The late George Carlin had some of the funniest comedy routines I had ever heard. Imagine a teenage boy hearing his "Farting Is Fun" routine, for the first time. I was on the floor dying, even though the only farting I ever paid attention to was my own.
Let's face it; farting is fun. The "one cheek sneak" is a classic maneuver to avoiding detection. You have to be careful not to lift yourself up to much, otherwise the jig is up and someone will notice.
The best is when you're in the back of a crowded elevator and you let a "silent but deadly" fly free. The looks on all the faces, of all the other passengers, can be priceless. Some of them look like they're about ready to die. You just have to make sure that you stand there quietly, with nary a laugh, chuckle or smirk crossing your face.
Then there’s when you play the game, "Pull My Finger," with your kids. You tell them they have a fifty-fifty chance of anything happening isn't quite fair, considering that you'll let one fly so loud that it could scare them to death, before the smell does.
Then, of course, there's the infamous "Prime Rib Fart." What's that you ask? You attend a wedding, bar or mat mitzvah, a very special event or party, and prime rib is one of the main course choices. Of course, you choose that, since you hardly get it anywhere anymore.
Prime rib will sit in you for many hours after you eat it. If the dinner is late, say 10 pm, and you're in bed at 3 am, prepare for rising off the bed by a good six inches or so. That's when that big bang of flatulence is going to hit, and the noise and odor will hit you so hard that you and your partner will think that the room exploded.
I just had an incident at dinner with which any parent can sympathize. Melissa, my daughter, let a burp so loud fly that it was embarrassing. She does this almost every night and tonight was the last straw. I don't care if you say, "Excuse me," there is no excuse for doing the same thing every night.
I'm not talking about your little, run of the mill mild burp aka eructation. I'm talking about one that a long haul truck driver would let out after a prime rib dinner, and soda.
Yes, I had a bad day at work and this was the last straw. I was in no mood for more disgusting behavior at the table, so I kicked her out of the kitchen and told her to go to her room, “Take your food with you.”
She didn't take the food and after I finished dinner, I told Marcy she could come back in. I don't know if she did, since I went downstairs to write this column. That's how these wonderful topics came to mind.
Michelle usually follows her sister with a burp, so thank goodness tonight she didn't do it. Marcy is usually the third one, but I think I scared the burps out of them with the mild tantrum I had with Melissa.
Then, of course, there's the snoring. My father is the loudest snorer I know, next to my wife. I have to push her on the shoulder if she's facing me and tell her to turn over. That accomplishes two things; first she's facing away and the snoring isn't as loud, and two, hopefully it actually stops the snoring.
I know that I snore, but only if I'm on my back, which I hardly do. I find it most comfortable to lie on my left side, with a pillow between my knees for extra comfort. Of course, the rest of the family has to beat up me when I deny the snore, and try to blame it on Marcy.
You just can't make this stuff up.
Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.
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