The Other “F” Word – Cute Litte Babies (They Grow Up)


That Came From Me?

Have you ever wondered why flatulence from babies are so funny and lovable, but not adults?  I do, because its discrimination I tell you.  I am in a discriminated class of citizen and I demand my rights!!!  I digress as usual.

My grandson just turned four months old a few weeks ago.  He is one cute boy.  Even his poo and gas are cute merely from the facial and body motions he makes.  He grimaces, clinches his fist and stretches out like Superman getting ready to launch.  Then he launches the raunchy.  GiGi (my wife) then gets the call of dooty duty.  Sorry, I did my time with my two kids.  I didn’t have them so that I could relive those moments with their kids, no matter how cute they are. Their generation has to get their hands dirty like the rest of mankind’s history.  And their ain’t no app for that.

I can make faces too if people want. Would that help?  Maybe we need a flatulence facial alarm system.  Yeah, yeah, that’s the ticket.  Little subtle facial expressions to forewarn people of the coming doom and gloom.  Babies do it!  We just fail to recognize the facial alarm signals.  Here are two I clearly recognize.


Tummy Time Turbo Turbulence Alarm


Gerber Peas and Broccoli Alarm

Now aren’t they just precious?  They almost remind me of Gollum trying to solve a riddle in the dark.  Why should babies be allowed to have all the fun and cuteness?

Even politicians do it.  They hold all the power in the world in their hands and sometimes in their bowels.


An Inconvenient Truth Alarm


The W – WMF Alarm

Stars do it.  They make millions being uncouth and disgusting.


Passing Out Passing Alarm


Just About Bustin Out Justin Alarm

Why should the ordinary masses be precluded from doing it?  We have every right to pass gas and have a gasser of a laugh.


One Haggis Too Many Alarm


Triple Flutter Blast Alarm

I write to make people think and to make people laugh.  We do too little of this in these days and times. I urge you to slow down, turn off the TV and go out in public.  Use your smartphones to take photos of people whose faces are giving off alarms.  Then laugh about them in private. Oh, and then send me the photos.  There is surely a face that needs a new alarm name.


The Other “F” Word – The Devil Made Me Do It


I read the news to stay current with current affairs and to write redundant sentences, such as this current one. I swear you cannot make this stuff up.  It is out of the headlines of our absurd news. This story appeared out of nowhere like a green methane fog.

Flatulent Demons – that’s right!  It’s now my newest excuse to use on my wife.  It’s the church’s fault that the demon vault has been opened.  Beelzebubblebutt is his namo.  After reading this I am going to the local church and ask for an exorcism. When my affliction remains, I’ll sue for $10 million. I deserve it right? I mean really, I didn’t win honorable mention in the latest Powerball drawing.  I’m entitled to something for my lack of luck in life and high gas pressure content, right?   I have a witness to my possession.  Late at night the grumblings occur and the sheets quake and my wife calls out in agony,

OMG – are you possessed?  What’s inside you?  I swear it’s like a lake of sulfur in here burning my eyes!

See!!!!  I have indisputable corroborating evidence.  Wives never lie! So next time she screams in the darkness, I am going to use a low voice,

This is Beelzebubblebutt, it’s not his fault. Bwahahaha.

She will shake me and I will gently rollover and say, “What?”

There’s a demon in here!

Yes honey I know, I’ve filed motion in the district court against the church.  They failed to exorcise my hiney.

Only you can exercise your hiney. I’m not falling for this for a moment, she says.

Not exercise, like at the gym, like a demon exorcism.  You know the one’s that make millions at the box office?

Well, that’s not funny, now I have to get out of the warm bed and go to the bathroom, you *$(#)#@@!

Geez, humor is so wasted on a wife.  I roll over and then there’s a rumbling, from her side, and a new fog rises, along with the bed. A reddish yellow haze fills the room and I dare take a whiff.

OMG – my eyes, my eyes.  What the *$(#)#@@! was that?

Next thing I know my wife is speaking in tongues – with ten tongues. She twirls her head around and spits pea soup at me.  In a deep and malevolent voice she says,

“My flatulent demon – Assmodeus. Bwahahaha.”

Touche! I high-five her, we have an other-worldly laugh, and I give her a little golden faux Oscar trophy- Winner of Best Special Effects. There’s nothing worse than a showoff wife!  However, when you dare to look on the bright side of life, I now have a class action lawsuit.  Oh, the devil made me do it.

What news article have you read lately that just seemed too unreal and so funny that you accidentally passed a demon?

The Other “F” Word – Bran Brand Bombs

Please - no bran today!  I beg of you.

Please! No bran today. I beg of you.

