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The Fart Machine#2
 


Potty Putter
 


Sounds That Drive People Crazy

Pull My Finger Fred

FART JOKES and STORIES

 


Click to Hear

  Fart One-Liners 
  The Latest In Crappy-ology
  Presidential Farts

  Eat at Sherrill's

  'Twas the Night Before Christmas
  The Bus Ride
  A Fart Poem

  Japanese Fart
  Vote For My Fart!
  New Year's Resolutions
 
The Christmas Tree Fart
  Bed Football
  The President and the Queen
 
More Fart One-Liners
  Why Farting is Better Than Sex
  Perfume Joke
  Silent-But-Deadly Joke

 

July 4th Baked Bean Fart
(
in case you missed it )
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THE FART FAMILY STORIES

Halloween Horror Farts
Labor Day Farts
July 4th With the Fart Family
Happy Father's (Farter's) Day
The Fart Family On Election Day
Easter Farrrttts
St. Patrickís Day
Holiday Afterglow
Thanksgiving (Fart) Memories
It's a Fart Family Halloween!
Happy Easter from the Family

Merry Christmas Farts
Horrors of Thanksgiving Dinner

        Redneck Jokes


Time Delayed Whoopee Cushion

Wind Breaking Contest CD

Scary Sounds
Machine

Redneck Restroom
and Redneck Jokes

 Boob Tube

The Latest in Crappers


Presidential Farts



      What did President Bush have for lunch?
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Eat At Sherrill's

 

 

 

 

 



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 The Bus Ride
A guy got on a bus one day and sat in the aisle seat beside an elderly lady. A few minutes later, he couldn't control himself and let loose a big noisy fart.
Embarrassed, he tried to make conversation with the lady and asked her "Do you by any chance have today's paper?"

The lady looked at him and said, "No, but the next time we pass by a tree I'll grab you a handful of leaves."
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A Fart Poem

A fart can be quiet,
A fart can be loud,
Some leave a powerful,
Poisonous cloud.

A fart can be short,
Or a fart can be long,
Some farts have been known,
To sound just like a song.

Some farts do not smell,
While others are vile,
A fart may pass quickly,
Or linger awhile.

A fart can create
A most-curious medley,
A fart can be harmless,
Or silent, but deadly.

A fart can occur
In a number of places,
And leave everyone
With strange looks on their faces.

From wide-open prairies,
To small elevators,
A fart will find all of us
Sooner or later.

So be not afraid
Of the invisible gas,
For always remember,
That farts, too, shall pass.

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Fart One Liners

What is the sharpest thing in the world?

A Fart. It goes through your pants and doesn't even leave a hole.


What happened to the blind skunk?

He fell in love with a fart.


What do you get if you eat beans and onions?

Tear Gas.


Why don't little girls fart?

Because they don't have assholes until they're married.

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The Christmas Tree Fart

An Avon lady got on an empty elevator and exploded a smelly fart. ďWhat am I going to do now?'' she thought. She pulled a can of pine-scented air freshener out of her bag of samples and sprayed it all around her.Ē The door to the elevator opened and a rather inebriated man gets on. The door closes and suddenly he gets a whiff and exclaims, ďSmells like somebody shit on the Christmas tree"

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Japanese Fart

A young Japanese girl had been taught all her life that when she married, she was to please her husband and never upset him. So the first morning of her honeymoon, the young Japanese bride crawled out of bed after making love, stooped down to pick up her husband's clothes, and accidentally let out a big fart. She looked up and said: "Aww So sorry...excuse please, front hole so happy back hole laugh out loud."


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Bed Football

An old man was in bed with his wife when suddenly he let out a loud fart. He yelled, "7 points!"

His wife looked at him and said, "What the hell are you doing?"

He simply replied, "Just playing bed football."

Ten minutes later the wife let a loud one and said, "Tie game - 7-7."

The husband's competitive side kicked in and he started straining, when suddenly he crapped his pants! His wife looked over and said, "Now what's the score?"

He said, "Still 7-7. End of quarter! Switch sides!!!"



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New Year's Resolutions for Farters

I will not FART in elevators

When I feel the urge to FART I will hold my cheeks together, cough and let the FART out quietly

When I think I am FARTING and crap in my pants by mistake, I will not shout "Oh Shit"

I won't ask my date "Was that you?"

I will not eat baked beans before we go to a movie

Please send me YOUR Fart Resolutions - Farters@TheFartMachine.com


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'Twas the Night Before Christmas
 
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Everyone was farting, even the mouse.

