An otherwise happily married couple’s only friction was the husband’s habit of farting loudly every morning when he awoke. He was loud enough to wake his wife, make her eyes water, and gasp for air. She begged him every morning to stop, but he said he couldn’t and it was natural. “You should see a doctor, then, because someday you’re going to blow your guts out.” Then, one Thanksgiving morning when she arose early to prepare the turkey while he slept in, the turkey innards, neck, gizzard, liver and spare parts gave her a malicious idea. She carried that mess upstairs, gently pulled back the covers, stretched out the elastic waistband of his boxers, emptied the entire bowl inside, and sneaked back downstairs. She later heard him awaken with his usual trumpeting, but this time it was followed by a bloodcurdling scream. She laughed so hard she cried! “That ought to make up for my years of torture!” she thought. Twenty minutes later her husband entered the kitchen with a look of horror on his face, still wearing his stained underwear. She had to bite her lip as she asked, “Honey, what’s wrong?” He said, “I should have listened to you. All these years you’ve warned me.” “About what?” “You always said that someday I’d end up farting my guts out and this morning it finally happened. But, by the grace of God and some Vaseline, I think I got most of it back inside!”