My friends, I promised you fart jokes, WAY back when I started this thing in 2006, and today I intend to deliver. It is particularly timely, I should think, because my last entry was so very, very serious, and personal, and philosophical, and boring. I even talked about my Dad. I talked about my Dad in my 'blog. Are you my therapist? No. (Unless you are, of course.) So now I make amends.
FART JOKES:
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. . . um. Okay. So, this guy walks into a bar, and the bartender says, "Sorry, we don't serve guys here," and the guy says, "Pppbbrrrt!" and the bartender says, "gross, dude," and the guy says "Hhhnnttpop!" and the bartender says, "seriously, dude," and the guy says, "HonkhonkawOOgaawOOga!" and the bartender, he . . . .
Okay: I got nuthin'. The thing is, it is hard to make fart jokes over a computer. That, my friends, is a definite limitation still inhibitting the progress of our glorious technology. Have you ever heard one of those recorded, electric whoopie cushions? Not funny. Simply unfunny. Same goes for typing a fart joke. There's no life to it, even if you add farting emoticons: }{v| --> >poomf!< --> =vD. And, I mean, I can link you to a video demonstrating fart humor, but that doesn't really capture the full sensory experience, does it? No, here I am forced to admit that even the live theatre is a bit lacking, apart from a few avante garde pieces no one really would want to see anyway. You can experience the aroma vicariously, though characters' reactions, but it's just not the same, is it? 'Tisn't. Dare I say: 'Tain't.
But I needs must deliver! I can't leave it at a non-fart joke! That would be like when you successfully hold in a fart for over an hour, because you're at the MoMA or on a first date or something, then, when you are finally granted a moment of solitude and sweet release, IT'S GONE. Where do they go? Are they absorbed back into your body? Do they retreat back up the digestive channels and demand re-entrance to the stomach? No one knows and, at that particular kind of moment, no one cares. What matters is that you still have abdominal pressure that could have been so sweetly resolved, and now you have to go wondering when the thing will rear its noisesome head again. Probably on the crowded subway, on your way home. And you're pretty good at the ol' S.B.D., but there are no guarantees in this life, as you were reminded by your date ending with a rapid handshake, or by Picasso's Guernica, and such a gamble might just come back to bite you in the ass.
So to speak.
I'm actually not a great fan of scatalogical humor in any vein, as you have guessed from steeping my "fart humor" in human-behavior stories. In fact, I kind of hate it when a movie goes that way. The "coffee" scene in Austin Powers 2, for example. A notable exception to this preference of mine is the wrestling/chase scene in Borat . . . but that may simply be because it was the first time in the movie in which the victims of the humor were the actors rather than unsuspecting (albeit admittedly dim-witted) bystanders. By and large, I can do without the gross.
A confession: I just wrote the "fart jokes" thing into my 'blog heading to knock down the pretention a notch or two. It's similar to the delivery of this entry. I got a little too heavy, or theoretical, or what-have-you, to begin with and I use the humor--and some shock--to distract you from how my mind works. It's a great tactic. The only problem with it is that it works a little too well. Occasionally, one ends up losing track of one's own priorities amidst all this duck-and-cover. It's good to relax, take it easy for a moment and have a good, balanced evaluation of one's life.
. . . >BAMF!<