We had just finished eating turkey, beans and pie,
When the farts started popping, like firecrackers in July.

We watched the TV and drank some more beer,
And farted some more, but no one could hear.

Then up on the rooftop who should appear,
But good Old St. Nick sticking out his rear.

He farted to the North Pole, he farted to the South.
It smelled so bad, I had to cover my mouth.

I heard one more blast as he took off like a dart,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good Fart!"



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VOTE FOR MY FART!

Two politicians were running for Congress, but instead of having a debate, they decided to have a farting contest and let the people vote for who had the best fart.

The first politician got on stage, dropped his draws, and let out huge fart. A banner then dropped down from the stage with his campaign slogan, "Vote with your heart - Vote for my fart!"

Not to be outdone, the other mooned the audience and let out the loudest, longest fart. A flag then popped out of his ass saying, "Send this great farter to Washington"

The contest was summed up by one political analyst, who said, "This is nothing new. This was the same as the other debates - lots of noise and hot air leaving the audience with a bad smell. What it all boils down to is two old farts making asses of themselves."
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More Fart One-Liners

What's the definition of bravery?

A man with diarrhea chancing a fart!


Confucius say ....

That those who constantly belch after eating have mouth that is likened to asshole with teeth.


What would you call a man with an IQ of 160 who has an anal fetish?

A smartfeller or a fartsmeller?


What's invisible and smells like carrots?

Easter Bunny farts


How can you tell if a woman is wearing pantyhose?

If she farts, her ankles swell


Why do farts smell?

So deaf people can appreciate them too!


Why do Irishmen only put 239 beans in their chili?

Because one more would make it too faaarty!


Confucius say, "Man who fart in church sit in own pew."


"Darling," says a husband coyly to his wife, "let's swap positions tonight." "What a good idea," she replies. "You stand in front of the sink and do the dishes and I'll sit in front of the TV and fart."
 
 
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The President and the Queen

While representing the U.S. on a formal visit to England, President Bush joins Queen Elizabeth II in an ornate 17th-century style coach, which is hitched to a team of huge white horses. The coach proceeds through the streets of London en route to Buckingham Palace, as the Queen and the President wave to the cheering throngs gathered at the roadside. All is going well, until one of the horses on the Queenís side of the coach produces an earth-shattering fart that shakes the whole vehicle and creates a most uncomfortable situation. The President and the Queen try to act as if nothing happened, but the Queen feels like she should apologize for the horseís rude behavior and says, "Mr. President, please accept my regrets. There are certain things that are outside the realm of a Queenís control." President Bush replies, "Your Majesty, please don't give it another thought. After all, if you hadn't said something, I would have thought it was one of the horses."


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Why Farting is Better the Sex!

  • You can fart anytime, at will, even in public.
  • You can fart alone, just as enjoyably as with a significant other.
  • You don't need to shower before farting.
  • You can almost always have multiple farts.
  • You can share a good fart with a whole roomful of people
                            without having to actually touch any of them.
  • A guy can fart, and be ready to fart again immediately.
  • A girl can't fake a fart.
  • You can't get pregnant from farting.
  • There's no need to wait for a guy to get an erection before he can fart.
  • After you fart, your girlfriend is not likely to ask:"You mean, that's IT?!"
     

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  • Perfume Joke

    An old woman is riding the elevator in a very lavish New York City office building.

    A young and beautiful woman gets into the elevator and, smelling like expensive perfume, turns to the old woman and says arrogantly, "Giorgio Beverly Hills, $100 an ounce!"

    The next young and beautiful woman gets on the elevator and also very arrogantly turns to the old woman and says, "Chanel No. 5, $150 an ounce!"

    About three floors later, the old woman has reached her destination and is about to get off the elevator. Before she leaves, she looks both beautiful women in the eye, bends over, and farts....... "Broccoli - 49 cents a pound!!!"


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    Silent But Deadly

    There was once a very prim and proper older lady who had a problem with passing gas. Since she came from a generation when people didn't even talk about this kind of problem it took a long time for her to seek help. Finally, however, she was persuaded to consult her family doctor.

    After she filled out all the proper forms and had waited about 20 minutes in the waiting room the doctor called her into his office, leaned back in his chair, folded his hands into a steeple and asked her how he could help.

    "Doctor," she said, "I have a very bad gas problem."

    "A gas problem?" replied the doctor.

