I think farts are hysterical. In this respect I am basically an overgrown 10 year old. My aging grandmother, The Dowager Empress, was one of the most impressive farters I ever met. Up until she was over 90, all you ever heard was either a bird like chirp or tweet, a ladylike titter, accompanied by an Urkellesque "Did I DO that?" face (only because you just can't blame the silent-but-deadlies on the German Shepherd, because the dog is dead).
Once she was over 90 it was a no holds barred wrestling match between the buttcheeks. I guess that the senility, coupled with the deafness and the aging body, allowed her to just say "Fuck it, I got gas" and when nature calls, she would honk that horn like a NYC cabdriver. As she would walk, with each step a loud fart would emanate, almost as if the breaking of the wind would help to propel her faster in whatever direction she was pointing. Since she was of the theory, anything I can't hear, neither can you, it made for some very funny interludes, no area was too sacred. Church. During eye exams. Mc Donalds. Weddings. Funerals. Borough Council Meetings. Dinner. Sometimes if she knew she had been caught, it was followed by a lady like "oooh, Excuse me", and the minute the victim turned her back, a soft giggle. I half expected her to point herself in the general direction of her mortal frenemy, Mary Louise O'Harra Donaldson Van Burton Pugh at a cocktail party, and ask Sister Alphonse Marie to pull her finger. Ahhh I miss ya, Gramma, I miss ya.
Now my father, the "I pull plow up hill" aging Hungarian man is the water poisoner. I know what that SOB eats. I know how much that SOB used to drink. My father is a motherf@#$ing weapon of ass destruction.
He once farted in his bedroom on the second floor of our house. My mother was in the kitchen at the back of the house on the first floor. She started screaming, "Godammit kids, check your shoes! I smell dog shit in the house." We check our shoes, and inform her that we are clean. Muttering to herself, and not believing her kids that lie about brushing their teeth, she does her own check of our shoes, "Goddamn dog, if he shit on my Persian carpets again". Suddenly she bellows up the old servant staircase from the kitchen to the second floor "FRANK! Either check your shoes, or if you come down stairs, be careful I think the damn dog shit in the house"
"The dog is in the back yard" my father responded, after walking down the back stairs. "What? Don't you smell that?" my mother replied. With a half smile, and a glint in his eye, my father can barely contain his mirth. My mother looked at my father and said "Jesus Christ thats disgusting" turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen. You have to love having the ability where you can fart in one room, and have an entire three and a half story townhouse fumigated to the point where your wife thinks the dog has diarrhea and has shit in all 14 rooms in the house.
There are several terms I use which have their origins in my restaurant past, Dropping Heat, splode, assplauding and Cropdusting. I do them all quite well, and use the terminology in very polite conversation (which for me, means that I didn't drop the F-bomb, but may very well have called someone an asshat)
Cropdusting a historic waiter skill, which allows us to silently release gas through the dining room as we walk. It is entertaining to the waiter because, A) it is a LOVELY way to say thanks for the 12% tip, now get the FUCK out B) I think it is hysterical to hear "GEORGE, Goddamit, we are in public! You couldn't hold it in?" and C) Much like my grandmother, Fuck it, I got gas.
I have poisoned many, many an aisle at the National Retailer Who Shall Remain Nameless (butwillbediscussedatlength) in this manner, including a particularly dramatic one, where during a bout of food poisoning, I unleashed a particularly heinous brown cloud of death in a stairwell. An entire department was on its way to lunch and proceeded to walk down the stairs and through the cloud. Needless to say the choruses of "WTF? Dear Lord, and O M G" still ring in my head and make me giggle.
Dropping Heat is, well dropping some heat. This is generally used in relation to that individual that can't take a poop at home, and instead has to do it in your nice clean bathroom. This is also know as "blowing up", and upon them exiting the bathroom results in you saying "Motherfucker, REALLY?"
Sploding should be self explanatory, the EX has been removed, think college, and the morning after drinking either The Beast or Olde Splatterass on draft.
And finally, Assplauding. This is a mythical beast which can be achieved only with the correct amount of sweat, the right PSI, and a scientific tensing of the sphincter. It is the magical fart that last about 5-8 seconds and sounds like clapping hands. If done correctly, it is a sign of the true ass master. I mastered this skill in the eighth grade at swim practice, and have never looked back.
Courtesy of my parents mixed marriage, I possess the ability to unleash a brown cloud of destruction with a ladylike chirp. So, if I ever challenge you to pull my finger, be prepared, be very, very prepared.
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