I always watch my blog statistics to see what people are interested in reading.  Appears Farts are leading the interest of our intellect craving nation, well, other than sex.  Today’s commentary has to do with the inappropriate branding and nutrition information of cereals that have fiber as an ingredient.  There needs to a rating on each box on the fart bombs the cereal might produce.  The rating scale should be from FF1 to FF5. This may sound very similar to the Fujita Tornado Damage Scale,  but it is actually the Flatulence Flatline Scale.  The scale at which the human generated hydrogen sulfide gas content can actually kill you. We have not tested, nor plan to test wind speeds. Should you ever see a text message that includes this acronym; WTFF5, please come to that person’s rescue immediately.  I love how environmentalists blame methane on cows. The poor bovines weren’t eating human processed fiber foods.

Cereal should also be titled appropriately. For example, a cereal named “Cracklin Fart Bran” is certainly more informative.  Hey, we all love cracklin farts, which only rank an FF1. You may think this sounds absurd and childishly silly.  Those who are in their 20’s don’t need fiber; they just need love, energy drinks, tattoos and sex to survive, now that’s silly.  Let me tell you, a day is coming where you and fiber will become intimate friends.  This brings me to one of my favorites – Fiber One.  I love this breakfast bar brand, but my wife believes it should be branded – Fiber OMG, WTFF5, Run For The Hills Bran Bomb.  These potent bars are FF5 capable, trust me.  You want a sandy beach to yourself?  Eat a box before venturing onto the beach.  Add lots of water, the hot sun, and presto! Empty beach.  Oh and be sure to have a dog or cow on standby to lay blame, if they are still standing, and a port-o-pottie.

Here is my idea of the top 10 brands that need rebranding and the appropriate FF bomb disclosure:

  1. Coo Coo for Cocoa Poots – FF1
  2. Fruit Loopy Toots – FF1
  3. Captain Crunchy Colon Cleanser – FF2
  4. Captain Crunchy Colon Cleanser with PushBerries and Peanut Butter – FF3
  5. Trixx’s Bran Bomb – Requires finger pulling for FF scale meter reader. Watch out, it can be trixxy.
  6. Cracklin Fart Bran – FF1
  7. Raisin Bran Bombs – FF5
  8. Raisin Bran and Nuts Bombs – FF5+
  9. Raisin Bran Multi-Grain and Nuts Bombs – FF5 Turbo+
  10. All Bran Bombs – (FF Nuclear Option)

Now there’s not just cereal, but there are also bars and toaster tarts:

  1. Popfarts – FF1
  2. Fartnation Instant Fodder Bars – FF3
  3. Nutri-Nuclear Grains Bar – (FF Nuclear Option in a Bar)
  4. Fiber One Triple Flutter Bars – FF5
  5. Quakering Oats Breakfast Bars – FF5
  6. Natures Foggy Valley Total Grain Explosion Bars – FF5, 10th power of F.

As you can see you have options, especially for a wife who has “Broken the Barrier.”  If you open the pantry and see old-fashioned Oatmeal or Cream of Wheat, you are safe for now.  No one ever died from an FF1 food source.  But should you start noticing a shelf dedicated to Fiber One Triple Flutter Bars, just know your wife is seeking revenge.  Whoever said women were the milder and meeker sex should be shot.  For three decades my wife insisted she did not fart, she only tooted.  When I suspected a toot she just blamed it on our dogs.  Funny, I just noticed we have always had dogs.  But today, the jig is up!  In the back of the pantry I found her secret – Willy Wonkers Wheatie Wafting Wafers, a definite FF5 candidate.  Add whole milk and you create a new gas – H2OMG.

Please.  Not Willy Wonkers Wafting Wafers!  I beg of you.

Please!!! Not Willy Wonkers Wheatie Wafting Wafers! WTFF5! I beg of you. H2OMG!

I should have been a monk. Have a nice day.

A Conversation About Death


As a man the age of 53, I still hope to have another 25-30 years of life ahead of me.  Much of what determines my age of death is in my genetics.  My grandparents averaged around the age of 84.  That gives me about 31 more years.  However, anything can happen in between and I mean anything.  If I was told my life would end tomorrow what would I do?  I’d have a steak, sauteed mushrooms, mashed potatoes, white gravy with a dozen fresh baked rolls. Oh, and a slab of bacon. Afterwards I’d enjoy a few rounds of beer and a cigarette.  Yes that’s right, a cigarette.  29 years ago I gave up, cold-turkey, a 2-1/2 pack a day habit as a promise to my pregnant wife that I would set an example for our son who was on the way.   Did I quit just for my wife?  Not really, I knew the outcome if I continued to smoke.  I wanted to live much longer.

This last week my son, who never took up smoking, sent me an email wanting to know what I would have to say if I called my grandson to my death bed with my dying breath.  Here’s what I’d say, “I love you Brogan.  Give life your absolute best. Have dreams, for dreams are the directions  for the actions to be taken.  If you respect me, then respect your parents. Don’t take things too seriously, especially high school and girls. Remember the fun things we did together.  Oh, one last thing – pull my finger!

I want laughter to be mixed with the tears.  If he ever talks about me it will be something like this, “You know what that old-fart did to me?”  Since I know my family line and his mother’s line, there is a good chance of frequent flatulation and I will always be on his mind.  See, you have to think ahead.