    "Yes. Yesterday afternoon, I had lunch with the Secretary of State and his wife and had six, um, er, ahhh...silent gas emissions. Last night, I had dinner with the governor and his wife and had (BLUSH) four silent gas emissions. Then, while sitting in your waiting room I had five silent gas emissions! Doctor, you've got to help me! What can we do?"

    "Well," said the doctor thoughtfully, "I think the first thing we're going to do is give you a hearing test."

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     The Fart Family On Election Day

    A Big Thanks From The Farts
    So, I hope Halloween was good for you. For once, it was quiet around here, and not too much happened with The Fart Family, which will heretofore be known as The Farts. Well, it seemed that quietness didnít last very long, as all hell erupted a few days later on Election Day. Uncle Al was almost arrested, and probably the only thing stopping the police from putting him in jail was the fact that somebody would have to clean out the cell after Uncle Al was released. That alone would be equal to the labors of Hercules.
    We all went to vote at the same time, and thatís always a signal for trouble. First of all, my father put a Remote Control Fart Machine behind the chair of an elderly gentleman who was taking down the names of voters, and when he touched it off, I thought the manís face was going to explode, he turned so red. People waiting on line to vote started holding their noses, the saps. Talk about mind over matter. When my father retrieved the fart machine speaker unit from behind the older guyís chair, he looked like he wanted to kill my father. But what the hey, no harm was done. Yet.
    After we had all voted, Uncle Al, who now lives near us ( what a joy that is) parted the curtain and took his turn. He wasnít in there three seconds before he started cursing. Seems like he was used to the old voting booths, where you pulled down levers and at the end pulled the handle that opened the curtain and at the same time recorded your selections. Of course, he was half sloshed like he always is, and couldnít figure out the new electronic buttons. In frustration, he started punching the voting machine while bellowing out a string of curses that could be heard halfway down the street. But this was just the calm before the storm.
    As the workers at the voting site called for help, Uncle Al let out one of the loudest farts ever recorded. Like Iíve said before, human beings should be incapable of making such a sound, but then again, weíre talking about Uncle Al. Everybody waiting on line couldnít believe it, until that fetid smell started emanating out from behind the curtain. Those closest to the voting booth started to gag, and pushed back against those behind them in an effort to get some fresh air. Then, Uncle Al started to emerge out from behind the curtain, only he couldnít find the opening, and he began swinging his arms around like a lunatic. Somehow, he tore the curtain and got it wrapped around his feet and down he went, knocking a woman over in the process. Most unfortunately for this lady, she fell with her face only a few inches from Uncle Alís rear end as he thrashed around on the floor, laying on his side and still tangled up in the curtain. I donít believe I have to explain what happened next. The woman passed out after Uncle Alís next long ripper, which got her right in the face from close proximity, and the last we saw she was being rushed off in an ambulance with an oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth.
    Of course, my mother and father thought this whole thing was hilarious, and as the cops cleared the room, they made sure to get Uncle Al out into the open air where any future farts would be somewhat dissipated. My father wanted to plant the fart machine on one of the cops, but my mother at least had the sense to talk him out of it. Uncle Al finally calmed down, and they let him go, probably for the aforementioned reasons.
    So now weíre quickly coming up on Thanksgiving, and we should all stop and give thanks for all that we have. But I need not say what effect a load of turkey does to the gastrointestinal system, and Iím not looking forward to it. Anyway, hereís hoping you all have a good one, and KEEP ON FARTINí!
     
