“And Then I Saw His Fart.”Submitted by WillZone at 2004-03-09 11:46:43 EST
Rating: 1.74 on 113 ratings (113 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Let me preface this post by saying that I am not a man who thinks “potty humor” is the “be all end all” of what is funny. “Potty humor,” or “dick and fart jokes,” is not my bread and butter (a ridiculous phrase) but it does have its own important rung on the ladder of comedy…a lower rung, but a rung nonetheless. Today, I would like to ascend this ladder, and to do so I must place my foot on a topic so “low brow” (no, not a midget’s forehead), so crude and elementary, yet so amazingly simple and fuckin funny, that some might accuse it of being childish and cheap. But the story must be told. I’ve called this piece (deadpan) “And Then I Saw His Fart.”
And we begin. Brapp.
I woke up on-time this morning. I arrived at the subway station early. The train arrived late. Therefore I would arrive to work late. I have my headphones on, and I’m trying to cancel out my impatience and anger with the soothing sounds of Cat Stevens’ “Teaser and the Firecat.” The train ride goes smoothly when the train arrives, and now I have a 3 block walk to work. It’s cold outside. As I exhale, my breath hangs heavy in air, it breaks apart and disperses as I traipse thru it.
Walking down the sidewalk, I got stuck behind an older gentleman. I couldn’t make a pass, he seemed to be able to stutter and shuffle back and forth in perfect mathematical sequences. I was stuck. I accepted my fate and continued down the block tapping my fingers rhythmically to “Morning has Broken.” as it blares thru my headphones. My eyes are fixated forward, staring at the back of this old, old man.
He’s wearing a grey trench coat, with what appears to be a grey suit underneath. Atop his head sits a grey sporting cap with a black band. He is half slouched over, it almost appears as though his black briefcase is weighing him down. I get lost in thoughts about “How old folks in NYC dress really well?” and “Where did he get those shoes?” And then it happened. The Old Man pauses for a split second mid-stride. Cat Stevens fills my ears and a gaseous cloud fills my eyes. A white cloud of noxious odor left the seat of his pants and followed him down the block, creating what almost seemed like a tail made of fog.
I saw him fart.
I snickered. I’ve actually always wondered about this phenomenon. I can see my breath in the cold, since my breath is warm and moist…so I should, following the same principles, be able to see a fart, as it is also warm and moist. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed. No one reacted…so it must not have been audible…so therefore I hope it isn’t sti-- And that’s when it hit me. The nastiest, most rank and dank stank that has ever been smelled. A pungent odor, that if I had to assign a color to would be moldy brown/green. A smell that could only be created by a mixture of prunes, coffee and Dinty Moore. It smelled like New Jersey and Staten Island had a kid. A smell so sinister, a tree withered. Taxi cabs flipped over onto their sides. Parking meters shot out loose change like bullets. Graffiti slimed off the walls. And in the distance, a lonely angel wept. It smelled like someone took a shit in a tub of rotting milk. My gag reflex took over, I turned away shielding myself from the stank. Behind me, an Old Asian women shook on the ground having a fart induced seizure.
The old man just surged forward, unaware of the carnage he left behind him. Unaware that this vision of his tangible fart will be burned into my psyche forever. Unaware that his one little toot changed the world, let alone this block, forever. He walks blissfully unaware of the stink. A pigeon careened into a window.
At Madison Ave he went uptown and I went downtown. I forgot that I was about to go into work 20 minutes late. I didn’t care. I yearned for the stale, filtered smell of my lobby. I feel pleased that I was able to get an answer to my questions about the visible fart, but was it worth the stinky price I had to inhale? I dare to say no.
Feeling inspired, and grasping for an ending, here is a haiku about my dealings with the visible fart.
First pride fills my heart
As the old man strolls to work
Then I saw his fart.
Oh Uber, FUN FART FACT: If you were able to be in space without a suit, a fart has enough energy to propel one forward, since there is no friction or gravity to counteract the force of the fart. NASA, please look into “Toot Technology.” STAT!
P.S. - A fart-thesaurus found here: http://www.heptune.com/fartword.html
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