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I told my wife I'm on a seafood diet. I see food and eat it, then blame the resulting gas on the imaginary shrimp!
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Why don't scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything, including excuses for passing gas!
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I named my pet snake 'Gas.' Now, every time it passes, I can say, 'The serpent has spoken!
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Why did the helium balloon break up with the argon balloon? It had too much gas!
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Why do beans never tell secrets? Because they can't keep anything under wraps!
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Why did the bicycle fall over? Because it was two-tired of holding in gas!
Silent But Violent
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You ever notice how they call it 'passing gas'? I don't know about you, but mine doesn't just pass, it announces its presence. It's like a ninja in noisy sneakers. I call it the stealth bomber of bodily functions. Silent but violent, folks. Silent but violent.
Crop Dusting 101
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I've been taking a course in crop dusting recently. Not the one with airplanes, the one where you strategically release a little gas while walking away. It's all about perfecting the art of disappearing before the evidence hits the fan, if you catch my drift.
Gas Money
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You know, they say passing gas is a natural bodily function. Well, if that's the case, I'm thinking of putting a toll booth on mine. I mean, if it's going to happen, at least make it profitable. Oh, excuse me, sir, that'll be 50 cents for the express lane!
Gaslighting Myself
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Sometimes, I like to play a little game called Did I or Didn't I? It's a psychological thriller where I convince myself that I didn't actually pass gas. I call it gaslighting myself. It's a real plot twist every time.
The Surprise Symphony
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Passing gas is like Beethoven's Symphony No. 5—you never know when it's going to hit, but when it does, it's a real masterpiece. I've been thinking of composing my own symphony, complete with unexpected crescendos and surprise endings.
The Tailwind Effect
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You ever pass gas and feel that immediate breeze behind you? It's like nature's way of giving you a little push in the right direction. I call it the tailwind effect. Forget about gas-powered vehicles; I've got a natural propulsion system.
The Jazz Hands of Flatulence
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I've been working on a new dance routine inspired by passing gas. I call it the jazz hands of flatulence. You gotta coordinate the moves just right, and when you let one rip, throw in a little jazz hands to distract from the main event. It's all about misdirection, folks.
The Olympic Gas Pass
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I've been training for the Gas Olympics. There's the synchronized gas passing, the long-distance toot, and of course, the freestyle. I'm telling you, folks, it's a cutthroat competition out there, but I think I've got what it takes to bring home the gold.
The Symphony of the Breeze
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Passing gas is like playing a musical instrument, isn't it? It's all about finding the right pitch. I call it the symphony of the breeze. I've been practicing my repertoire. Next time, I might even throw in a little toot-a-licious concerto.
The Socially Distanced Fart
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I've become an expert in socially distanced activities, especially when it comes to passing gas. It's all about maintaining that six-foot buffer zone. I've even considered getting a little flag that says, Caution: Gas Zone Ahead. Safety first, right?
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