The Deezes stayed up all night in Belfast at a thoroughly inebriated Irish house party. On our ferry ride back to England, we didn’t have cabins and bunk beds like the last one, but what we did have was unlimited mounds of free food. At 10am, in a state of sleep deprivation that was equal parts zombielike and jolly, we lined up our trays at the boat’s cafeteria and received giant helpings of baked beans, eggs, and assorted colored packets of mayonnaise (blue), ketchup (red), brown sauce (brown), tartar sauce (light blue), mustard (yellow), and French mustard (gold). As soon as the last bite was swallowed, the six of us stretched out on the floor between the breakfast tables and passed the fuck out.
I was the first one to awake. A curious scenario was taking place in the cabin. Every last one of the passengers was asleep in the middle of the day, right out in the open. This was not just our group of young vagabond nightlife freakazoids, but also conservative, mild, middleaged and elderly passengers, stretched out all over the quiet room, on available couches and on the floor. You’d think that some of these regular folks would be reading books, watching the televisions, cranking the slot machines, but there had been a unanimous choice that slumber was by far the most interesting activity.
I stepped outside and took in the green green endless ocean, the blinding sunlight reflecting off its surface, the clean breeze. Then a funny thing happened. I opened the door and returned to the stale, uncirculating air of the cabin, which smelled strongly and unmistakably like a giant FART. We passengers, about 20 or 30 in number, had been crammed full of baked beans, and now our 20 or 30 bellies were all collectively processing, breaking down the proteins, and releasing the consequential gases. It was kind of disgusting, but there was also something so innocent and natural and unconscious about the whole thing.
Thus, I made my peace with our stinky, but ultimately harmless, fart boat.