A Salute and a Toot to Sophisticated Humor

After being such a barely there blogger for the past few months, I'm kinda late to the game. You guys got a big ol' fat head start on me, but I'm only just now beginning to "appreciate" the "new and improved" version of Blogger that's been foisted upon us by the mighty blogging powers that be. (Yippee, huh?) Turned out, I freaked out over nothing. Yeah, the draft of this old post looked weird... I mean, the html coding showed in lieu of the pics and videos that were in the earlier post... but that was it. Much to my delight, everything re-appeared like magic once I hit the preview button. So not a big deal. But even if it had been, it would've totally been worth it. See, my wonderful son-in-law is verrrry musically talented (in oh-so many ways) and I simply HAD to rerun this oldie-but-goodie "just for him." And for you guys, too, of course. I mean, we ALL need to lighten up and laugh, right? (Right!)

Thought for the day:  Beans, beans, the musical fruit; the more you eat, the more you toot. The more you toot, the better you'll feel, so beans, beans for every meal!

Nope; it wasn't ME!

Have you ever wondered what makes something funny? What makes one person laugh uproariously at a comedian, while the next holds his nose and says the routine stinks?  I mean, we all laugh at something. Even little babies laugh.

Music and laughter ... universal languages. Is there anything better than the sound of a baby's unbridled belly laugh? That in itself sounds like the sweetest music, doesn't it? So we cross our eyes, stick out our tongues, and make all kinds of faces at babies. We tickle their chubby little bellies, make utter fools out of ourselves, and generate weird noises... all in the hopes of getting to hear their precious laughter.

And what, I ask you, does almost every baby in the world think is funny?

                                    Apparently, they're partial to... farts ... those musical toots.

Please don't think lesser of me, but (shhh!) so am I. There must be something wrong with me. Maybe a twisted kink in my DNA helix has stunted my maturation process. That would explain it. Why else would a woman my age still think flatulence is so darned funny?

I know. Embarrassing, isn't it?

What three qualities matter most to you in the people you hang around with? For me, it'd have to be kindness, intelligence, and a good sense of humor. But lately, I've begun to question the quality of my sense of humor, because I must admit, few things are off-limits when it comes to cracking a joke or twisting words into a groan-worthy pun, and it doesn't take much to make me laugh.

Like last week. While talking to a  gastroenterologist's appointment nurse on the phone, I asked her where I should report. Upstairs, where my regular doc saw patients? No, I was to go downstairs. "Figures," I said. "In the bowels of the building." Nothing. (Tough audience.) So I apologized, and said she must hear that all the time. Nope. I was the first. See? Sick sense of humor.

Then there was the time Smarticus came home from a hunting trip and told me about a harrowing experience he'd had after one of the other fellas fell out of a tree stand. While driving his friend to the hospital, my poor hapless hubby looked out his truck window and saw a wheel roll past... HIS wheel. Needless to say, he got everything fixed, and got the guy to the hospital okay, but what would YOU have said to him under the circumstances? Me? I sang. Uh-huh. I sang, You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel ...  See? Sick, sick, sick.  But not as sick as my penchant for potty humor.

Years ago, when our daughter was about eleven, she ... how shall I say this ... cut the cheese in church. Not noisily, mind you, but with an exuberant and lingering bouquet. Most normal mothers would have scolded her for not saving her stink for the bathroom, or at least given her a suitably disapproving look. Not me. I leaned over and whispered, "Gives a whole new meaning to church pew, huh?"

Fortunately, we weren't asked to vacate the premises.

This is an ACTUAL musical!

But I can't help it. I think the sounds of  flatulence are absolutely hysterical.

