THE OBENSON REPORT

1. I'm on a crowded subway train on my way to work... bodies packed in like Africans on the Middle Passage... if I moved my head 2 inches forward, I'd be kissing the potty-mouthed dude standing in front of me who smells like he woke up that morning, didn't brush his teeth, had a couple of Vodka shots, smoked a pack of cigarettes, and ate a breath mint thinking it would cover up the stench... already a bio-hazardous predicament! But wait a minute, what's that OTHER rancid smell starting to circulate... suddenly, morning breath mixed with Vodka, Pall Malls and mint don't smell so bad. Of course, no one can move, can't get off the train, no open windows... trapped like rats, until the oxygen molecules eventually stabilize. Everyone looking at everybody else wondering who the culprit is... mofo is probably laughing hard on the inside. NO-NO!
   
2. At the office building, waiting for an elevator to take me to the 30th floor... others around me, waiting as well. I'm looking around thinking, if any of y'all muthafuckas gotta fart, you better do so now, 'cause, I don't wanna smell nothin' dirty when I'm ridin' that sealed, near-air tight elevator 30 floors up! Ya dig... sho nuff! So, I'm looking at every single one of them... like I can tell who's likely to "let one go." I figure, I'm a black man, sizable at over 6ft tall, 200 pounds, of somewhat intimidating stature, and I can give a pretty mean stare when I need to. And they're all Caucasian men and women, none quite as statuesque, so I can maybe intimidate them with my grave "black man stare." Because, you know, once we're in that elevator and someone does voluntarily "contribute to global methane emissions," all eyes will lay upon the black man in the back! And of course, on the elevator, everyone in silence, looking at anything else but at each other, obeying some unwritten elevator code, when some asshole's asshole "sings a tune" for the rest of us to appreciate! WTF?? The 30th floor can't come fast enough, but, naturally, the elevator stops on every prime-numbered floor before mine, so I'm suffocating in the stench left by one of those wiley Caucasians! NO-NO!
   
3. I'm at the gym, sweating it out on the stair-climber, with 30 minutes left of my 1-hour session, trying to burn off the multiple slices of red velvet cake I ate the night before, while simultaneously dreaming of the one slice I still have left in my refrigerator at home. There are only 2 stair-climber machines at this facility, placed right next to each other. I get my workouts in quite early (I'm in the gym by 5:30AM on most weekday mornings), so whenever I'm on the machine, there's rarely ever anyone using the "simulacrum" next door, since the gym is usually quite empty around that time of day. So, I tend to grow weary whenever someone does opt to use the other stair-climber machine... hopefully they put on some deodorant before leaving their homes... hopefully they aren't wearing the same unwashed pair of shorts and tee-shirt that they've been sweating on all week... hopefully they aren't going to start singing along loudly to whatever they are listening to on their iPods... hopefully they aren't going to FART!! Of course, someone eventually had to challenge my theory that no one would be rude enough to "flavorize" the air in a gym of all places... especially in such close proximity to another. I'm already struggling for oxygen, with my heart pumping at a much higher rate than normal, as it should, since I'm working it out. I need as much clean air going through my respiratory system as my pipes can handle in that instance. What I DEFINITELY don't need is to feel like I'm inhaling the onion and garlic-filled lentil dairy dish you ate the night before! My heart rate is up, I'm sweating like mad, my mouth and nostrils are wide open, to maximize my oxygen intake. I need to breathe man, not taste whatever feces is sitting in your lower intestine, waiting to come out! NO-NO!

What some don't realize is just how potent flatus can be. It can contain nitrogen, carbon dioxide, methane and hydrogen - flammable gases, which undoubtedly means that flatus can be ignited! That's right... gives new meaning to the phrase, "lighting fire under someones ass!" But I don't want to have to resort to that folks! Can you imagine me carrying a book of matches around, and when someone farts, I "light up their asses!" Literally! I wonder if the fire would burn inward instead of outward, essentially following the trail back up through the main source, and into the body of the "releaser," essentially blowing them up from the inside. That would be kind of cool, wouldn't it? HAHA! We do carry oxygen in our blood, right? And we know that oxygen is a fire conduit. Talk about internal combustion! (That was my Eli Roth, torture-porn moment)

Alright, I'm done! In closing, just do me a favor, be kind, be considerate and control your anal sphincter when you can. I know for some, it's actually an ailment, and thus, involuntary, but I think most of us don't have that problem. However, if you absolutely, positively must "drop it like it's hot" whenever and wherever, I strongly urge you to invest in one of these: Anti-Flatulence Underwear. Yes, you read that right. A patent was filed in 1997 for something called the Protective Underwear With Malodorous Flatus Filter. Don't believe me? Check it out HERE. Or you can buy one from a company called Under-Tec, amongst several others, for just $24.95; and they come in all sizes too! Click on the images below to read about how they work and get yours NOW, helping to reduce global methane emissions and stabilizing greenhouse gases, doing your part to save our planet! You'll be glad you did!