the wind beneath my ass

Shhh...I'm trying to channel Bette Midler.

Let's talk about gas, shall we? And I don't mean those poor people who are king-fu fighting each other at the gas pumps somewhere here in the south, I'm talking about my ass.

Well, maybe I'm talking about your asses too, who knows?!

Let me just come clean, 'clean' being a relative word when speaking about farts, of course. I am not afraid to admit that I fart. It's like masturbation - if you ever come across (sorry, poor choice of words) someone who doesn't admit to doing it, you know they're lying.

So, back to farting...someone please tell me why every morning my house quakes after my daughter thunders in her 'wears?! And when I say 'every morning', I mean every morning. If she missed a morning, she would implode. Her farts are explosive. As I've said before in other posts, she has WMDs in her colon. Bush coulda' used her when busting down Iraq's gates back in '03. I'm pristine compared to her and lemme' tell you, I know how to rip 'em.

But, unlike my daughter, I don't do it every day. I can't time them by a clock and I can't do them on command like she can. I can't make our wood chairs at our kitchen break in two like she can. I can't make an animal die from a mile away. The sound of explosives detonating in mines below the surface of the earth pales in comparison to what I have to deal with here. Our cats don't come running to sniff my ass like they do with her. I'm almost insulted. I said 'almost'. It's when I walk through a cloud of green fungus gas that I'm not so envious anymore.

I don't laugh when she blasts. Okay, who am I kidding, of course I do. Let's be honest, farts are funny. They smell funny and they sound funny. Who woulda' ever thought that I would have a little girl who can make machine gun and grenade noises from her ass?! She's talented beyond belief.

When I tell you my daughter is gifted, you better damn well believe it! Oh sure, she may have some issues with math but when it comes to gas, there are no issues there. Well, yes there are. I mean, an 8 year old should not be able to blow the pants off of someone twice her age, yet she could win a competition pants hands down.

This leaves me to wonder if there are any fart ventrilequists out there? Can she throw her farts to make it sound like someone else is farting? I should really see if she can work on her gift. Wouldn't that be so priceless to walk by someone in a supermarket, let's say, hear my daughter fart but have it sound like it was coming out of the other person's ass! Oh, I can hear the snickering now!

One of my many nicknames for her is Princess Pootypants. She poots, poofs and toots. Damn, I'm starting to sound like Ron Popeil. I'm certainly not trying to sell my daughter although, anyone who would like to hear her gaseous eruptions is more than welcome to call me about 6:30 every morning. Except weekends when she waits 'til about 8.

I'm getting off-track. This post was supposed to be about me. But how do I mention myself without talking about my off-spring? It simply can't be done. She outwits, outplays and outfarts me. Now that would be a Survivor series to talk about, yes?!

As for my ass, well I will admit that I don't fart sugar and spice and everything nice. I have never claimed to be a lady. I'm far from it. I can pull off a better Dutch Oven than any of you any day of the week. It's a technique I must remember to show my daughter some day.

I have to stop here. Y'all are so lucky that I have to go take one of my cats to the vet and can't continue with the rest of this post!