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B.J. Hollars

If you’re reading this, then odds are I escaped the small intestines. Though for half an hour or so, that fate hardly seemed guaranteed. Accompanying me on my journey through the human digestive tract is my 3-year-old daughter, Millie, whose size and malleability make quick work of the experience. As for me, I’m the gas that will not pass — lodged along the intestinal wall and army crawling my way toward freedom.

“Hurry up, Daddy!” Millie hollers, racing toward the exhibit’s rectum.