When you do it everyone always stares. Sometimes they scowl. Sometimes they awkwardly laugh. Recently, people have just been telling me it’s disgusting. But no matter what, I just can’t stop doing it. When that bubble of sticky stomach gas finally releases from my mouth and makes that joyous vibration, I get a real kick out of it. I really feel it lets people learn a little bit more about me—what I ate for lunch to be specific—and that is something I would never want to hide.
So I hear some people believe in God, but I believe in burping. I believe in the spontaneity. I believe in my satiated state as that burp relieves all the grumbles that come with a large soda. I believe in all burps, small and large, Big-Mac-flavored and coke-flavored, for their originality and their style, for their pure honesty and their ability to heal.
To me, a burp represents rawness. It’s so unmodified and original. For its simplicity, a burp is just as beautiful as the naked body, and in the same way most people prefer to see nude models to clothed models, I prefer to observe nude burps. I see muffled burps as far too prude. Muffling a burp is a façade. It’s hiding our beautiful flaws. That’s why lately I like to force out my burps. I’ll push and push and push so hard my stomach begins to cringe and finally I’ll let out that lovely burp. It’ll be so liberating. I really can’t wait until my next soda.
Girls think it’s not lady-like. But to be honest, I wish a girl would just unload an earthquake of stale scents into my face. I wish my nostrils could soak up her last meal, her insecurities, everything she’s trying to hide. I’d probably marry her.
Our wedding would be marvelous, groundbreaking, visionary, and most importantly, a bit stinky. We would read our vows recount our most marvelous belches and we’d seal it not with a kiss but by burping in each other’s mouths. And it would be beautiful, raw, so pure and honest, but for some reason every girl I’ve asked has denounced the idea and then proceeded to apply more makeup.