Today's flatulent topic (which bears only a passing wind to the above photo) was brought to my attention courtesy of Russell Bongard. He does Twitter, I do Twitter, and more often than not my focal point for this downtime suck revolves around the shitter. On that brown note, apparently there is this innovative product available that is supposed to aid in the reduction of toxic emissions from humans. It's called the Flat-D Flatulence Deoderizer [sic], and here's the description in brief and how it may pertain to your briefs:
"This pad is to be worn inside of your underwear. Can be used daily or as needed. Can be used with panty's, briefs and panty hose. Will not be affective with boxer type underwear. Do not use your toilet for disposal. For external use only. End your fear and embarrassment when in public."
That's great, I guess, all egregious misspellings aside, but my question is this: Why? A fart, the cheapest home entertainment system on the planet, is two-fold in its fun factor with potential for both sound and smell—a Twilight Zone of endless wonder that seeps out from within from cradle to grave. And if you've ever let one rip with a mighty roar then you know the extreme disappointment that can follow if there's no smell to back up the rectal bark. (Conversely, and admittedly, there is a certain smug satisfaction to seeping a silent but deadly ass murmuring that overtakes all in its immediate vicinity by disgusted surprise.) Like, I can hardly imagine sharing a professional life with Jeff Tremaine or Dimitry Elyashkevich if they suddenly stopped decimating the edit bays with their aromatic bouquets of mustard, sulfur, and the occasional curry. It just wouldn't be right. Or natural. No matter how awful their airy offal may be at times.
Instead, why not grab the bull by the horns and stick a V8 engine into everyone's rumble seats. As Josh Lingenfelter astutely pointed out, "If they can do this then they could do an amplifier as well." And if Flat-D can't or won't do it, then maybe the U.S. Navy can. I mean, with all that high-tech sonar shit they're harboring, surely they can break off a premium diode to two to devise a wafer thin amp application that will produce some real rootin' tootin' humdingers to shock and awe your friends, family members, or that total stranger you're seated next to on the bus or airplane.
Another tack, which forgive me if I've mentioned it before but it has been a longtime dream of mine, is to concoct a chemical compound that when ingested will bind with foul, disgestive gas molecules and color them bad, like green or purple or orange, so a clearly discernible cloud may be seen upon anal eruption. Can you only imagine how this could change the landscape of the world and all its metropolitan centers of commerce and industry? I can. Oh god, can I ever.
So please, President Obama, if you're reading this now, I urge you to take my hard-earned tax dollars and allocate them to this research program. America will not only be a better and brighter place for it, but there exists a beautiful butt-full of potent potential to usher in a new Age of Flatulence that will make the Age of Aquarius look like a sewing circle at the nunnery. The world is in desperate need of a good, solid dose of common nonsense these days, and there is nothing quite so ubiquitous as a fart to blast down all cultural and ideological barriers known to mankind.
We can do this if we all pull together as a team.
America, fuck yeah!
(Photo by Benzo; New Orleans, Louisiana 2006)