Archive for March, 2005|Monthly archive page

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Driving to the gym this morning, Lamont and Tonelli were on the radio with their usual post-teen crap, when Lamont suddenly accuses Tonelli of blowing a silent but deadly gas blast. Faith, the traffic lady who I don’t believe is even in the studio, chimed in on how nasty the smell was. Quality morning FM radio, I tell you.

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Those weird minds at Robot Chicken were at it again. Last night’s episode had a slick guy, explaining how the First Amendment frees him, farting the national anthem. Until he hit the fourth note or so and shat his pants instead.

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The minute my sweetie showed me the cover of Walter the Farting Dog by William Kotwinkle, Glenn Murray and Bay Area artist artist Audrey Colman, I knew it would get a mention here. How in the world would this wonderful children’s story not immediately spark my interest. Plus, for those of you with long memories, Kotwinkle was the author of the novel of E.T. the Extraterrestrial; I thought his book was a great example of what a good writer could do to go beyond just typing down the scenery and action and pasting in the script’s dialog, gentle and loving while completely faithful to Spielberg’s masterpiece. A farting dog, gotta love that!

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There is nothing in the world quite like an broccoli fart. I love them more than all the others. But the market I stopped at tonight had nasty, old broccoli that I couldn’t buy. Stringbeans are good but they don’t have the gas producing molecules. I have a fart coming on, maybe I’ll go over by my SO and see what she thinks of a teeny stringbean fart.

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Comedies can use farts but I don’t think dramas can. How would a gas blast serve the story in a serious piece? All the crapload of news magazines on the networks these days, they need the lift. Aside from the original 60 Minutes, maybe, none of are more entertaining than an hour of farting behind a blue screen.

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Skeletor farted while carpooling on Robot Chicken. So did the CSI corpse. Twice.

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Do what you have to do, my friends, but don’t hold it in so long your kidneys explode. Like Grandpa’s did on the episode of The Simpson’s I saw a couple of hours ago. That was nasty, even animated. Ka-boom!

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Deadwood throws plenty of cocksuckers and cunts around but they don’t spare the farting, vomiting and other bodily spews. Good to see a series on television find places for such quality effects.

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Today’s unlikely farting location: at the doctor’s office. I was seeing a dermatologist, nothing significant just annoying, and right as the nurse who’d parked me in the exam room was leaving one leaked out of my ass. She’s a nurse, so what’s a little oink-oink to her, and no surprise she just kept walking. I thought I heard a snicker or two once she was a few steps into the hallway.

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I was at the Googleplex last night for a seminar, got a laugh after mentioning this blog to one of the Blogger guys, and then laughed myself a few minutes later as I unleashed a rolling barrage of farts while walking through a plaza out to my car. A seriously menacing set of seven or eight noisy ones, let me tell you!