You ever eat all the wrong foods then go to bed only to wake up the next morning with a shit brewing deep in your bowels. Your stomach is knotted. There is a hint of regret in your heart because you know you shouldn't have indulged, but you did.

You duck-waddle onto the toilet and prepare yourself. Grunting and straining to the point of popping a blood vessel you finally push that last herculean push of relief. A small trickle of sweat forms on your upper lip. You quiver slightly. Then, just when you thought you were in the clear, it hits you. A wretched waft of gas that hitherto has been trapped in your colon for the last decade is forced out. Stunned by the ferocity of your creation, you sit there reveling in its cloud.

You're equally amazed, and disgusted, by what has come out of you. You are pleased as only the perpetrator of such foulness can be. If anybody were to come within 25 feet of you, they'd immediately call an ambulance, or just shoot you on site for befouling the atmosphere with your stench.

This is Francis. Poor misbegotten, ass queef, Francis. His only contribution to the world is the stench he emits. A stench only he can appreciate. The rest of us know it for what it is.

Good morning and happy new year, Francis. I see a new year has not brought you any relief from the gross retardation that pervades your life. Legit question, how does it feel knowing this is the high point of your day? What's it like having nothing other than stupidity and ignorance to wallow in?