Driving to the gym this morning, Lamont and Tonelli were on the radio with their usual post-teen crap, when Lamont suddenly accuses Tonelli of blowing a silent but deadly gas blast. Faith, the traffic lady who I don't believe is even in the studio, chimed in on how nasty the smell was. Quality morning FM radio, I tell you.

Those weird minds at Robot Chicken were at it again. Last night's episode had a slick guy, explaining how the First Amendment frees him, farting the national anthem. Until he hit the fourth note or so and shat his pants instead.

The minute my sweetie showed me the cover of Walter the Farting Dog by William Kotwinkle, Glenn Murray and Bay Area artist artist Audrey Colman, I knew it would get a mention here. How in the world would this wonderful children's story not immediately spark my interest. Plus, for those of you with long memories, Kotwinkle was the author of the novel of E.T. the Extraterrestrial; I thought his book was a great example of what a good writer could do to go beyond just typing down the scenery and action and pasting in the script's dialog, gentle and loving while completely faithful to Spielberg's masterpiece. A farting dog, gotta love that!

There is nothing in the world quite like an broccoli fart. I love them more than all the others. But the market I stopped at tonight had nasty, old broccoli that I couldn't buy. Stringbeans are good but they don't have the gas producing molecules. I have a fart coming on, maybe I'll go over by my SO and see what she thinks of a teeny stringbean fart.

Comedies can use farts but I don't think dramas can. How would a gas blast serve the story in a serious piece? All the crapload of news magazines on the networks these days, they need the lift. Aside from the original 60 Minutes, maybe, none of are more entertaining than an hour of farting behind a blue screen.

Skeletor farted while carpooling on Robot Chicken. So did the CSI corpse. Twice.

Do what you have to do, my friends, but don't hold it in so long your kidneys explode. Like Grandpa's did on the episode of The Simpson's I saw a couple of hours ago. That was nasty, even animated. Ka-boom!

Deadwood throws plenty of cocksuckers and cunts around but they don't spare the farting, vomiting and other bodily spews. Good to see a series on television find places for such quality effects.

Today's unlikely farting location: at the doctor's office. I was seeing a dermatologist, nothing significant just annoying, and right as the nurse who'd parked me in the exam room was leaving one leaked out of my ass. She's a nurse, so what's a little oink-oink to her, and no surprise she just kept walking. I thought I heard a snicker or two once she was a few steps into the hallway.

I was at the Googleplex last night for a seminar, got a laugh after mentioning this blog to one of the Blogger guys, and then laughed myself a few minutes later as I unleashed a rolling barrage of farts while walking through a plaza out to my car. A seriously menacing set of seven or eight noisy ones, let me tell you!

Farting and the movies, #1

A few farticles for your amusement:

• New Yorker: Three Stooges, Farrelly Brothers
  
• Frostbite
  
• Dana Carvey's last hit: The Master of Disguise

Bikinis are much more fun than farts. Although I would have no problem watching women in bikinis farting, on TV or even better in person.

From Big Red Hot Momma, for women to better understand men: Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't, know where to start." We will then drink a couple of beers and break wind, ...... as a form of holy communion.

Today's Farts: small one while on the aerobics machine in the gym (too bad for the cute girl next to me) and a smeller in the car driving to South San Jose. Bonus: nice loud burp while prepping my coffee at the fashionable little cafe next to me sweetie's office.

Robot Chicken is not only funny, they don't shy away from the fart jokes!

Landscapers were doing their usual Monday morning work around the complex when I went out for a walk earlier. I wonder if the breathing masks they quickly put on were because of my barrage of gas blasts. Probably.

The Pacifier is a funnier movie than critics seem willing to admit. Maybe that's because of the abundance of jokes about poops and farts from the baby boy.

Last night on Late Night with Carson Daly, one of comedian Marc Cohen's lines was: "The other night I was onstage and my farts got louder laughs than my jokes." Sounds about right to me.

Right now, right this minute, I am sitting on a master blaster! I had to answer an email--well, I could have put it off five minutes to hit the can but this is more fun--and now IT WANTS TO COME OUT!

I can't believe only a couple of hours after writing yesterday's post that I'd be subjected to a barrage of blasts you'd have to have heard (smelled) to believe.

My Significant Other doesn't seem to realize just how often she farts right after falling asleep but I do since I take longer to reach dreamland. ROFL.