Call me gauche, but the very idea of a musical about a man's fartistic abilities strikes me as fall-down-on-the-floor funny. (I mean, really! Can you imagine a man on stage tooting his arse  like a trumpet?)
But I'm not kidding! 'Twas an honest-to-goodness off-Broadway play intended to delight all lovers of potty humor and "pull my finger" shenanigans. Entitled The Fartiste, this play, based on fart artist (I kid you not!) Joseph Pujol, a 19th century Moulin Rouge tooting star, blasted its way to some great reviews and thunderous applause. Pujol had the unusual ability to suck air in through his anus, and then blow it out again, which enabled him to use his posterior portal to tootle tunes on a trumpet, emulate the sounds of thunder and ripping fabric, and even to blow out the theater's gas jet lights. What can I say? From what I've read about it, the play didn't stink.




                                         






  Can you watch this video without laughing? I can't.

A few years ago, Smarticus and I saw two boys in a Dollar Store aisle playing with Whoopee cushions they'd pulled off the shelf. The more rude noises they squeezed out, the more they laughed. Um, me too. Matter of fact, I just HAD to get me one of those things. For one of our grandsons, of course. Didn't mean I couldn't entertain myself by squeezing it as we went through the store. (WHAT? I had to make sure it worked, didn't I?) Anyhow, the intended recipient of the grand gift didn't enjoy it nearly as much as his younger siblings. Especially the twenty-month-old, who would squeeze out a good one, wrinkle his nose, and say, "EWWWWW! Schtinky!" Then he'd laugh hysterically. Um, me too.

It was about then I began to wonder if some aspects of my humor weren't a tad juvenile. I mean, laughing at the same thing a twenty-month-old found amusing? The same thing that makes babies all over the world laugh?

But, as it turns out, I'm not alone. That book on the right? Belongs to my husband. One of our grandsons picked it out for him. The shameful truth is ... our whole family cracks up at bathroom humor.

And we aren't the only ones. The reason for this, I don't know, but many people find flatulence hilarious. Not burps, or hiccoughs, or sneezes ... just poots.










Smarticus once emailed me a newspaper article about a little girl who won a speech contest with her speech about ... you guessed it ... farts. I even read an article in a scientific journal about a medical researcher whose major focus is studying ... you guessed it ...  farts. (Guess his lab is in the bowels of the building too, eh?) Sorry. And another about an Australian study to determine whether pooting in the O.R. could contaminate the field of operation. The conclusion? There's a minute possibility, but only if the perpetrator is naked and taking direct aim at the surgical site. But, don't worry about your surgeon eating beans. According to the study, flatus germs are as benign as the bacteria in your yogurt. Both of these article, I must say, although reporting on the results of serious studies, (or as serious as studies in this particular field can be) were full of puns, innuendos, and fart jokes. Y'know, like something I would've written.

                                                               Kinda made me proud.

So, um bottom line, maybe I'm okay after all. Right. I'm a mature sophisticated woman. (Shut up. This is MY fantasy.) And maybe I'm not the only one with an inner child squealing I don't wanta pull your finger.

So, how's the wind blow with you? Fart jokes crack you up, too, or do they just plain stink?  And what's the most inappropriate thing you've ever said or done in the name of humor? Come on. You can tell me ...

                                There was an old fellow named Clyde

                                Who fell into an outhouse and died.

                                One day, his brother

                                Fell into another,
                                And now they're in-turd side by side.

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Boozing Boxers and Tooting Stars

Thought for the day:  There really is more than corn in Indiana. There's soybeans, too.

In case you didn't know it, Baltimore had the Colts FIRST. Baltimore had Johnny Unitas, Raymond Berry, Alan Ameche, Art Donovan, and a host of other amazing football players. The Baltimore Colts won the 1958 world championship in sudden death overtime, in what's been hailed as the best football game of all time. B'more had Colts bowling alleys, Johnny U's restaurant, and it was always fun to "Meetcha at Ameche's" restaurant for a cherry coke and the best burger in town. Baltimore loved the Colts. Until they left.

Now they belong to Indianapolis. Not that I'm bitter. After all, my husband and I left Baltimore, too. (But at least WE didn't sneak away in the middle of the night.)

Ahem.

