Last night, Mr. Shakes and I were lying in bed, and had just been talking about the president’s fondness for farting, when I heard Mr. Shakes’ gut grumbling menacingly.
“Do you have an upset tummy?” I asked.
“Aye,” Mr. Shakes replied, “and the oopset’s heading sooth, so get ready for soome Bushisms.”
And thusly was it decreed at Shakes Manor that farts will hereafter be known as Bushisms, and gassiness as “feeling presidential.”
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