Everybody Poops

My friend arrived thirty minutes late to our appointment. "I'm sorry," he said, hopping off his motorcycle. "I had an accident on the way."

"What?" I started freaking out. This is what comes of riding motorcycles, after all. "What happened? Are you okay? Was anyone seriously hurt?"

"Oh, no, no," he said. "Not that kind of accident."

"What do you mean?" Now I was confused.

"Well," he said, "I was riding along, and then I felt like I had to pass gas. So I did. But then it turned out it wasn't gas!" He started laughing his head off at this point. "It was a total mess! I mean, all over the seat, and even some on the road. I had to go home and clean it off and change my clothes and everything. That's why I'm late."

What was I supposed to say here? I just kind of stared at him, wondered if I had misunderstood the story, muttered something about "how embarrassing that must have been for you," and climbed on the back of his motorcycle like I was supposed to. I just hope thirty minutes was enough time to clean it off well.