O Brother, Where Fart Thou?

light a match, match, fire, flame, strike, burn

There is a joke being told, just south of off-the-cuff, and despite the new delivery and foreign subject matter I already know the punchline. It is the same as the joke before and the one to surely follow. It is on repeat, and I, the captive audience, have become a man of constant sorrow.

The laugh comes at “fart” (in 4D!) and, unlike something funny, the only one laughing is the one telling (and his brother, or vice versa). It is Smelt It, Dealt It 2.0, and frankly, I am over it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I understand that breaking wind is very important and even necessary on a medicinal level. It is common knowledge that holding in one’s own gas for extended periods of time may result in violent cases of the vapors, bloated bellyaches, or spontaneous combustion. In fact, there is a whole list of side effects that would make a Viagra commercial blush. However, there is something to be said for location, location, and, of course, location.

Also, I get it. I used to be a young boy, and there were few things more hilarious than farting in the vicinity of my younger sister, where vicinity equaled as close to her face as humanly possible. But that was funny! I was the Sid Caesar of passing gas, and my sister, if I recall correctly, loved every minute of it. Everybody did.

Which brings me to the problem with kids today. They have no respect for comedic timing. They have a glaring lack of common courtesy regarding where they are and those around them. It is a shame, and I blame the parents.

Granted, fault does not fall entirely on the shoulders of my wife—there is also the influence of society: Video games, movies, television, books, and family members have long glorified the pulling of fingers and bubbles in the bathwater. Yet I argue that the fart, as a joke, is crude, uncouth, and totally lost any semblance to comedy the minute that it hit my nose (possible exceptions include when I tell it).

Remember, just because something was funny a generation ago does not mean it plays well now, especially in the car with the windows up.

There is a joke being told, off-the-cuff, and it goes like this:


Who’s there?


Did ya puh-who?

No, but I farted.

The punchline is fragrant, and my eyes are slightly burning—the laughter so thick you can smell it.



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