For years, a devoted wife endured her husband’s rather explosive morning ritual—waking up and loudly passing gas, much to her horror. Every day, she pleaded with him to stop, insisting that the stench and sheer force of his flatulence were unbearable. Concerned for his well-being, she even urged him to see a doctor, fearing that one day he might quite literally blow his guts out.

But her warnings fell on deaf ears. The husband dismissed her concerns, insisting it was just a natural bodily function. And so, the years passed, with his morning performances continuing uninterrupted.

Then came Christmas morning, and with it, the perfect opportunity for a little festive revenge. As the wife prepared the holiday turkey, she stared at the bird’s innards—gizzards, liver, and other unappetizing parts—and suddenly, inspiration struck. With a mischievous grin, she carried the bowl upstairs, where her husband lay sound asleep. Carefully pulling back the covers, she tugged at the waistband of his underwear and deposited the slimy contents inside before slipping away undetected.

What followed was nothing short of chaotic.

Moments later, the house erupted with a bloodcurdling scream. The husband bolted upright, eyes wide with terror, convinced his wife’s grim prophecy had come true. He had blown his guts out! He panics. But the best part is when he tells his wife:

“Honey, you were right! You warned me, and it finally happened! But by the grace of God and these two fingers, I got most of them back in!”

Talk about a Christmas miracle!