The Politics of Exhaust

Well, now that I'm on a streak, (no, not a brown one, hahaha) and desperately trying to distract myself from mammogram result terror - and I share the family appreciation of all things fart, I thought I'd outline, (since it's likely not been done before) the politics of exhaust...

Rule #1 - Do Not Eat in the Bathroom
When R & I were young, we were mentored by the master of exhaust, my dad. My dad was a machine. Like clockwork, at 6 am every morning, he headed to his ensuite with a bowl of corn flakes, or a jam and baloney sandwich and the Sun for his morning ritual. I won't go in to deep detail, but we were used to a daily Hiroshima like explosion. Powerful, deadly and omgosh, it made us run. All of us in the family are early risers. I think this might be why. No one wants to get caught around a Hiroshima... Someone else I know, (not that I'd say who it is) often heads to the washroom with a bowl of cereal. I seriously have never understood the pleasure of eating and expelling at the same time, and find it quite repulsive, but you know what they say about girls marrying men like their fathers...

Rule #2 - Grown Men Should Never Fart Under the Covers
Now I don't mean to pick on my dad, but you know, home is where you spend your formative years. Weekend mornings, R & I would jump in to bed with dad, always forgetting that the highly enjoyable games of Tickle Spiders and Willy Lump Lump would eventually deteriorate into the fart game. Few things matched dad's pleasure in the game of trapping us under the covers during a big one. We never won. Not once.

Consider this advice, guys, especially if you hope to have sex with a woman. Many untold women, (who now may be your wives) have been traumatized by this game. And having been victimized for so many years, have now earned the right to let loose themselves under the covers at their leisure. But don't for one instant however, consider you also have that right. Men's exhaust is structured different molecularly than women's. Men's has substance. Oily substance. Women's is a simple, light aersol and they usually have the consideration to aim toward the outside of the bed, with the covers lifted.

Rule #3. Never Ever Stick Your Finger Behind Your Unwashed Ear, Then Loudly Proudly Proclaim, 'Smell THIS! It didn't come from my bum!'
I don't think one needs much more explanation.

Rule #4. Manage Fletch
Years ago, when i was about 20 and Xavieira Hollander was writing sexposes (you know, sex-po-says) and I was still interested enough to read them, she told the story of a male lover who left 'fletch' (beautiful word) marks on her satin sheets. At the time, I'd never heard the word and as you can tell, have never forgotten it. In fact, I had hard time when my kid's elementary principal was named Mr. Fletcher. Kind of like when learned that the word 'Johnson' had a double meaning, and it was also the name of my gynocologist...and have I ever mentioned my psychiatrist's name was Dr. Misery? (Bet you never suspected I had a psychiatrist, did you?)

At any rate, I could go on here, but I just looked at the clock and it's been a whole 2 hours since I last worried about cancer.

So I should probably get my shit together.
Tomorrow I'm going to discuss vaginal farting. Til then!