Zeets:  It was all going well until I felt an explosion of gases in my intestines.  A deep rumbling.  I couldn’t do anything while she was there next to me.
Me:  Why not go to the bathroom?
Zeets:  Cream puffs excuse themselves to the bathroom to pass gas.  Real men wait for a clearing in the room and let it rip.  BRRRAAAPPP!  Anyhow, we were sitting down.  I don’t like to be rousted from a comfortable position.
Me:  Then you dropped a patented Zeets cluster bomb.  I remember those unfondly.
Zeets:  Oh yes!  Not right away.  I held it in for as long as I could, the pressure building, until we were ready to leave.  I hustled her ahead of me and stayed a few steps behind.
Me:  So she was out of smell shot.  How chivalrous.
Zeets:  There was a group of young luscious chicks on the dance floor… oh man, one of them was wearing black skintight leather pants… [pause to make inhaling through teeth sound… “oh yeeeeeeahhh”]… laughing and having a good time, probably students new to the city… exploring their world and their womanhood.  I got up and blasted them, one of my best yet.  Right in the middle of their tea time.
Me:  No fear.
Zeets:  Nope!  The music was loud so they didn’t hear it.
Me:  It wasn’t a smelly one?
Zeets:  Oh no, my friend, it was a smelly one.  As I walked out the door I heard the girls shrieking and yelling “PEW!”.  ha!  Perfect!  I left with a smile on my face.
Me:  And no one suspected anything.
Zeets:  Not a thing.  I bet they spent the rest of the night looking at each other and pointing fingers.
Me:  Besides the bodily functions the lounge worked its magic on your date?
Zeets:  Like an aphrodisiac.  It’s never let me down.
Me:  You like this chick?
Zeets:  Yeah, she’s fun.  Pretty.  We had a good, solid makeout.  With tongue.
Me:   That’s good.  What does she do for a living?
Zeets:  I don’t remember… some non-profit, save Darfur crap or something like that.

Attention to detail.  We have it ladies.  It’s just selective.