Kathryn Hall, a 24-year-old Queens resident, finally (and begrudgingly) emerged from her little fart pocket of bedsheets and comforters this afternoon, even though she really, really did not want to.
Kathryn hadn’t left her apartment for a week, where she had been encased in her own farts, but was forced to leave her dwelling to get food.
“Ugh,” she was heard remarking upon emergence.
Friends expressed surprise that Kathryn had finally trudged out from the encasing of her own farts.
“Whoa, really?” said long-time friend Trevor, “She did it all on her own? The authorities didn’t force her out?”
Kathryn was interviewed in line at a Krogers where she was cradling several bags of Lays potato chips and a six-pack of Pepsi. She insists she hasn’t been hiding in her apartment due to serious conditions like depression or agoraphobia, but simply because she did not wish to be outside the comfort of her own cocoon of farts.
“What’s so great about outside, anyway?” said Kathryn, cracking open one of the Pepsis and taking a mighty swig. “Nothing. I prefer to be inside, surrounded by the things I know and love, including the safety and familiarity of my own farts.”
When pressed for details about what she intended to do next, Kathryn said she would walk directly back to her home and slip back into her little fart pocket.
Kathryn’s roommate Tabatha, who maintains a normal nine-to-five schedule and regularly visits the outside world, displayed similar shock when she noticed Kathryn return to the apartment—signaling that she must have left her own cradle of noxious fumes at some point.
“I tried not to make any sudden movements because I didn’t want to startle her,” said Tabatha. “After all, Kathryn leaving the apartment is so rare, like a full eclipse.”
Tabatha stated she was also glad the apartment would have a moment to air out.
“It really, really needed it,” said Tabatha. “Her room just needed a chance to not have Kathryn in there…doing what she does.”
Kathryn shutting the door to her bedroom, however, was a clear sign that the cycle had started anew.
“Oh well,” sighed Tabatha, reaching for a can of Febreze.