Okay, in case you couldn't tell, we're looking at Indiana today.

What can I say? Ya gotta love a state that sports a smiley-faced water tower.






So, what can we say about Indiana? Like the other states in the corn belt, their idea of a traffic jam means ten cars waiting to pass a tractor, and these folks definitely know what's knee-high by the fourth of July. They say you can drive three hours in Indiana without seeing a change in the scenery, and every festival in the state is named after a fruit, grain, or vegetable. Also, bib overalls are considered appropriate attire for attending funerals. Most residents are proud to be called a Hoosier, although no one's sure how they got that name or what it means. The state has a lot of farmland, and most residents take their basketball seriously.

What else?

Most people are familiar with the Indianapolis Speedway. That's where the Indianapolis 500 race is  held every year. When the first race was held there on May 30, 1911, it was the first long-distance race in the country, the winner averaged 75 MPH, and he won a prize of $14,000. Now, qualifying speeds are more than 220 MPH, and the prize, more than $1.5 million.

There are a LOT of covered bridges in Indiana. In fact, Parke County, with thirty-two of them, is considered the Covered Bridge capital of the world.

The East Race Waterway, in South Bend, is the only man-made white-water raceway in North American.

Indianapolis boasts the largest, and according to Child magazine, the BEST children's museum in the world. Among other things, it includes a huge 5-level playground.

Here's another museum that sounds like a winner. Ruthmere Museum, housed in a Beaux Arts mansion, is a destination of choice for art lovers, history buffs, and antique enthusiasts. Sounds like my kinda place.

Would you believe there's a city in Indiana named Santa Claus? Didn't start out that way. Originally, it was called Santa Fe, but because another city in the state already had the same name, they had to change it in order to get a post office. So, in 1856, it became Santa Claus, and its post office now receives an average of 10,000 letters every Christmas. Santa Claus Museum, appropriately enough, is located at the intersection of Christmas Boulevard and Kris Kringle Place. 

Muncie's Ball State University was built mostly from funds contributed by the founder of the Ball Company, maker of glass canning jars. Ergo, the school's name.

If you're still smirking over the name of that school, you're gonna love the name of this town:

Yeah, it's an unusual name, all right, and I'm not sure of its origins, but the town does have a pretty nifty railroad museum.

Okay, time to move on now, and take a look at some of Indiana's laws.

• If any person receives money for a puppet show, wire dancing, or tumbling act, they will be fined three dollars under the Act to Prevent Certain Immoral Practices. (Immoral? Jeez, I dunno ... maybe somebody was dancing on that wire in the nude?)
• Anyone fourteen or older who profanely curses, damns, or swears by the name of God, Jesus Christ, or the Holy Ghost, shall be fined one to three dollars for each offense, with a maximum fine of ten dollars a day. (I wonder if frequent offenders pay their ten bucks in advance?)
• A three-dollar fine will be imposed on anyone playing cards in the state, under the Act for the Prevention of Gaming. (Cards? Oh no ,no, no. Oughta fine Monopoly players.)
• The value of pi is three. (Now, I don't care who you are ... that's FUNNY!)
• It's illegal for a man to be sexually aroused in public. (Salt peter in the public water fountains maybe?)
• No baths are permitted between October and March. (That oughta stink bomb arousals, too.)
• A man over the age of eighteen may be arrested for statutory rape if the under-seventeen passenger in his car isn't wearing socks and shoes. (Nothing at all funny about this one.)
• It's against the law to pass a horse on the street. (It's really hard to get the proper spiral and distance, anyway.) (Pssst, think football ...)
• It's illegal for a liquor store to sell soft drinks or milk.
• You can get out of paying a dependent's medical care by praying for him/her. (Finally, an insurance plan for the Masses.)
• It's illegal to back into a parking space.
• Smoking in the state legislature is banned ... except for when the legislature is in session.
• Pedestrians crossing the highway at night are prohibited from wearing tail lights. (How about headlights?)
• Spiteful gossip and talking behind another person's back is illegal.
• State government officials who engage in private duels can be dismissed from their posts. (One way or the other.)
• Mustaches are illegal if the bearer has a tendency to kiss other humans. (Okay for kissing other species, I suppose.)
• In Beech Grove, it's illegal to eat watermelon in the park.
• In Elkhart, it's against the law for barbers to threaten to cut off a child's ears. (I wonder how many kids that barber terrorized before this law was enacted?)
• In Gary, a person may not enter a movie house, theater, or ride a public streetcar within four hours of eating garlic. 
• In Indianapolis, it's against the law to ride horses more than 10 MPH.
• And it's only legal to throw a stone at a bird if it's done in self-defense. 
• And no one is allowed to collect rags on Sundays.
• In South Bend, it's illegal to make a monkey smoke a cigarette. (Give him a cigar.)
• And finally, in Warsaw, you can't throw an old computer across the street at your neighbor. (Better stick to the guy next door, I guess.)

