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Okay, so here's the deal. I've been suffering from a great deal of gas these past few weeks, but I haven't seen a doctor about it yet. I've never had to hold it in before, so I can't really help it. In other words, I would go about my business, whether there be people around or not, releasing the occasional fart.

I told my father about this, but all he could say was, "Son, you can't go about farting all over the place. They'll think you're some kind of big shithead." He said this to my rapid amusement, at which point I let out another bout of flatulation.

"Jesus Christ!" my father shouted. My smile immediately faded. I'm not sure why he shouted the Lord's name so suddenly, so I just tried to forget about it for the time being.

The next day, I was heading for my office as usual. I made my way to the elevator, which was unusually crowded because of some guests we were expecting. Despite my fierecest efforts to keep the expellation at bay, I let out some more flatulation, again, to my amusement.

A resounding "Jesus Christ!" overcame the elevator, and once again, my smile faded. This would be the second time that my flatulence has caused a distinct need to beseech the Lord Jesus. It was then I had figured out what the Universe had in store for me. I was to become...

Pastor Gas.