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Once upon a time in a land very far away(who gives a shit) existed a cigarette factory called Phlegm Productions Inc. The factory was also called the Tobacco Haven. One fine sunny day little green goblins that were all 3-4 feet from the land of Buttskunk converged on the Tobacco Haven in massive army of 120,000 goblins. Each goblin wore clothes made of stitched together rat pelts and every goblin carried either a burning torch, an iron-tipped spear, a knife carved from bone, a war club made from the jawbone of a warg, or a tomahawk with a blade carved from stone. Only one man could stand up to this goblin mob and prevent the cigarette factory from being overrun, he was a version of me from an alternate dimension and his name was Ragefart. Ragefart went outside, pointed his ass at the goblin army, and let out a long rumbling fart and a massive cloud of toxic green gas spewed out of his butt. It settled over the entire mob of goblins and they all fell over choking, coughing, and wheezing.Within minutes they all died and the crisis was avoided. Ragefart was now a hero, but both his and my farts stink like holy hell and we are also awkward and 36DD is awesome. THE END the moral of the story is i gotta take a shit and thats why i can't get lucky
