An elderly married couple had just tucked themselves into bed for the night, the room quiet and peaceful. Suddenly, the old man let out a shockingly loud, resonant fart. He smiled into the darkness and proudly declared, “Seven points!”
His wife, completely baffled, rolled over to face him. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
The old man grinned ear to ear. “It’s fart football, honey.”
Not one to back down from a challenge, the wife lay still for a few minutes, concentrated deeply, and let one rip with impressive force. “Touchdown!” she announced triumphantly. “Tie game, seven to seven!”
The competitive spirit was officially ignited. After a brief pause to gather his strength, the old man fired off another booming blast. “Aha!” he boasted. “Fourteen to seven! I’m dominating the field!”
Determined to keep up, the wife pushed back with another massive rumble. “Touchdown! Tie game again!”
Before her husband could even recover from the shock, she managed to follow it up with a tiny, sharp little squeaker. “Field goal!” she cheered. “I’m in the lead, seventeen to fourteen!”
Now, the old man was feeling the intense pressure of the clock. He absolutely loathed the idea of losing, especially to his wife on his own home turf. Gathering every ounce of determination, he braced himself and pushed with all his might to secure a game-winning drive.
Unfortunately, he completely miscalculated the play. He pushed a little too hard.
To his absolute horror, a terrible warmth filled the sheets, and he realized he had accidentally pooped right in the middle of the bed.
The wife, instantly detecting a sudden, catastrophic shift in the atmosphere, gasped in shock. “Oh my goodness! What on earth just happened?!”
The old man closed his eyes, let out a defeated sigh, and muttered:
“Halftime. Time to switch sides.”
