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Whenever I’m in the grocery store, I always tend to look at someone’s cart and then immediately make a judgement about that person based on the contents of it.  I think Webster’s dictionary defines that as “Being an judgmental asshole,” but so be it.  Anyway, after one such trips to the grocery store I went home and fired up the ole’ photoshop machine and did this.

Like usual, shark facts all week long

I wrote this essay (very liberal use of the word “essay”) a few years ago for work. It’s possibly the dumbest, and least skilled piece of writing I’ve ever produced.  And yet, I still enjoy it.  Anyway, when I was promoting Shit My Dad Says the book, I went on the Carson Daly show, and I really wanted to tell this story, since he was engaged to her.  He said no, and it remains on my bucket list.

About four years ago, I was waiting tables at a restaurant in Pasadena, about fifteen miles away from Hollywood.  Celebrities never really came in there, as evidenced by the time the hostess excitedly ran up to me and said “Oh my god, the guy who played Al from Home Improvement is here!”   But every once in a while, celebrities would come in, and when they did, I would fart on them.  It started at first because I have irritable bowel syndrome and one day I was walking through the dining area and I farted next to a table.  Then I came over to a guy I was working with and was like “Man, I just let a really bad one go next to that table in the corner,” and then he looked at the table and he was like “whoa, that’s David Allen Grier.  You farted on the guy from In Living Color who played the one character… with,… I can’t remember, but he was funny.

 So, from then on, if a celebrity came in, I would fart on them. We began keeping a list of who I’d farted on.  Most of them never had a reaction.  I farted on Damon Wayans, Tim Matheson, Roma Downey from Touched by An Angel, and Matthew Lillard.  All of them either didn’t smell my fart, or the smell of their food overpowered the fart smell.

Normally a bunch of waiters would hide in the side station, then I’d feel one coming and I’d go over to the table and say some bullshit like “how’s everyone enjoying everything tonight?” and then let out a silent one, or if it was going to be loud, cough and let it out.  So one day I was standing in the side station, filling a couple sodas, and my friend ran up to me like he’d seen someone murdered and he goes “DUDE, Jennifer Love Hewitt is here.  You HAVE to fart on The Ghost Whisperer.”  At that point I didn’t even know what the Ghost Whisperer was, so I thought that was just a nickname he had for her or something, which I thought was weird.  But I don’t judge people, I just fart on them.

 At this point everyone was like “we need to move carefully on this, because the last few people didn’t smell your farts, so like, we need to make sure the space from your asshole to their nose is as close as possible.”  (Just FYI, this is what waiters talk about.)  It got to the point almost where we were making diagrams of how it would go down, with salt and pepper shakers, like we were planning the Kennedy Assassination.  What we decided was, I’d pretend to talk to the table behind her, so that my ass was right next to her face, then I’d let one go.  So I walked out there, but in the ten minutes we’d spent making the plan, the table that was sitting behind her had left.  At that point we didn’t know what to do, it was like the “Oh Shit!” moment in Ocean’s 11 where Andy Garcia puts George Clooney in that holding cell, right before the heist and you’re thinking “how are they going to steal the casino money?”

It was JUST like that.  Unfortunately I didn’t have a team of screenwriters helping me out, so instead I just walked up to where that table was, and pretended like I was looking at it for some reason, even though no one sat there.   Then I let one of the hottest farts I’ve ever let, out of my asshole.  It was like an afternoon-in-phoenix-hot.  Because my shirt was tucked in, it started to come out of my collar, which would have totally screwed up the fart going towards J. Love’s face, so I held my collar tight to my neck, and tried to shove the fart back down towards my ass.  And it did.  And then, just like that, I walked away.

As I walked away, I saw my friends staring intently in her direction from behind a bunch of boxes of plastic cups, and then suddenly they burst into laughter and began running in separate directions.  When they finally stopped laughing, they explained to me that Jennifer Love Hewitt was eating normally, then suddenly a few seconds after I walked away, she looked up, in no general direction, as did her date, and made a quizzical stinky face, as if to say “was I just farted on by the waiter?”  To her credit, she never complained to anyone, and instead enjoyed the rest of her meal.  

I wrote this a couple years ago, when I was at a bar and noticed every buff, fake tanned guy was basically orbiting around this one really attractive girl, and that around each one of these buff, fake tanned guys, were smaller, less buff guys orbiting around them.  I decided to try and map it out.  Not sure if I was successful, but anytime I can try to explain axe body spray using something from a Stephen Hawking book, I’m in. Co-written by Thee Jesse Thompson.