I'm writing this entry with a mixture of excitement and frustration, my fingers struggling to keep up with the thoughts racing through my mind as I sit here, my massive, sweaty butt cheeks squishing against the chair. My students often comment on the fog that perpetually lingers in the classroom, and I always pretend it's just the humid weather outside, but the truth is, it's me - my ass, to be specific.
As I type this, I can feel the familiar sensation of steam rising from my backside, a constant reminder of my, ahem, unique physiology. It's not just the steam, though. Oh no. There's also the steady stream of fart gases that seep out, making the air thick and heavy. I've grown accustomed to it, but it still catches me off guard sometimes. Like when I'm in the middle of a particularly heated lecture and suddenly, a stinky cloud wafts out from under my desk. The looks on their faces are always priceless.
You'd think it would be embarrassing, but honestly, I've learned to own it. I mean, what's the point in being a giant, 700-pound Charizard if you can't enjoy a good fart every now and then? And it's not like I can help it. My body's just wired that way. The constant rumbling, the pressure building in my gut until it's released in a glorious, wet burst... it's just part of who I am.
But it's not all fun and games, trust me. Sometimes the farts are so potent they make my eyes water. And don't even get me started on the pants situation. Forget about it. I've lost count of how many pairs I've ripped through over the years. It's like my ass is trying to escape, to break free from the confines of those pathetic little garments. I've tried everything - stretchy fabrics, reinforced seams, you name it. Nothing can withstand the might of my glutes.
And yet, despite the chaos it causes, I've grown to appreciate my unique gift. There's something primal, something raw about letting it all hang out (literally). It's like my body's way of saying, "Screw the rules, screw the norms, let's get wild and crazy!" And who am I to argue with that?
Of course, there are downsides. Like when I have to whisk students away for "extra credit." You know, the ones who can't handle the, ahem, fragrance. They think it's some kind of privilege, getting to leave the classroom early, but really, I'm just using them as fart mufflers. It's not that I'm ashamed of my flatulence; it's just that sometimes, even I need a break from it.
I remember this one time, I had this particularly enthusiastic student, Rachel. She was always eager to learn, always asking questions, always... well, always a bit too close for comfort. So, when she came to me asking for extra credit, I thought, why not? I whisked her away to the supply closet, and let's just say, she learned a lot that day. About farts. And boundaries. Yeah, she never came near me again, but hey, that's what happens when you get too close to the fire.
It's funny, though - the more I think about it, the more I realize that my farts have become an integral part of my teaching style. I mean, what other professor can claim to have a built-in fog machine? It adds ambiance, you know? And the students love it. They might not admit it, but deep down, they're all fascinated by the giant, farting Charizard at the front of the room.
I wonder, sometimes, what my colleagues think when they catch a whiff of my signature scent wafting down the hallway. Do they roll their eyes in disgust or secretly envy my ability to clear a room with a single toot? I'll never know, but I don't care. I'm Professor Noah, the king of farts, the lord of the fog, the one and only Charizard with a steam-powered behind.
As I finish this entry, I feel a familiar rumbling in my gut. Ah, yes. It's time for another demonstration of my unique teaching style. Class is about to get a whole lot more interesting.