McFart, anyone?

At 1:21am, I "1 2 1" MacDonald's meal.

That was alien code. I want (1) to (2) eat one (1) MacDonald's breakfast meal.

I can dream about a Sausage McMuffin with Egg meal in my dreams (I wish).

"Sudden craving", said Justinn mater-of-factly, "I last had an Egg McMuffin at Mac."

But I'm on a fart mission. Can't stop farting.

"LOL! Now that's really random," Justinn quipped, "That was perfect comic-timing."

Maybe I'll chase every customer away. And be the first in queue, though the restaurant would have to rebrand itself.

"The restaurant would be closed for disinfection," Justinn predicted.

Or a radical and magical change.

" 'Welcome to McFart. May I fart your order please?' " Justinn farted produced the tone of a chirpier-than-your-neighbourhood-MacDonald's-staff tone.

My brother once told me, "You must have learnt lots during your time in a secondary school band - your fart can produce a variety of pitches and crescendos in a fart."

Yeah. Brass instruments ain't my forte. I sing better. I can raise my baritone pitch as well as my fart pitch.

Farting an order is still out of my league. At the moment. Perhaps I should learn ventriloquism and fake the illusion of sounds at the position where my fart comes from.