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    Happy Farter's Day

    From the Fart Family to You, happy Farterís Day, and many happy returns! These returns usually come when a fair amount of beans, broccoli, or cabbage has been consumed, but with some people it just comes naturally. Take my father (or, in this case, farter). With him and his brother, the infamous Uncle Al, farting is a way of life and something to be done no matter where they are or in whose company theyíre in, and to hold back on a fart is to bring shame to the family. What a bunch of slobs!
    Anyway, the question is what to buy dear old dad for Farterís Day. God knows heís got enough Remote Control Fart Machines, but he may need some back-ups. Many people now have a large screen TV with Surround Sound in their living rooms, and we have the big screen here, but the Surround Sound is quite a bit different than the norm. Itís more like Surround Smell. You see, instead of speakers around four corners of the room, my father has four fart machines placed in strategic locations, and he can then work them off the one remote. Try watching a movie when all four of these gadgets are going off at once. But the worst thing is the real thing - the real farts that take place in our living room, which is in the middle of the house with no outside windows. No air conditioner ever created could rid the air of that stench. So if you want to watch a movie in the Fart Family living room, better bring a gas mask, and I mean that literally.
    Last Farterís Day was a complete embarrassment, if you happen to be reasonably sane. A few weeks before, this young couple moved into the house next to ours, really nice people  So, being good neighbors, we invited them over for dinner last Farterís Day, and they had the misfortune of meeting Uncle Al, who had been drinking all day and pining away for his lost love, that one that I previously told you looked like a cross between a hippopotamus and a baboon. He was almost incoherent when we sat down to dinner, and surprisingly he wasnít letting any farts, but this was just the calm before the storm. Laughing like a loon, my father placed a huge bowl of canned beans right in front of Uncle Al, who immediately came awake and started gobbling them up. Too bad he didnít know that my father had laced the beans with Ex-Lax as a joke, though it may not have stopped him anyway. And then it happened.
    We were about halfway through the meal when my father engaged the fart machine he had planted behind the chair of our neighborís very attractive wife. As she turned all kinds of red, Uncle Al started laughing so hard he suddenly had to loosen his pants to let go a thunderous, wall-splitting fart that had been building up all day. The result of the laced beans followed the blast, and watery effluent sprayed all over the dining room floor. My father was in hysterics, as the young couple bolted from the house with their hands covering their mouths. Itís no wonder that we havenít seen them since. As for Uncle Al, he simply resumed eating his food.
    So, I donít know whatís going to happen this year, but it canít be too much more embarrassing than last year. Or maybe Iím wrong, because with this family anythingís possible when it comes to grossness, and more Farterís Day antics may be around that could make the others pale in comparison!
            

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    Easter Farrrrttts

    Well, here we are again at Easter time. Iím not going to bore you or disgust you further by reminiscing about past Easter horrors, especially last yearís debacle. Iím hoping that this yearís celebration will be a peaceful one, but it isnít starting out that way.
    My mother bought my father a present, and yes, itís another Remote Control Fart Machine. Now he can "fart" in stereo if he places the speakers in strategic locations. Believe me, if thereís anybody who donít need the fart machine itís him; hell, he manufactures his own gastric explosions. He and Uncle Al could make millions if circuses ever had a Most Disgusting Human exhibit. But on with the story.
    We got started early this year on coloring the Easter eggs, and the odor of vinegar permeated the house, until my father and Uncle Al started eating the hard-boiled eggs. Then it was show time. Iíve said it before and Iíll say it again, human beings shouldnít be capable of making such noises out of any bodily opening. The smell was so bad that our neighbor came in and thought we had a load of rotten eggs on the table. My father asked her if she wanted an egg sandwich, and she almost barfed right on the floor. Finally, with the windows open, the stench started to dissipate, but then all those kids came in.
    Iíve got to hand it to my father; even though he thinks farting is one of societyís finest achievements, he is a generous guy. There were about 5 million colored eggs on the table, and all the kids were invited to chow down. Everyone was enjoying themselves until that unmistakable sound came, but from under the table! It was without a doubt the fart machine, but the kids didnít know that, and they all started to laugh and point at the kid nearest the hidden speaker. All of a sudden this kid began crying and denied that he was the one who let the bombay doors open. Not wanting to cause the kid any further distress, my father gave him a big chocolate bunny or something and all was quiet but for only a short time.
    By this time, Uncle Al had about 10 pounds of hard boiled eggs in his gut. He let one go that sounded like a garbage truck backfiring, and it even amazed the kids, who just stared in horror. Then they got something to laugh about, as Uncle Al finally got his comeuppance. It seems the aftershock from the inhuman fart shook loose the kitchen shelf that was right over his head, causing a box of Wheaties to open and fall on his bald noggin. He was covered with brown flakes, and right behind the cereal box was a bottle of pancake syrup that tipped over and spilled its contents. The syrup seemed to solidify immediately, and it looked like Uncle Al had been tarred and feathered! While the kids screamed, Uncle Al jumped up and down and cursed as he tried to get the sticky mess off his head. All of us were in hysterics, and it was some time before he cleaned himself off using a razor and some shaving cream.
    Well, this should be a great Easter, but the only thing Iím concerned about is the fact that we already had a good laugh, and I hope that nothing too embarrassing happens. In any event, HAPPY EASTER!

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    It's a Fart Family Halloween

    Happy Halloween everybody! May your day be filled with thrills and chills, and if youíre smart (and/or very lucky), youíll stay far away from the Fart Family house. Actually, Halloween is just like any other day around this household, which is filled with witches, ghosts, ghouls, and goblins, along with slobs, gluttons, and other disgusting personalities, for 365 days a year. I guess it would be a real shock if this family acted like human beings on a day when youíre SUPPOSED to be out of character.

