To fart or not to fart, THAT is the question...

Some of you may know this already, alas for those that don't, my inner child is actually a 13 year old boy.

No, really.  Seriously. 

There was a point in time I thought he was only 12, but my 21 year old adult man-child pointed out that a 12 year old still has some teeny modicum of rationale indicative that an adult may be in the making, whereas a 13 year old boy has ZERO maturity and has even less class.  Boorish.  Obnoxious.  Perfect definition of my inner child, I say.  I figure, who needs class anyway?  Needless to say, I won’t apologize for the things that crazy boy says and does, nor for the things he finds amusing…well, I suppose his sense of funny isn’t for those lacking a sense of early teen male-child humor anyway, which says a great deal about the company I keep perhaps.

SO getting back to the real point of this blog.  Malawi is not on our next travel docket.  Why, you ask?  (Okay, maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m pretending you did because this is my blog and I can do what I want, right?)

In the very near future, you may not be able to legally fart in public.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12363852

Yes.  I said that right.  No passing of the wind.  No public tooting.  No bowel bombs.  No blowing the butt horn, airing your dirty beans, cutting the cheese, or firing your ass gas in your neighbor’s direction.  Not in public.  Not in Malawi anyway.

Look.  Holding it all in isn’t at all healthy for you.  My sister-in-law says you could blow up if you do that.  (She’s a registered nurse so she knows.)  You wouldn’t want to blow up, would you?  That could just get…messy.  And smelly.  Smellier than if you just let one occasionally sneak out.  (Just not in my direction, please.  This girl gas *snicker* her own problems.)

Besides with my very-actively-involved-in-my-life inner boy-child, there is NO WAY I could make it very long without squeezing out a happy tune for my own amusement.  (Thank goodness my hubby finds a fart as funny as I do.  Apparently he has a 13 year-old boy for an inner child as well!)  So while I can’t seem to hold my gaseous emissions within, at the same time, I really don’t want to do time in a Malawi jail for letting loose with my noxious honk as I make my way down some crowded Malawi street.  You gotta figure someone will drop a dime on even the cutest of zipper rips.

Course, if I could just figure out how to master the silent but deadly.  My eldest brother was pure genius of flatulence.  I still wonder (with full admiration, of course) what in the hell that man would eat.  Yeah.  Silent but violent.  I can see it now…

*phhhhffffffft*  What?  Why are you looking at me like that??  You smelt it; you dealt it, buddy.  Just try to arrest me for something you can’t prove anyway.  Believe me when I say, when I’m done with you, the whole world will believe you pumped it out the smokestack of your own methane factory, so don’t even try to point your finger my way.  One finger in my direction, three in yours anyhow, pal. *sticks tongue out*

But then I started wondering, what if in the crazy process of the seated one cheek lift, a shart occurs?  *shudder*  Ooo, not pretty.  Not pretty at all.  I guess the proof would be in that puddin’, wouldn’t it?

Okay, I know.  Not the most mature conversation.  Alright, not mature at all.  Just what did you expect from a 13 year old boy?  My 13 year old boy?  And you real adults are probably right, maybe it’s not worth the hassle of an arrest record. 

I think I’ll just go someplace where they embrace this sort of self-expression.  Nothing wrong with a good ole fashion staycation, I say.  A fartcation.  Yes.  That’s it.  No one’s going to bust my butt out over the green gas produced from a delicious stalk of broccoli here in this house.  Besides, if they do, the only time I’ll be doing will be that moment in time spent in a state of sincere, albeit stinky, pride …