Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
There's a lot going on in the world right now: a war in Iraq, renewed
trouble between Israel and the Palestinians, starvation and disease in
Africa, local flooding.... So, I feel a bit guilty that I'm going to
dedicate today's update to a lengthy discussion about farting. But there
ya go. I'm confident I'll eventually get over it.
I come from a background where Dads and sons fart, and Moms and
daughters do not. I know that's unfair, but I didn't set the rules; it
was simply reality. In fact, I'm almost certain that I never heard a
female break wind until I was well into my twenties. Yet I lived inside
a virtual vortex of male ass-blasting. It's the sexual politics of
flatulence, and I can't begin to explain it.
No, I don't know why society says that women must clench and pucker,
while men are allowed to showboat their gas with impunity, but I'm
pleased to announce that I'm doing my part to level the farting field.
Both of my grandfathers are probably spinning in their graves, possibly
powered by gaseous outrage, but I'm bringing a whiff of equality to the
farting game. So to speak.
I never made a conscious decision about this, I can't claim that any
deep thinking went into it, but I've never let one rip in front of Toney
-- not once. I believe it would be disrespectful. And unthinkable. I never
held back in previous relationships (on the contrary), but with Toney
it's somehow different. I instinctually choose to spare her the agony
of, say, a post-broccoli "event." It seems like the right
thing to do.
At the same time, though, I haven't turned my back on the time-honored tradition of
father/son fart-bonding. It just takes place when Toney isn't around.
Boys, I think, benefit from their fathers occasionally dropping a
well-timed neutron bomb in the potato chip aisle of a grocery store, or
suddenly letting loose with a big Price Is Right buzzer fart in a
darkened theater. It provides memories to share, and cherish like
heirlooms.
But the boys know that they can't just let it fly all willy-nilly.
Unlike some of their friends.... There's a time and a place for
everything, and I'm confident they'll continue down the path I've blazed
for them.
It's not always easy being a pioneer,
though. Sometimes the Old Way butts up against the New Way, and there's
friction. When Toney and I were in the early days of our dating career I
took her to meet my parents. While there, some friends of the family
came by, and the husband almost immediately tipped to one side and sent
up a rectal flare, right there in front of my girlfriend -- somebody
he'd never met before.
It pissed me off, which was a completely new fart-based emotion for me.
I remember being a little surprised that I was grinding my teeth and
thinking, wotta crass-ass pigman. I was changing, and realized it
at that moment.
Occasionally somebody tries to level the farting field in a different
way, and results may vary. I once had a girlfriend who was prim and
proper, and rarely said anything worse than gosh darnit. One day we were
driving in my little Chevy Luv truck, when she suddenly squinted up like
Renee Zellweger, and I heard something that sounded like a bald tire
spinning in mud. The hell??
She started to chuckle, but I guess the horrified look on my face cut
her off in mid-launch. I couldn't believe what had just transpired, my
brain couldn't process it. Immediately she began back-pedaling, and
making excuses. She claimed her stomach was upset, that it was all a big
mistake. But it was obvious that she'd put her entire abdomen behind it.
I mean, that baby had power. In fact, it seemed to increase in strength
as it went along.
Then the stench hit me, and I was officially disgusted. It was like
rotten produce and swamp water. I weaved all over the road as I
frantically worked to roll the windows down, tears streaming from my
eyes. Sweet sainted mother of Blind Lemon Jefferson! It was even worse
than the translucents' weird chemical dumps, and that's no lie.
If it had been one of my male friends who'd channeled the devil's
dumpster that way, I readily admit that we probably would've been
laughing and driving down the interstate with our heads hanging out the
windows. Big fun.
But this was different. It had come from agirl.
She'd clearly made an attempt at farting a line in the sand that day,
but there's no way I could handle such a thing -- double-standard be
damned. Maybe she eventually found a man who could, but I am not him.
...NOT
a preferred way of leveling the farting field.
So there you go. Are my theories sound, or way off? Am I unfair in my
beliefs? Is my "transformation"typical, or should I be
clinging to tradition? How is it handled at your house? Tell us about in
the comments section.
And I'll be back tomorrow with more of this high-brow material.
--
There's a lot going on in the world right now: a war in Iraq, renewed
trouble between Israel and the Palestinians, starvation and disease in
Africa, local flooding.... So, I feel a bit guilty that I'm going to
dedicate today's update to a lengthy discussion about farting. But there
ya go. I'm confident I'll eventually get over it.