This morning my wife and I, as we do very often, discussed friends and family and how life had not gone as we had planned and hoped, but that we would stand side-by-side no matter what, a commitment to an ageless and sacred vow I still recall and will honor as a man. We talked about people who seem to be waiting for something, instead of making something happen.  I told my wife should I die early, our vow would end and to grieve no more than a month for me, then get busy living.  There is to be no funeral, but a party to celebrate my life. I will be cremated and cast to the seas.  I also made it clear I do not want to prolong my life with machines or man-made chemicals.  Let me fart one last time and then let me go.  As Aragorn said in The Lord of the Rings, “I do not fear death.”  I have faith there is an afterlife.

As a CPA, I have had to deal with death in the form of financial advice and estate issues.  I’ve seen the very best and the very worst of human nature in dealing with death and money. In the coming years, I will have to deal with the death of my parents.  In my mind I believe I am prepared, but tell that to my heart.  Watching a parent age, suffer illness and begin the process of losing memory is difficult, but a stage of life not few of us escape by a sudden death.  In those waning days of the winter of life, we will find what we are truly made of. We will also begin to address our own mortality and decide what to do with the remaining time given.

However, my wife and me also decided that a conversation about death is self-defeating, and that we would convert all our energy and thought to living every single moment.  I would rather die in my death bed and say, “Well I wrote 50 books in my lifetime and made 50 bucks” than to say, “I wished I had written that book.”  Failure to live life is the actual loss of life. You are still going to die whether the critics loved your work or not. Take a chance and self publish your story.  Some call it vanity, when in fact they say this as they stand before the mirror of envy. Do not let anyone, fame, or money define your self worth.

Maybe this week you should have a conversation about death.  Hopefully it also creates the discussion for the passion of living.  From there let it flow from discussion to action.  You need not be rich to live a fulfilling life.  In my trilogy, The Chosen One of Allivar, I present a reader with an interesting take on both life and death. The story is an epic adventure story, but a story, that should have you thinking about the fragility of life.  I know this much, you reach a certain age and time rapidly flees from you, like a fart in the wind.

“All men die, not all men really live.” William Wallace

“Get busy living, or get busy dying.” Andy Dufresne

The Other “F” Word

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 digestive system and escapes out the magma chamber.  Now being a little boy I thought this was fun and I giggled with each little toot that came out.  But, then I learned something.  If you relax the sphincter muscle, air will rush in, and then you can push it back out. That’s right! FOD – Farting On Demand.  Now this really had me chuckling  to see how many FOD’s I could do.  I am not sure if there is a world record for FOD’s, but I am sure I could compete quite well, with a final push and flurry on the last leg of the race.  I’d call the Guinness folks, but I am afraid they’d slam down the phone thinking I was weird.

Then in high school I had two friends that thought farting was truly funny.  We had names for the varieties, such as double and triple flutter-blast, the grim ripper, the fury flurry, on and on.  Now being a bashful kinda guy, I wasn’t quite ready to display my art, my true talent – FODing.  Then one night as the three of us shared a bed spending the night after a football game / party. No, we were not gay, just gassy happy.  I decided it was time to demonstrate the technique because they didn’t believe a word I had told them. Let me tell you, 66 grim rippers later, my friends and even the parents down the hall were laughing their mount Vesuvius’s off.  This was the last time I FOD OD’d – honestly!  I’ve been clean ever since, although my wife might argue this.

I reconnected with one of those friends 33 years later on Facebook and we talked on the phone.  He stated he would never have recognized me today from what I looked like in high school.  Here’s a sample showing all you ladies what you missed.

1977 - The Geeky Fodder

1977 – The Geeky Fodder

Now of everything we did together, guess what he remembered the most?  That’s right – my world record FODing attempt at his house.  Well that’s just great, here I am trying to forget my FODing addiction’s past, gain readers for my fantasy novels, and my blog, and all I will be more remembered by is my skilled control of a bodily function.

My point is simple, we are ALL human and it is all absurd, so why not share your funniest and most embarrassing experiences with others.  We all know we are going to become old farts, so why not talk about the wild days when you were a rough, tough and young slinging fodder.

Now for some fodder poetry:

Oh fodder, oh fodder

Was that a triple, or a double flutter?

Thou can hide them under cover,

but not when they roll like thunder.

Oh fodder, oh brother,

I learned this from my mother.

They can blow from the peak,

or slip from a one cheek sneak.

Oh beans, oh grains, oh lovely fruits

Thou greatly amplify these toots.

I may die as slow as a creeper,

But a rippers reserved for Mr. Reaper.

Now see the knowledge you gain by following me?  Have lovely day. Please remember to smile and laugh. Pull someone’s finger. Let out a silent destroyer in Walmart. Trust me no one would ever think it was you, because you have at least 1,000 others culpable on the same aisle at anytime.  Gotta love the people of Walmart.

For in the end it matters not, we are nothing more than gas in the wind. Come on, you know you do it, so what silly names have you created?