Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Driving While Under The Influence (of Flatulence)

So I pick up the boys after their tennis match last night and I have to run in the store on the way home. As I am purchasing nutritious and inexpensive sustenance for these ungrateful brats, they are, um passing gas, breaking wind, whatever euphemism you want to use for filling my car with practically visible gaseous fumes. Apparently, they had stopped for burgers on the way home at a little burger stand a few miles from town. (As Son-Three said, to his own great amusement, "Now I know why they call it Rockburger.")

Seriously the smell was a wall that I had to push past to take the driver's seat. None of them had even opened a window, which I immediately did, gagging all the while. Nothing entertains them more than knowing they can make Mom puke. I'm backing out, still gagging when Son-Three says, "Mom do you think you should drive under the influence of flatulence?"

Between gags, I can't help laughing a little which only makes me gag more, making them laugh more. Then Son-Two says, accusingly, "Mom you told me 'flatulation' wasn't a word," reminding me of a conversation we'd had on the subject several months ago. (It's a running theme. Of course it is.)

I say, "Actually, when we talked about it before, I thought you were saying 'flagellation,' which is punishment, usually self-punishment, usually as a penance or in some other religious context. But I guess flatulation could be punishing someone else with your flatulence."

Sometimes it's so cerebral and intellectual around here I can barely stand it.


  1. And this only re-enforces my fear of raising a teenage boy. The fascination with bodily functions and the bottomless pits their stomachs become, the daredevil antics...just stuff I don't understand. Ah the things I have to look forward to.

  2. The Place: My cozy bed
    The Year: 1978, 6:03 am
    The Attacker: My brother
    The Weapon: Metallic tumbler with a couple teardrops full of leftover milk/backwash, carefully filled with the mornings offering of an expulsion of intestinal gas from his anus (use your imagination on how it got there), strategically sealed almost airtight with good hand placement.
    The Crime: Use of a Weapon of Ass Combustion, delivered underneath, with forethought and malice, a sleeping brother's nose, with the intent to physically and mentally harm said sibling during the morning wakeup process. To wit, The Milk Dud Snoozer, defined as: using your hand to trap your fart in a milky cup, then releasing said homogenized hisser below a sleeping sibling's nose, with the intent to cause as much harm as possible on all the senses and everything good and decent in this world.

  3. The Sentence: 25 to life.

    The Facility: An airless supply closet at Attica into which is pumped the gaseous emissions of inmates, guards and administrative staff. Family visitation is limited to those family members who can be confirmed to have ingested large quantities of beans.

    The court regrets that current law provides no stiffer penalty for this horrific crime and suggests to lawmakers that any future legislation be made retroactive so as to be applicable to this case.

  4. And Cary, I just have to comfort myself with the fact that they all put the toilet seat down regularly. It's not a lot but it has to be enough.

  5. OMG don't even get me started on the toilet seat. Before potty training, the seat in my bathroom stayed down most of the time. Now it is forever up. But I don't complain much. I fell lucky if he manages to keep most of it IN (not on or in front of) the potty.