THE ART OF FARTING

          Years ago, I painted this picture and at the time, I'd been displaying some of my art in a craft store, where I was a member. Because I put in a day each week, my fee to the store was quite a bit less than if I'd only put my stuff on display. Everything had to be approved and knowing how conservative some of the members were, I sneaked the painting in and hung it while I was on duty. Well wouldn't you know it, I'd barely hung that masterful piece of art on a wall, when a woman walked in, laughed and then said, "I just have to have it!" Over the years, I sold many cards and magnets (photo) of this pretty lady letting one go. I've painted quite a lot of comical stuff but I think this image has received the most giggles and oh-mys.

          Since yesterday's blog was mainly about farting, I thought I'd continue with that smelly, stinky, odorous and putrefying topic. I mean let's face it, if the people who have most of the money and power, when they first crawled out of bed in the morning, after letting a monstrous ripper go that split their satin pajamas up the seam of the ass, tip-toed into the bathroom, filled the toilet bowl with a smelly 16-coiler and then bent over and took a huge whiff, it would put them in touch not only with their mortality but their humanity and the world would be a much better place. When you see some of the expressions on the political leader's faces, you can tell that they are suppressing a fart. After all, they're supposed to be dignified, the upper elite, some believe chosen by God and something as a simple fart really puts them in their proper place. 

          I don't know how many of you that read this blog have tried containing a fart while in a business meeting, sitting in the middle of two people while on a plane, a dinner date with people you don't know, or a first date with the person you're positive you'll marry one day. At first, when the nauseating gas is building and begins advancing towards it's hairy orifice exit, one tends to smile and shift around in their seat while clenching the cheeks of their ass tightly. At this point you'd like to politely excuse yourself but you know that if you stand up, your ass is level to the person that's sitting next to you and if you should happen to let go, the blast from your dainty derriere could actually be lethal. No, standing doesn't seem the best solution. So what do you do next? Personally, having found myself in that sort of position at various times throughout my life, I've attempted to sneak it out and this takes talent. For instance, I sort of lean a bit to the side, slightly lift one of my cheeks off the chair and try to let the fragrant flatulence slowly ease out. If someone should notice, being very polite, they might lean forward in their chairs, place their elbows on the table and stuff a knuckle up each nostril while holding their breath, of course smiling all the time. It's when you're pinching your ass so tight, the fart is so high pitched that only a dog in the room runs off because the high pitched sound is hurting its ears that you might smile and think you're getting away with it. And for a while you are but when it begins emitting a high whistle that could drown out an orchestra, you know the jig is up. However, at this point, all is not lost, you can still get away with this long extended fart if you're quick enough. Because that's when you look at the woman sitting next to you and say so that everyone can hear, "Be a lady!" 

            And speaking of rippers, since my wife and I often giggle when we let one go, it's time for my morning constitution, which will be shortly followed by my afternoon constitution, plus my 4 o'clock and evening constitutions - because of my condition whole forests are threatened by my constant charging up to the toilet (can you imagine the amount of paper I use just to wipe my ass) - the doc told me since I no longer have a functioning rectum (thanks to cancer), I just have a drain pipe, so taking a crap has become an integral part of my daily routine...cheers, eh!