Not until she had arrived, did I realize

Not until she had arrived, did I realize I was wrong

to try an online matchmaking service. She was god-awful ugly. Now at the risk of appearing shallow, I will say she had a great personality. I just couldn't overlook the gigantic

goatee she sported. I wanted to call it off, but the matchmaking service had an arrangement with Armenian Power, and it was either go out with her again or die. I thought about it,

and finally decided that I would prefer to die. My bearded beau was heart-broken, but she offered to help me choose my method of termination. As I was musing over the possibilities

that weren't possible I thought about death and its finality. I took a step back and thought about core competencies. I wanted something out of the box, something that ticked all

the boxes, including some sense of actually living in a healthy village. I stared at my sunlit coffee in despair. I looked up and saw my cousin Jeremy. "I'm dead," he said

I couldn't help but giggle a little though my sobs. Jeremy had always been so dramatic, and even now he couldn't help but crack a joke. No matter what he said

The audience was dumbstruck and turned deep purple when he farted by accident. Oops! Jeremy should not run for office, the newspaper editorial said. So he stepped down immediately.

So when the candidate that actually shit his pants won the election the Poopy Pants Party hit the campaign trail and kept running. The Fart that cost him the election was forgotten

because each crapful of wardrobe malfunctions overturded the last in pungency.The Press pressed for more,publishing perforated smutty details on a roll.Enough POTUSSY humor! Flush!