Whether performed authentically with the anus, or falsely through the mouth, a fart contest is one that I partake in with utmost devotion. I'm earnest about that minute sh*t, and I couldn't be more serious. In fact, the less serious something is, the more serious I am in my approach. Be it a defense mechanism or an attempt at attractive irony; I've always found humor in observing the necessary and constant events of American life with a sense of cynicism. Awards, social media, Super Bowls, splick, splack, whickety whack; I've viewed it all as less important than a competition between two bowels.

For the longest time, I've chalked it up to being careless or cute (which it most certainly is). Skipping events throughout adolescence that are claimed by society (parents, teachers, firefighters, celebrities) to be monumental was cool. Excuse me – is cool. So, I was the cool guy making fun of "important things" and slapping my knees observing my peers. While they did that, I focused more on playing ping-pong and farting the loudest, longest, and most consistently.

Last week after a brief self-analysis of my psyche, I came to a conclusion about my "cool guy" attitude. One, it’s not f*cking cool. It used to be cool, and then I turned 15. However, I still have the same mentality about what is and isn't important, except now I don't think a fart contest is more important because parents, firemen and celebrities are lame. I take a fart contest seriously because it requires basic human connection, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all that really matters in life. The memories I cherish most don't involve great monumental moments of self-growth or recognition. They involve people and farts.