Good morning. My name is Old Overholt and I like to crop dust.

I'm not afraid to admit that in my old age, some things have started to wane. No more aggressive jewelry, I am in bed way earlier than midnight, but I still have my passions. One of them is crop dusting.
What is crop dusting you may ask. Leaking methane from your fartbox in public without making an audible sound is crop dusting. The other day I was out at a networking meeting, which I have to attend a lot of for work. This one was particularly boring with at least a dozen stuffed shirts posturing and pretending to not be engaging in some corporate mating ritual. So went over, and made some small talk for a few moments, and then I "let the rats out of the cellar." Two seconds later, "Awesome, they brought out more vienna sausages. Be right back." Oh I wasnt going back. I had just tasted the hell I had let out, and wanted to watch them pretend that it wasnt there.
This is not a conversation you will hear at these meetings:
Dipshit A: Hi Charles, how's the market treating you?
Dipshit B: Landry! You old salt! Waitress! A round of Sperry Topsiders for everyone!
Dipshit C: Christ! Who fucking farted?!?!?!?
Stew in it fuckers. Smell the inside of my ass. I'm off to watch the Minnesota Rollergirls where they dont serve Veuve Cliclot and no one cares about the price of Talbots stock.