's the answer? 

I'm not sure there is one but it doesn't matter because it's too crazy and loud out there with the rapid fire reports of assault rifles. 

Even if there was someone shouting the answer, nobody would hear it. 

Nobody can hear anything right now. 

And pretty soon the sound of silence will envelop us all.

and that's 'Jody' with a 'y'

copyright 2016

all rights reserved

Dear Future World

Dear Future World, 

I know I can’t and shouldn’t speak for everyone so I will speak for myself in the only way I know how.

I’m writing to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry we fucked it all up.

I’m sorry we didn’t do more even though we certainly could have.

We were given a precious gift and we ruined it. 

There’s no excuse. 

We got lazy. We got greedy. 

We got impatient and wanted everything faster. 

Pretty soon one drive-thru lane wasn’t enough. We needed two. And they both still ended up at the same window! 

But we didn’t see the idiocy of that or maybe we just didn’t care. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.

Pretty soon big wasn’t BIG enough and awesome wasn’t AWESOME enough. 

If something was expensive we had to have it! Things weren’t built to last anymore so we had to buy everything all over again.

Everything was electronic and easy. We were so obsessed with everything being at the tip of our fingers we let everything slip through them.

We were so busy trying to get everything RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW! we didn’t even take one second to think about what was down the road. 

Somewhere along the way, we lost our patience with everything and with each other. 

We pouted and kicked like little children when we didn’t get what we wanted when we wanted it and when people didn’t listen to us or when we heard something we didn’t like or agree with.

We hated it when someone said something that made us think in a new and different way.

We didn’t take one single second to think about you and what we might be leaving for you, Future World. You were too far off in the future and we were too busy shoving phones in our faces to see you.

We were too obsessed with taking selfies. We were too obsessed with ourselves. We lost perspective on the world around us. As much as we took pictures, we lost sight of the bigger one.

With our heads down staring at devices which were supposed to make our lives better, we weren't looking forward and we stumbled and tripped and eventually fell on our collective faces.

We labeled ourselves to death because just being HUMAN wasn’t good enough any more.

We argued and fought and killed each other for the sake of race and all the while the most important race, THE HUMAN RACE, was losing the bigger battle.

People killed because their god told them to do.
Some killed because they stopped listening to God.
Some killed because others had stopped listening to God.
Some killed because they were angry.
Some killed for revenge. 

Some killed because they were just bat-shit crazy. 

Some killed because of color. The color of skin. The colors on a flag. 

Whatever reasons you were given as to why there was so much senseless killing, they weren't enough. In many cases there were no reasons. No reasons that justified taking another life.

DEATH. There was far too much of it.
And there didn't need to be.
We were very good at it though.
We were out of control.

There were debates about controlling guns, but it was ourselves we needed to keep in check.

HATE consumed us. 

We served it up and we feasted on it and we never seemed to get full.

Honestly, Future World, we just stopped thinking. 

We stopped using our brains. 

Everything we wanted was right in front of us, in our hands, at the push of a button. We were plugged in...but not tuned in.

There was no need to think about anything any more. It was just easier to go with the most popular GOOGLE result and take it as truth.

We wanted to know everything and we wanted to share everything. 

Nothing was private and because nothing was private, we all felt a little too entitled and empowered. 

We got deaf.
We stopped listening, to each other and to everything else.

Mother Nature had plenty to say to us but we had things in or against our ears and we couldn’t hear a thing she was saying. 

Eventually she just stopped trying.

We were blind. Which, if you think about it, is incredibly ironic. Especially if you think about how many of us had undergone lasik surgery. 

We became irresponsible and arrogant.
We got lazy.

We created cars that drove themselves. It wasn't like we were paying attention any way and cars that drove themselves just made it worse. 

Why should we pay attention to the road ahead of us when the car was doing it for us? 

We lost our voice. We became more concerned with having a great sound-byte than sending a great message.

We just wanted to be entertained and we didn’t want to have to think about how we were being entertained. 

REASON was no longer a thing and we were more interested in those who were yelling the loudest. 

We wanted so badly to be distracted we were distracted badly.

When I was a kid, clowns were really scary. In time, though, those same clowns got even more frightening because they traded their makeup and over-sized shoes for fancy suits and hair do's. They traded three rings for the political arena. 

And we let them. As scary as they were, they were funny and obscene. They distracted us from reality which we all knew was getting less fun...and less real.

Even religion wasn't enough any more and in time ‘going to church’ became ‘going to an event’ because getting together with family and friends for an hour of peace and contemplation wasn’t enough any more. We needed to add rock bands and food trucks.

