Let’s just jump right in. Shall we? Everyone passes gas. It’s natural. I get that. What I don’t understand is why certain children need to be taught the do’s and don’ts of letting-one-fly. The children that I am referring to may or may not be related to me. I clarify that in order to protect their identity and perhaps their embarrassment.
The other day the four members of my family were driving in my car. Or maybe it was two other children—I can’t say for sure. While we were crossing town, someone in the back seat floated-an-air-muffin. A really big and bad one. You know, the eye watering variety. I had to pull the car over for two reasons. First, I did not want to have to explain to the police officer what happened just before I hit the telephone pole. Although after hearing of my recent torture, he probably would have let me off without the ticket. The second reason is that I had to lay down the law on when you can rip-one and when you need to pinch the source.
The lesson started with, “Never, never in the car with other passengers.” It’s just plain dangerous for the driver. One day, when you find yourself driving all by yourself, toot-your-horn for the entire trip—continuously if you must. However, if you’re alone in your car approaching someone who you will be picking up, the butt-sneezing must stop at least five minutes before their arrival. Moreover, the windows should be lowered all the way down, even in the dead of winter. Creating the “gas chamber on wheels” and then inviting your passengers in will reduce your total number of friends drastically.
I decided that the lesson should not stop with just the rules of the car. “Never ever bottom-burp while standing next to your mother!” I understand that you think it’s funny to do that standing next to the Dad. I’m not sure why I accept that, but I do. It’s probably some sort of genetic cross up that began a zillion years ago. But as for dropping-the-bomb next to the Mom, not so much. She didn’t carry you for nine long months so that one day you could fumigate her.
If you are in a small room hanging out with people, do not under any circumstance think that you can pull off the silent-but-deadly attack. Walk to another room for your bum-blast, wait for a minimum of four minutes, and then return to your company. Return too early and you risk carrying the exhaust fumes with you.
You can safely deliver your fanny-bubble while standing in line at an amusement park. While waiting for your favorite roller coaster ride, the outdoor breeze should conceal your dirty-little-secret. However, if you are standing in line at the grocery store, keep your talking-pants in check. “Honey, I think you might have picked up a bad cabbage.”
I’m sure there are countless other rules. The scenarios in which these children will encounter over their lifetime are probably immeasurable. Although being a good father, I believe I laid out a good foundation for understanding when it is appropriate to cut-the-cheese and when you should mute the trouser-trumpet. My work here is done.
Voices In His Head 
Some of those toxic fumes emitted by kids, no matter how cute and adorable they are, can sometimes be used as nuclear weapons. Don’t tell me. I know.
I happen to know this one particular kid that has serious issues when eating too much chocolate. Just saying.
Haha! I think hard-boiled eggs have the same effect, on kids and adults. 🙂
Really funny stuff, Marcus. Boys! I put a stop to it with our kid when I told him, “What makes you think I want what’s in your bum in my lungs?” He was grossed out enough to never want to smell farts from anyone else, and he spared our lungs from his. For the record, my language to him may have been a little more colorful than portrayed here.
Classic parenting style. You’re awesome.
Parenting I can handle, but what do you do with an elderly parent, who shall remain anonymous, who insists on dropping air muffins in Walmart and allowing other people to walk into them. If I’m dawdling behind said parent, the strangers look at me as though it were my problem! Help me, oh wise one.
The wise one thinks that using your parents as cover for the real story is an excellent use your of resources.
Air muffin and bottom burp… hee hee. never quite heard it put that way. got me thinking.. blowing an ass kiss? pushing it? 😉
blowing an ass kiss — is a new one to this guy.
i just made it up. ah.. so much to learn from each other. 🙂
I don’t understand why there’s a five minute rule for the car and a four minute rule before returning to a small, occupied room. Is there a separate rule for large, occupied rooms?
Perhaps there are a few tweaks and adjustments needed for these lessons and scenarios. Or maybe it was just the fumes getting to my head.
That’s perfectly understandable. Another thought, for what it’s worth… There is a very strong possibility that the young person in question will someday be a voter. Perhaps you should add a rule for voting booths. THAT is a very small, confined space and the wrong place to let one go, but if one were to do so, there should probably be a 15 minute rule, accompanied with air-freshening products!
By virtue of your instruction, you have made the world a better place.
If only I can market my offerings — like fabreeze.
BWAH!
I personally know a four-year-old who toots at a sixth grade level. Needless to say, I’m very proud.
An overachiever! You need a bumper sticker that reads “Proud parent of a rip-roaring student”
My two year already thinks the “butt flute serenade” is funny. The other day I (accidentally) let fly and he nearly fell over in hysterical laughter.
Don’t forget the elevator rule! Never ever ever do it in an elevator whether you are alone or not. It’s a pretty air tight compartment and even after quite a few minutes the smell lingers. If I ever catch the person who deposited those “brown betty fumes” in the elevator the other day, into which I innocently walked, I will throttle them.
Elevators! How could I be so careless and forget to inform them about elevators? Thanks, they will be better off for your insight.