Dr. Fart is a clinical psychologist. Fart is not his real name; it is a moniker given to him by his patients due to his unique approach to therapy.
In a nutshell, he believes that we communicate a lot of information about ourselves through our anus. Happy farts, those that sound like a clown’s horn, rarely smell bad. The terrible odors usually result from farts that sound like a hiss or emit no sound at all.
He has the worst-smelling office in the city.
One day, a man walked in and plopped down on his couch. He immediately launched into a story.
“A few weeks ago, I bought a virtual reality headset… to play games on. I was excited to see what new technology was out there. It was fantastic. I put it on and played for hours.”
Dr. Fart began to scribble down pertinent details. He encouraged the man to continue with a quick “So, what brought you here?”
“The problem was, when I finally took the headset off, I was standing in a park. Two blocks away from my house.”
“I see,” replied Dr. F.
“When I walked back to my house, across a busy road I might add, my front door was closed. I know I didn’t open any doors in my game.”
More scribbling from Dr. F. “How do you explain that?” he asked.
“I can’t. It seems impossible. Every time I played a game with the VR goggles, I ended up outside of my house. I thought it might be a defective headset, so I returned it and got a new one. Didn’t help. I thought it might be the game, so I played a different one. Same thing happened. I began to lock my front door when I played, but I still ended up outside. Only difference was that when I walked back to the house, I had to enter through a window.”
“A window, you say?” inquired the good doctor.
“Yes. I had to break into my own house.”
“I see. How do you explain this?”
The question frustrated the man. “I can’t. That’s why I’m here.”
“I see,” said Dr. Fart. “Perhaps this is a question for a physicist down at the college. Or maybe the manufacturer of the headset could be contacted.”
“I’ve tried both, doctor. They couldn’t explain it either. The real problem, aside from the physical danger I might be in crossing busy streets while I’m completely oblivious to the world around me, is that the other day, I ended up in a convenience store. When I took off the headset, there were a bunch of people standing around, staring at me.”
“I bet that was a bit embarrassing,” speculated Dr. Fart.
“That wasn’t the worst part. I was so embarrassed, I quickly put the headset back on.”
“Hmmmm,” contributed Dr. F.
“And in the game I was playing, I was suddenly surrounded by people staring at me as well.”
“Interesting. Really interesting.” Eventually Dr. Fart felt the need to speak again as the silence that followed began to get uncomfortable. “You are aware that I am called Dr. Fart by my regular clientele, correct?”
“No. I was unaware of that. I just looked up the nearest therapist to my house. That explains a few things though,” the man added as he wrinkled up his nose. He felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the couch he was sitting on.
“Yes. I am Dr. Fart. What I’m going to need you to do, before we make any progress on this rather fascinating situation, is make another appointment for next week. An hour before our scheduled time, I’ll need you to eat a family-sized can of baked beans. Beans contain a lot of raffinose, which is a complex sugar that the body has trouble digesting. When it passes through the small intestines into the large intestines, bacteria breaks it down, producing hydrogen, carbon dioxide, and methane gas, which has no choice but to exit through the rectum. Wash it all down with a large glass of milk and we can get to work on your problem.”
“Ok then. I’ll see you next week,” said the man, waving cordially as he departed.
With that, he took off the headset.
It was a beautiful day to be at the park.