A few of us often wonder: Could there possibly be life after Dickhouse? I can't imagine so. The idea of having to adapt to the real world would have to be one of the scariest fucking things ever. In that sense, some of us are, without a doubt, irreparably damaged goods and completely unfit for re-introduction to modern day employment settings. But every so often I'll see something that gives me hope. That maybe I could still go on to do something else in a gainful, professional sense ... something like this: How About An Exciting Career As A Professional Fart Smeller? Because, let me tell you, after working with such gastrointestinal Bikini Atolls as Jeff Tremaine and Dimitry Elyashkevich, my nasal passages have passed through the proving grounds and emerged as a nifty snoot snifter for discerning whiffs of stupendously toxic anal air. But not just me and my nose, we all have this ability now! Put 10 of us in a room—say an edit bay, Seth Casriel's, with poor ventilation and no windows—and the second a mustardy scent smears the first ions of atmosphere I'd wager that 9 out of the 10 can correctly identify the origin of the ugly ass from whence it steeped and seeped. Dear god... there may be hope for us after all!
P.S. The shot above was not at all about the air from down there but rather the mud stream that shot out Dave England's shit chute moments after he touched butt hard—so hard—during the "Firehose Rodeo" skit in jackass number two.
(Photo by Sean Cliver; 2006)