I can’t help but share this lovely piece of hilarity and truth with you all directly. E.W. is just a treat! 😀

Daily Thoughts

I truly try not to swear, I don’t like it when bad words roll off my tongue, and I certainly do not try to write about it.  However, the other “F” word is okay to talk about, because it involves something we all do, no matter how straight-laced, upper class, or religious you might be.  Yes, I am talking about the word Fart.  We all do it, sometimes more loudly in private, but we do it.  Some of us so loud, we can shake the very foundations of the earth.  However, some people have it down to a science, as you are about to learn.

When I was little boy my mother demonstrated how you could relieve gas by laying flat on your belly and then raising your torso into the air so that your sphincter resembled Mount Vesuvius.  I suppose the reason is that gas rises through your…

View original post 598 more words


15 thoughts on “

  1. Alright, you asked for it. I see you are bent on raising the literary bar and the refinement of the culture at large. I give my fart stories here to support you in your efforts to the betterment of society.
    First, wives don’t fart. When one does slip out (I mean, IF they farted), they get this horrified look on their faces and act like it was some alien entity that made them do it. Then when I do it, my wife tells me it is possible to hold them in if I really try, to which I warn her that it causes brain damage and can make a person sterile. And besides, why deprive me of one of life’s simple pleasures? If a man can’t fart in his own home around his own family, we had better go back and re-examine where we are headed as a society. I do not think that while we were dating she could have anticipated the brute of the man she married not only farting under the covers, but then going further by pulling them up over her head so she could properly savor the full effect and render it impossible to miss or ignore this wonder of spontaneity. These are among the most intimate of joys shared only in the bond and sanctity of marriage.
    Then there’s the story of sitting on the floor in fifth grade while the teacher read a story. I was sitting under a table, with none other than my childhood crush sitting beside me. I was in heaven. As gas pressure built, my astute fifth grade mind reasoned thus: “If I let it go silent, she’ll think I just stink. I’d better let it make a little noise.” Well, it blasted so loud that the teacher stopped reading, and the entire class, teacher and all, took twenty minutes to compose itself. Ten minutes would go by, then one person would start cracking up again, the teacher would again lose it, and we’d be off for another ten minutes of out-of-control, roaring, belly aching laughter. I certainly made an impression on this young lady of my dreams. But, alas, it was just an infartuation (*sigh*).
    Also in fifth grade, I once slept over at my best friend’s house – he on the top bunk, me on the bottom. We must have eaten the same rotten things, because we were both gassing and laughing till it hurt all night long. In the morning his mother poked her head in the door of this tiny bedroom. “Whew! What were you boys doing, passing gas all night?” How does one answer that question? “Yes mother, we were passing gas!”
    Moving on to college, there was a grad student who shared our rented house. In a crowded party, he’d walk up quietly in a group of people, or close to a guy trying to make an impression on a girl, leave a silent bomb, then slowly back away as they stared accusingly at each other before dispersing. (We were easily amused in those days, were we not?)
    This one’s not quite a fart story, but promotes same wholesome ideals. My college engineering building was eleven stories tall, and my class was on the seventh floor. I got on the elevator on the first floor, and a foreign guy with horrendous body odor walked into the elevator’s confined space with me as we made the seemingly never-ending ascent to the third floor, where he got off, leaving me and his lingering body odor to ride up to the fourth floor together alone. Here a very pretty young lady joined our happy party on the elevator (Me and the other guy’s body odor, I mean, absent the other guy) as we rode together up to the seventh floor, where after she recovered from her asphyxiation, she undoubtedly ascribed all this failure of hygiene to yours truly, with the true, happy-go-lucky culprit spreading his body odor on the fourth floor below. Perhaps he was just marking his territory, and letting me know that the girl was his!
    And finally, in order to bring this crass blog back to spiritual matters again, we cannot leave out farting in church, where the fact that one cannot laugh magnifies even the dullest humor beyond all reasonable proportions simply due to the forbidden nature of any outburst of laughter. We were sitting with our infant daughter in church, where at a quiet, holy, serious part of the service, my daughter let out a prolonged screecher. I was afraid to look up for fear of losing it. All I could see were the shoulders of every one sitting forward of me silently bobbing up and down as the rest of the congregation struggled to keep itself composed. I leave you with the old maxim we learned as children that we ascribed to poor Confucius, “He who fart in church must sit in pew”.

    • Hello there, Greg! I can’t really speak to the relationship of man and woman when it comes to farts, as mine is a very rare relationship in that regard. My boyfriend and I are going on 7 years, and ever since the beginning, it’s been a competition.

      …so far I’m winning. ^_^

  2. Greg, I don’t know how old you are or how long you’ve been married, but I am going on 33 years of marriage. I assure you wife’s fart. Not only fart, but with a vengeance. But what riles me is that she’s not even trying and outdoing me! I may have to go back to eating Fiber One breakfast bars. I won’t be outdone.

    • You sound like my boyfriend! XD But hey, where he lacks in the back, he conquers in the front. No man belches on command like my man! So we’re usually even, but hey, if you linger longer, you conquer all! XD

  3. @ewgreenlee. My wife doesn’t eat Fiver One like yours, but she used to eat a cereal called “Heartwise” (I think it contained flax seed) I renamed it from “HeartWise” to “FartWives”.

  4. Rana,
    You’ve been dating seven years?? It’s time to tie the knot, don’t you think? If freely farting in front of each other is not love, then I don’t know what is! (Actually, it falls into the category of unconditional love – really, really unconditional) Don’t know if the Bo reads your blog, but tell him its time to commit already!

    • We’re getting there. He has a ring (that he made sure I liked, since it was his great grandmother’s ring he just found out he inherited), and he has his idea of how to propose. He just needs to set it up and do it. ^_^

      • Well congratulations! (Sort of… I’m reserving the full congratulations until it’s official) Tell him the entire blogosphere thinks it is time. The diamond in the ring I gave my wife came from the ring her real father gave her mother. Her father died when she was just two, when his plane went down in a military charting expedition over Greenland. After our 25th aniversary (and we’re coming up on our 30th), the diamond popped out of the setting while she was gardening around our farm. The diamond is gone, bu the marriage remains intact! I hope you see many, many happy years together. (farting around the fire and such)

  5. Greg, sorry I am just now seeing your reply. Yes, I think branding of cereal needs to be to the point. For example, “Crackling Fart Bran” would be truth in advertising. Fiber One should be rebranded to “Fiber OMG! Run for the hills!”

    • Hahaha They realy should put more politically corect names on those cereals, shouldn’t they? By the way, Greg, did finally get your book over to my Kindle. I’ll have the first review up on Amazon as soon as I can. 🙂

*Insert your thought here*

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s