Owning up to your own farts proudly is how one discovers true power.
Blaming the dog is to hide behind a falsehood, in fear of the truth.
The truth is, I farted, and it’s real nasty, and I’m real proud of it. I own this, such that none may wield it against me.












Yep.
My mother submitted every single photo of me she has to some AI art service, spent the next six months sending me slopped-up photos of myself, and is somehow unable to understand why I might be upset about the situation.