Okay, here we go, the moment you've all been waiting for .. it's time for (ta-DA!)

The Weirdest News Stories of the Week

***  That pug looks a little glum, doesn't he? Maybe he has a tummy ache from his "heavy" diet. That's Harley, this year's Hambone Award winner, which goes to the pet whose owner filed the year's most unusual pet insurance claim. Sponsored by the Veterinary Insurance Company, the award was inspired a few years ago by a dog who ate an entire Thanksgiving ham. (burp) Harley's diet was a little out of the ordinary. He happened to eat ... and poop ... a hundred rocks. Past winners of this unwanted award include Ellie, a Labrador retriever who ate an entire beehive, bees and all, and Lulu, a bulldog who ate fifteen baby pacifiers, a bottle cap, and part of a basketball. (For Heaven's sake, buy those dogs some decent dog food!) I'm pleased to report, in spite of their strange gastronomical adventures, all of these critters are doing well.

***  Finally, an off-Broadway play for lovers of potty humor and the "pull my finger" crowd. Entitled The Fartiste, this play, based on fart artist (I kid you not!) Joseph Pujol, a 19th century Moulin Rouge tooting star, has blasted its way to some great reviews and thunderous applause. Pujol had the unusual ability to suck air in through his anus, and then blow it out again, which enabled him to use his posterior portal to tootle tunes on a trumpet, emulate the sounds of thunder and ripping fabric, and even to blow out the theater's gas jet lights. What can I say? From what I've read, this play doesn't stink. Neither does this song from the play, which you can hear in this video clip.

whew, feeling pretty ruff

*** If you're sick and tired of your favorite pooch drinking more than his fair share of your beer, here ya go: a brand new beer just for dogs. (So he can jolly well go out and buy his own, right?)  Bowser Beer, produced by family-owned business 3 Busy Dogs and available for purchase in most states, replaces the not-so-good-for-dogs hops with chicken or beef. The owners came up with the new brew idea after successfully marketing their doggie pretzels. Guess they figured the pooches might appreciate a cold brewski to wash down the pretzels, huh? And get this: you can even feature your dog's face on the labels, and create personalized brew names. (Like ...  Don't Give a Shitzu Beer?) So maybe you can special order a six-pack for your dog's next party, so he can impress all his friends.

*** Didja ever have a vehicle that prompted you to say, "This thing runs like crap?" Well, this bike runs ON crap. Japanese toilet manufacturer TOTO has produced a motorcycle that's fueled entirely by ...  poop. Or  to be more precise, human excrement-based biofuel. Called the Neo, this unusual three-wheeler, which boasts a toilet for a seat and large roll of toilet paper flapping in the wind from the rear, has already successfully completed an 870-mile tour of Japan. Not for sale, and not intended for mass production, the purpose of this bike is to promote brown  green renewable energy. Oh, and that toilet isn't operational, so no, you can't go while you're going ... Still, I think they ougtha call this bike the poopmobile.

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.