When opening Christmas gifts this year, a Whoopee Cushion elicited by far the most pleasure from our almost two year old grandson, John. While we all thought it was funny, the three laughing the loudest were John, his dad, Ryan, and his grandpa, Steve.
When our kids were growing up, at any given moment Ryan would shout out, “Lauren and Alana, where are you??!!!” Excited that their older brother wanted their attention, time after time they fell for him running to them and proceeding to fart, laugh and leave.
Steve thinks one of the funniest things of 2010 was when he was reaching his hand toward our friend Diane to have her hand him his gin and tonic. Having been married to jokester Greg for many years, her immediate response was to pull Steve’s finger.
My friend, Ellen, states that males of all ages engage in fart-talk and think of it as one of the highest forms of humor on the planet. She would know this as she has helped raise seven boys now ranging in age from a sweet, sometimes potty-mouthed 5 year old (“He has older brothers’” she sighs) up to a 30 year old. Because of having to put up with years of boys finding humor in methane--as well as other bodily eliminations, Ellen is considered, if not THE top Fart-Talk expert in the state, certainly among the top ten. She is eminently qualified to be called on as an expert trial witness. For example, when discussing the motive of the accused in a murder trial, Ellen’s testimony might go as follows:
“Yes, I think the defendant, Mrs. Olson, might have thought about killing her husband of forty years after hearing his nine billionth fart joke-- and especially after he put a whoopee cushion on her seat at church…during a funeral… her mother’s funeral--but I believe Mrs. Olson when she says she just accidentally put rat poison in his beans and weenies. Even I once confused ‘Comet’ cleanser with a can of parmesan—if it weren’t for the spaghetti turning blue, who knows what could have happened? It was the same day I drove backwards thru the drive thru at the bank. Speaking of banks, can you believe how big the snow banks are this year? It’s like climbing Mt. Everest to get the dog to poop on the boulevard—and (sigh) the boys think it’s really funny watching it roll down. Now, what were we talking about?”
While Ellen certainly has the credentials, her inherent belief in the goodness of others as well as her A.D.D. have pretty much dried up any prospects of being called on as an expert Fart-Talk witness.
