the My Butthole Stinks! "Who Farted?" podcast - Ep. 24: Chochi turns 50!

the My Butthole Stinks! - "Who Farted?" podcast

This world was such a wildly different place 50 years ago, when the amazing, cantankerous, and violently disillusioned Chochi O'Harris was born. Lead Singer of the Eighty Sixed! A great rock and roll band that once had a song play on the radio! Back when that shit meant something! He wrote great songs and currently makes great wooden decks! I've heard he also has a great Dick! Once, when we were both drunk, I tried to suck it and he got very upset with me. I never really understood why. I mean, we were drunk and alone. Who was there to judge us? "You have a perfect excuse tomorrow, and I'm the one swallowing paste, not you!" Fuck it. I didn't fight him on it. I just ate out his ass instead. I've never met a man with so much obviously wasted potential, since the last time I caught a glimpse in my own bathroom mirror. So, how can I really be mad at the kid? Does it really matter at the end of the day? Does your corpse rot better when the worms that consume your rotting flesh are aware of the fact that you've won several Emmys or Grammys or whatever? Does the mortician take into account your bank account at time of death when they pump the leftover feces out of your colon and let the piss slowly drip out of your forever limp dick? I seriously doubt it. We shine bright in moments and pulsate powerfully in brief exchanges that dissipate faster than we'd like, yet that does not mean that they meant any less than we imagined or remembered or believed that they did. People and experiences and kisses and glances and brief finger tip touches and smirks and hugs and screams we share into the darkness of trees when nobody else is around, all of that shit, it fucking matters, and it means something. It means a hell of a lot. Even when you're 50.

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