Grandpa was at the casino. Nothing kept his

Grandpa was at the casino. Nothing kept his mind off of his impending doom quite like Sinatra played on loop in a room without clocks. He gambled away his gas money, then his car,

a real gas-guzzler if there ever was one, so that was okay, really. Except now Grandpa wasn't sure how he was going to get home from the casino in time to watch Jeopardy and Wheel

of Disaster. In his senility, he was less about Jeopardy trivia than Trebek's wondrous 'stache. But Wheel of Disaster was a different story. Grandpa would squeal when contestants

spun the wheel. The contestants would cup the wheel's round curve and that would send Grandpa through the roof. They'd give a good tug and his eyes would light up. The highpoint

was when the wheel would slow to an agonizingly slow click, each peg passed ratcheting up the tension until it would stop and Grandpa would experience total release.

Then he would groan like a moose in heat and turbo flush 3x. Thank god she'd had the japanese toilet with the stretching rack installed for his 90th thought grandma. He so enjoyed

cross-cultural toilet studies. They were fodder for ongoing research for promotion and tenure and (God knows), just about anything could be studied and restudied to increase one's

general knowledge of human waste, but despite the clear academic value of these toilets, the department of cross-cultural toilet studies could never have predicted that they would

My god, who knew what brought us together would be what we felt so much pleasure in separating from ourselves, that the throne of daily duty would save us all. Fart.