    In keeping with tradition, my father always dresses up like Frankensteinís monster, and calls himself "Frankenstein," because nobody has ever had the heart to tell him that the particular name was for the doctor, not the monster. Last year, he went so far as to rent a Frankenstein costume that had a slot in the back that would hold the Remote Control Fart Machine. As if he needed one! The proprietor of the costume shop later complained because he had to fumigate the suit my father rented. Seems like the real farts penetrated deep into the fabric and caused "a horrific odor," in his words.

    But that wasnít the worst part of last yearís festivities. We had our assortment of wolfmen, Draculas, mummies, etc., and good olí Uncle Al won the contest for the most imaginative costume. Truth was, he wasnít dressed up at all. He had just finished eating about 16 jelly donuts, and all that red stuff was caught in a crust around his mouth. With his usual mottled complexion that comes from an overworked digestive system, Uncle Al looked like a bloated version of James Arness when he played "The Thing" in the old 1950ís classic movie. Except that this "thing" didnít live on blood; it lived on candy apples and corn candy and chocolate bars and about 10 gallons of beer.

    Everything went along smoothly for awhile, with the children coming to the door for trick-or-treat and seeing my father acting like a lunatic in his costume. They even made faces when he set off the fart machine, and some of them looked disgustedly into their candy bags, hoping the (non-existent) smell wouldnít attach itself to the goodies inside. In the meantime, Uncle Al was doing his best to get the most out of the buzz that accompanies a chocolate rush and way too much beer. Then, about an hour into the night, it happened. As their parents waited outside on the curb, one group of very young children came to the door. There were all kinds of kiddie costumes, and they were very polite, even to "Frankenstein." But it was at this moment that Uncle Al decided to let one go, and too bad he was standing by the picture window. Just as the children were making their way back down the driveway, Uncle Al blew such a huge fart that he lost his balance and went right through the window. The fall caught Uncle Al by surprise, and he rolled around on the ground making gurgling noises as he tried to catch his breath. With all that red jelly stuck to his mouth, he looked like a corpulent ghoul thrashing around in full view of the kids and their parents. The children started to scream and run, except for one poor little tot, who had the misfortune to fall about five feet from Uncle Al, who was now blasting away with the most unmentionable farts ever as he tried to get back on his feet. The yard took on the odor of a freshly-opened grave from all the gastric emissions, and the kidsí parents fell back in disarray from the horrible stench, grabbing their sons and daughters as they retreated. Well, Uncle Al eventually got himself righted again, and he went back into the house to gorge on more Halloween candy. The child who had fallen in Uncle Alís path was almost comatose for awhile, but thankfully he recovered fully. So did Uncle Al, who picked all the glass shards from the broken window out of his butt and passed the incident off as being due to faulty construction. So we look forward to Halloween 2003 and welcome all those who dare to come to our door, though we know one group of kids who wonít come within a half mile of this house!

    Have a good one!


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    Labor Day Farts

    First off, Happy Labor Day to all you loyal readers. These hot, sticky, sweltering, humid, disgusting days of summer will soon be behind us, and we can look forward to getting down to some good fall weather. Needless to say, you can only imagine what hot, sticky, sweltering, humid, disgusting days are like in the Fart Family house. Do you wonder why I welcome the fall?

    Nope, Uncle Al still hasnít come back from his hiatus to wherever it is, but I can tell you, heís left his mark. Last Labor Day was a shining example of Uncle Alís behavior in a crowd of people, not the least of which is the remaining burnt, browned-out patch of grass around the badminton court where Uncle Al stood farting while trying to hit the birdie over the net. My father actually had agricultural experts come and examine the patch of grass to see if anything will ever grow on it again, but it seems hopeless.

    Labor Day started out pretty good, as we all stay around outside the house eating potato salad and cole slaw and the farts were able to somewhat dissipate in the open air. But then some genius suggested that we all go into town to watch the stupid Labor Day parade. Man, what a mistake! When we got there, Main Street was packed to the gills with people who had absolutely nothing else to do but stand there, yell at their kids, drink beer, and see the fire trucks and police cars and ambulances go by. I thought everything was going to be peaceful, until I saw the members of the local equestrian team on their fine mounts coming up the boulevard. A shudder passed through me as I remembered the St. Patrickís Day parade and the shambles Uncle Al made of that event, with the puffed-up lady on the reviewing stand winding up taking a nosedive into a pile of fresh horse manure. With that in mind, I just knew something outrageous was going to happen.