We blamed God for everything.
We blamed God for not doing enough.

Some of us doubted the existence of God but still looked to some invisible force to blame other than taking a good long look at ourselves. 

We just wanted to laugh and not work too hard for anything.
We became the 'just not worth it' generation.

A lot of people figured ‘What’s the point?’ 

Far too many of us were far too happy to just ‘Let the other guy do it.’ 

‘Friendship’ became a word on a website which meant you were allowing someone to hear everything that was in your head and see everything you were doing. And the website didn’t have any filters!
So we could see literally everything. 

Eventually we lost our filters too and once that happened we were lost.

TRUTH came with a price and too many people shopped for it on-line. 

Eventually the price became too high and nobody wanted it or could afford it. It was just easier and cheaper to believe the lies. The people who could afford it changed it and made it theirs.

For as many of us who bragged about going to the gym, we became weak. We lost that strength that had once made this country great.

We lost our resolve.
Fortitude can’t be measured on a FitBit, so we weren’t interested. 

Everything became an issue. Everything became an opportunity to get our, as Andy Warhol said, 'fifteen minutes of fame.' 

Everything became about the me, and the we suffered. 

‘We the people’ ceased to be a thing and the new mantra was ‘I the person.’

We tore ourselves apart, Future World. 

Most of us ripped and tore it apart out of selfishness. And our claws were sharp. Some tore at the world out of frustration and anger. 

Those who were left with the scraps didn’t know what to do with them. Scraps, are after all, just scraps. 

There are just some things duct tape can’t fix. 

And some time later we finally did get angry enough to do something about the sorry state of affairs we had created for ourselves. 

And we unfriended everything.

It was easy. All we had to do was follow a pop-up menu and then press a button.

I’m sorry Future World. I don’t know what else to say.

I hope things are better as you read this. 

I hope, in your time, people still come together for one another and not just when things are their bleakest but because we can and we should and not because it’s the last thing left to do.

I hope people still laugh at stupid jokes. I hope it’s okay to be silly and to cry and to love and to be who we are without worrying about who somebody else is and what they’re doing.

I hope the sky is blue. I hope the sun shines bright during the day and The Man on the Moon smiles down on you at night. 

I hope there are still books with cracked spines and dog-eared pages and wonderful words that transport you to better places than you may be in at the moment. 

I hope the grass is still green…on both sides. I hope there are still trees and animals. 

I hope you still jump in puddles after it rains. 

I hope it still rains.

I hope there is peace and quiet when you need it and head-banging rock n’ roll for those times when you just need to air guitar.

Most of all, Future World...

I hope you understand what the word HOPE means.

and that’s ‘Jody’ with a ‘y’

copyright 2016

all rights reserved

CHECK 'YES' OR 'NO'

"You have one responsibility: to be a dickhead. How hard can that be? All you have to do is make sure your head is a dick, and it's attached to your neck.'

~Robin Williams as Patch Adams, Patch Adams

'You ever hear of the saying "you run into an asshole in the morning, you ran into an asshole; you run into assholes all day, you're the asshole."

~Timothy Olyphant as Raylan Givens, Justified

You know. I'm not all that concerned anymore if you don't like me and I'm not talking about the Facebook liking, I'm talking about what liking used to mean. 

Nowadays liking something is just a button you click on Facebook and much like everything else in the modern social-network-saturated times the meaning of the word has changed. 

Take the word friend for example. The word friend doesn't mean what it used to mean. Now it just means someone you share cat photos with on Facebook. I would wager 40% of the people who see your posts on Facebook are people you have never met or probably never will meet. We accept people as friends and send out request to them so we can be friends as a way to network our businesses or interests. Nothing wrong with that. It's just the use of the word friend that is misleading. 

I certainly never ever want to be someone's friend on Facebook because of some sense obligation. We shouldn't fall into the trap of 'Well we work together so we should be friends on Facebook.'

Why?

We never talk and when we do its awkward, like we've bumped into each other at a cocktail party after discovering one of us slept with the other's wife or husband or daughter or son or mother. 

Today we invite friends to like our pages. 

