Emily laughs and squats on me, putting all her weight on my chest so I can’t move. “It won’t come out!” She laments.

“Good!” I gasp.

“No!” She pouts and tries to force out a fart onto my collarbone.

“Don’t try too hard!” I pant. “You could poop!”

“I will not!”

“You could! Maybe your fart is actually a little poop waiting to come out! If you poop your pants, I will never let you live it down!”

She gets up from my chest and I can’t stop laughing. “It wouldn’t come out.”

“You say that, but you mean that your body loves me too fart on me…and you were afraid of pooping your pants,” I argue.

“If you don’t stop laughing I will poop on you while you sleep,” she threatened.

“No you won’t.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Why not?”

“Because you sleep on me. Why would you sleep in poop?”

“Maybe I have a fetish.”

“I’m not going for a Two Girls One Cup sequel.”

“Aww man.”

“You don’t like poop.”

“How do you know?”

“I am God.”

“I knew it.”

“How?”

“Last night.”

“Up for a rerun?”

“Always.”

God, I love her.