It turns out my parents’ dogs fart. A lot, and well. My Dad has the tendency to attribute more intelligence and humor to animals than they may actually be due, but in the daily SitRep email he sends to a list of people important to him, their ability to drop bombs has been increasingly celebrated recently. The latest anticipated event pits Barbara coming to NoVA for a visit this weekend with both her dogs in tow, and a potential “four-fart symphony.” Despite the complaints, I’m pretty sure Dad is eager to discover how poorly his garage/fort can smell.
I’m not sure whether it’s a sign that the people in my life are absolutely fantastic or constitute a first grade class, but it seems like fart humor is everywhere I turn. I’m leaning toward the former. My Dad has, for years, told a story about his carpool when he worked at Headquarters Marine Corps downtown. There were five of them in the car and the guy in the middle of the back seat launched an SBD. At the exact same second, front and rear driver- and passenger-side windows were frantically rolled down. I’ve heard that story dozens of times over the years and it never gets less hilarious because the instant herd reaction reminds me of large flocks of birds that turn on a dime, darting the same directions back and forth.
Alison had a mild case of pink eye a month or two ago and our friend suggested, channeling the movie Knocked Up, that perhaps I had farted on her pillow. I was slightly embarrassed at being the object of such public accusation, but what I was really thinking was, “I’m not that passive aggressive. I’d opt for a Dutch oven if I were to use my superpowers for evil.” And trust me, my diet is terrible and my superpowers extensive.
Before you think that joke was too indelicate to direct at Alison, she think farts are hilarious (it’s no wonder I’m in love with her). She has gone there again and again (full disclosure: the latter also involving sharts and anal leakage). Hell, I warned everyone right off that fart jokes were going to play a role on this blog. Back when, I pointed out that the best within ourselves sometimes comes out as fart jokes. As much as I strive to be polite in minute-to-minute life, if you can’t have a good time with something that curdles your entire face, you’re probably not a good friend of mine. I’m sorry if that’s news to anyone.
Not particularly apropos of anything, if my dad wants to attribute a lot of intelligence to dolphins, I’d accept that. Although whoever smelt it doesn’t have to be all that smart to figure out who dealt it underwater … the trail of bubbles would give you away.