The mating call of the corn holing faggot.
When one poofter hears another one fart, he responds, either with a fart of his own or verbally.
Rowdy Texas poofters call out "Chow Time!"
High-class poofters say, "Dinner Call!"
Not wanting to waste a lot of time talking, Armistead traipsed into a gay bar, lifted his leg a trifle, and blasted out a tremendous fart. The stentorian trumpet call echoed through the room and drew many approving glances.
Tex hollered "Hot damn! He's brought out the big guns!"
Lemony minced over to Armistead, bent over, and spoke sweet words to his arse:
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
He inhaled through his nose, loud and long, then continued,
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives.
"You'll do fine," said Armistead as he took Lemony's fluttering wrist and escorted him from the bar.
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