We used to invite friends over for pizza and a movie. 

and that's 'Jody' with a 'y'

Copyright 2014

All Rights Reserved

INHERIT THE WIND

The following story is true. I haven't changed any names. Mostly because the main character is me. The minor characters will remain nameless and therefore their identities are protected.

~~~~~~~~

Inherit The Wind II

We've all farted at one time or another. 

Best opening to a short story ever. Right? 

Don't try to deny it. It's a normal human function. Anyone who says they've never farted is lying. Everybody does it. Everybody poops...goes through red lights...masturbates...and everybody has, at one time or another, watched one of those Ernest movies.

My wife and I were out a few days ago.

We decided to have lunch at one of our favorite spots. It was a good meal. I remember distinctly I hadn't eaten anything too spicy. I'm not a fan of hot and spicy any way. We had a good, basic lunch. I felt fine afterwards. That is to say, I was satisfied not full. I certainly wasn't bloated or gassy. 

That's why what happened in the half an hour after we had eaten is such a mystery.

Somewhere between paying the check and leaving the restaurant the disembodied soul of some evil Aztec God, seeking its vengeance on the world, somehow, entered my body. 

At first, I was fine. Life was good. I had no idea of the evil that was coiling itself around my insides. 

Sometime a little later, in the car, on the way over to Kohls, I burped. I probably asked to be excused and made a joke about more room out than in.

I don't like shopping in big stores like Kohls, especially on Saturdays. I just wanted to get that on the record with the hopes my wife will get the hint and stop asking me to join her on her shopping expeditions. 

Nothing against Kohls, mind you. I just don't like crowds and people and crowds of people and large groups of people all crammed together in a hot department store. 

My mood was suddenly off and it wasn't just that I was about to enter a crowded department store. Something was wrong. There was a storm brewing. Something was terribly wrong.

My wife is a commando when she is shopping. I usually just let her go and follow behind her like a pouty 9 year old. I'm pretty sure most men can empathize. I dragged my feet and stared at the ground as she said something about a 'pretty purse' and 'Oh! Look at those shoes.'

On this particular visit my wife had to stand in line, a very long line, for customer service. I'm like a shark and I have to keep moving. I told her I love her and I would see her in an hour or two. I was just going to look around. 

She said something to me about shirts but I didn't hear her. The growling in my stomach was getting louder. I worried that people might hear and I decided it would be best to find the least populated area of the store. 

I will say for the record that I did not have to poop. I just know.

This was something else and I didn't see the sense in walking all the way to the men's room and probably standing in line and more than likely opening the stall door only to discover that the last guy, who probably just won an all-you-can-eat-chili contest, and suffered from explosive diarrhea, had left only a second or two before I selected Stall Number 3.

No. I was going to be alright. Whatever was churning inside my stomach would settle and I would be fine. 

After a few minutes of walking slowly, like I was carrying nitro-glycerin in my pants, I found myself in The Yankee Candle aisle in front of a large display of their newest scents. 

I was alone. 

Somewhere, maybe over the store's intercom, John William's theme from Jaws was playing.

As I was sticking my nose into a jar of a candle labeled 'Vanilla Cupcake', I heard a sound that made my heart skip a beat.  

It was like a wet growl. From deep within my bowels there was a rumbling. 

Oh God. 

The Aztec demon spirit had decided to wake and seek its vengeance. 

Now we've all been there. 

You have to fart and there is no way to stop it. We all know that if you hold a fart in too long you can give yourself an embolism and die. Nobody wants to be the poor sap who held in a fart so long they gave themselves a stroke. Nobody would ever read your obituary without laughing. Your family would be so ashamed they would never mention your name again. Soon you will be forgotten for all time. All because of a fart you held in too long. 

I wasn't going to be that guy. 

There was no way I was making it back to the men's room and crop-dusting in a busy department store is just too risky. Sure! There is the initial camouflage and anonymity of the crowd of people around but someone will eventually figure out it was you. Your dark, stinky secret will be revealed. 

Then the whole ugly scene becomes the end scene of The Invasion of the Body Snatchers

(The one with Donald Sutherland)

You know the scene, at the end of the movie where Sutherland's character opens his mouth in a silent scream and points at actress Veronica Cartwright because she's not one of them. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

That's what will happen when the crowd discovers you were the one. 

The crowd will join in, chanting 'Farter! Farter! Farter!'

I'm pretty sure someone in the back would shout 'String him up!'

The angry mob will circle around me, glaring with red eyes and turned up noses as they walk through the trail of the air biscuits I've left behind me. 

I had to fart and there was nothing to do but fart. 

I glanced around. The coast was clear. A little voice in the back of my brain told me that I was surrounded by hundreds of candles. The only better place to fart, if I had my choice that is, would be the perfume department where the air is thick with the aromas of many colognes and perfumes. You could hide a body in the perfume department and nobody would know. 

I wasn't going to make it all the way to the perfume counter and, to my horror, I was starting to lose clench control. I'm pretty sure I was dilated at three centimeters. 

I breathed in and out slowly in an effort to control the contractions which were now coming every two seconds. I widened my stance and braced myself on the counter. 

I placed Vanilla Cupcake back on the display. 

And then it happened. 

You ever hear a lion seal scream?

You ever hear the sad bellow of bagpipes being stepped on by an elephant?

I have never farted so loud before in my life. I actually scared myself a little. I quickly turned around to make sure my small intestine and shreds of blue jeans weren't on floor behind me. 

The initial shock wore off and my breathing became normal. A bead of sweat rolled off my nose and landed perfectly into a jar labeled Sandlewood. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. The storm had passed. The demon from inside me had been exorcised. 

Then it hit me. 

Actually two things hit me. The first was that the storm hadn't gone. I was in the eye of the storm. 

The second was the fart itself. 

It was the worst thing I had ever smelled. 

Holy shit! 

Where THE HELL did that come from?

My God. It was like someone was burning tires and dead skunks. 

'Farts that bad mean only one thing,' the little voice in the back of my brain whispered, 'You'll be dead within minutes. You might want to make things right with God.'

I found it hard to breathe. I thought I could revive myself with the smell of something good and pure so I picked up Vanilla Cupcake and brought the heavy jar to my face. I prayed for relief but the cold glass jar offered me none. The air was heavy with the foul cloud that was encircling me like an invisible boa constrictor.

I lifted another jar to my face. 

Super Sweet Pumpkin? 

NOTHING!

Bahama Breeze?

NADA!

Fluffy Towels?

NEIN!

Midnight Jasmine?

No. Nothing. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus. Had I destroyed my own sense of smell?

Then I realized the truth of the situation. It wasn't me. It was the candles. They all smelled the same. They all smelled like the inside of an abandoned refrigerator. It was beyond awful. I was so ashamed and, I have to be honest, a little proud. I mean on the scale of fart potency, that was a trophy winner. Blue ribbon. The Nobel Peace Prize of Flatulence. 

My pride diminished quickly as I realized that I just single handedly wiped out Kohl's Yankee Candle inventory. 100% contamination. 

There was nothing to do but leave the scene of my crime. I looked for an escape route and calculated the steps that would take far from Ground Zero. I walked briskly away. I walked past two older woman but made no eye contact. They were a blur to me, and I prayed, I was a blur to them. 

I walked through racks of onesies and cute little t-shirts. I think I saw a turtle wearing a baseball cap. I zig-zagged through racks of pretty little dresses made for pretty little girls. I weaved to the left and then quickly to the right and found myself on the main aisle. I was now at least 70 feet from The Yankee Candle display and the cloud of my shame. 

I had successfully gotten away with my heinous crime. Nobody would ever know. 

(Sure.Until now that is)

I slowed my walk and stood up straight as to not draw attention to myself.

Within seconds I blended into the Saturday shoppers around me. I was one of them again. 

Fart? Me? I've never farted before in my life. 

What's that you say? Some inconsiderate person contaminated The Yankee Candle section? 

Oh Lord. I hope no one was hurt. Who would do such a thing? How rude. 

I was standing in front of shelves piled with what had been, at one time, a selection of neatly folded and stacked polo shirts when I heard my wife's voice:

"Are you done?" she asked. 

'Done. What does she mean 'done'?' the little voiced asked nervously. 

'Yep! Already to go,' I answered. 

'I saw some candles for sale back by Customer Service. You want to go back and see if there's a scent we like? Maybe they have that Pumpkin Spice we like-'

'NO!' I interrupted, 'THEY DON'T! I looked...They're all...There's NOTHING. I mean there are no candles we would like...they're all pretty terrible.' 

I was babbling. My mind was racing. I needed to slow it down and reel it back in before she suspected something was wrong. 

'Oh okay. Well. Let's just go then.'

She took my hand, as she likes to do when we are walking, and we made our way to the front doors. 

My wife squeezed my hand and told me she loved me, as she is prone to do and I squeezed her hand in return and told her I loved her too. 

Then she stopped and asked if I was okay. 

I told her I was fine and asked why she was asking. 

She looked into my eyes and said 'You look a little pale is all. Everything okay?'

'Everything is just fine' I replied, 'Everything... is...just fine.'

The End

and that's 'Jody' with a 'y'
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