    Donít get me wrong - if Uncle Al has one saving grace, itís that he likes animals. But he just canít resist seeing how large animals like horses stand up to his ability to pass wind, and he was loaded with enough beer and cole slaw cabbage to take on a T-Rex. So here comes these riders bobbing along in their little black helmets and their riding uniforms and that weird way they have of riding that makes them look like theyíre having sex with an invisible partner. Uncle Al waited until the leftmost lead horse was nearly abreast of him, then bent over and let out a tremendous gastric explosion that immediately permeated the air with a smell not unlike an overflowing sewer. The horses jumped to their right, dislodging some of the riders and causing most of the onlookers to laugh hysterically. The floozy who was with Uncle Al, who looked like a beached whale and had a voice like a foghorn, tried to grab the reins of the horse closest to her in an attempt to calm the beast. But the horse took one look at her and almost keeled over. Canít blame the horse, she would have scared the hell out of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. The woman riding this particular horse was wearing dark colored riding pants, and she was so fat that it was hard to tell where she ended and the horse began. Anyway, she fell over backward when her horse tried to bolt away from Uncle Alís newest squeeze, and luckily she landed on her huge butt. But the resulting concussion forced about 10 pounds of gas out of her, and as she hit the pavement she simultaneously blew a fart that made me wonder if she was a long-lost member of my family.

    By now, the parade spectators were rolling on the ground in uncontrollable laughter, and somebody started an "Al! Al! Al!" chant. Uncle Al responded in like fashion, letting loose a rolling thunder-type fart that gradually built up into an approaching freight train-like sound with a smell to match his effort. The riders were still trying to get back on their horses, but the terrified animals were more concerned with getting away from that awful stench than they were with the welfare of their riders.

    Luckily, neither man nor beast was injured, except for pride, while the spectators remarked that it was the greatest parade they had ever seen. I donít know whatís going to happen in next year, but Iíll bet any amount of money that the equestrian team wonít be marching that parade.

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    Happy 4th!, From The Fart Family

    Happy Fourth of July to all you good folks who know the benefits of a good, healthy fart, and make much use of your Remote Control Fart Machines and other gadgets! I just want to tell you, the Fourth of July is a noisy time, with fireworks and all, but itís usually a peaceful time around the Fart Family house. Thatís because we all usually go someplace else for the celebration. Not that travel has any bearing on this familyís outrageous behavior, though it does cut it down a bit. But this year the holiday has started off with a BANG already, and let me tell you about it.

    Not being ones to get caught short when it comes to having enough food around the house to feed a small nation for a week, we did our shopping early. We always bring food whenever we visit someone elseís house, because most of us donít eat like normal human beings. And, of course, all that foodís gotta come out somewhere! Anyway, we hit the local food market the other day, and I do believe that the establishment will never be the same.

    Before I get into the disgusting events that took place, let me tell you a little about my Aunt Esther, on my fatherís side. She may have the same name as that lovable character from "Sanford and Son," but thatís where the similarity ends. Sheís an enormous woman with a nasty temperament, and itís been said of her that she can roll over a small import car with one fart. Until now, I never did believe this, but after witnessing the disturbance at the market, I can now vouch for her gastric prowess.

    On the way to the market, we had to stop at a local eatery for Aunt Esther and my father to have about six corned beef-and-cabbage sandwiches each. I should have seen the dire warnings coming, but I confess, I was ignorant. When we got to the market, it was crowded, as it usually is whenever you want to get something. After maneuvering Aunt Esther through the automatic doors (she just about made it), we started down the first aisle, which was blocked by a very attractive womanís cart. The woman was searching for something on the shelf nearest the floor, and Aunt Esther was furious for the delay. Before any of us could react, Aunt Esther walked over to where the woman was crouching, bent over, and cut a fart that sounded like and old DC-10 taking off. The blast caught the woman right in the face, and she keeled over like she was poleaxed. The lingering smell wafted over to the other patrons, who high-tailed it for the next aisle, just as Aunt Esther was gathering up enough gas for a second explosion. Luckily, they all got out of there in time. As for the victim of the all-out blast, she was still lying against the shelves with a bad case of the dry heaves, and I doubt if she will ever get the toxic smell out of her system.

    We made our way through the store without further incident, and had the aisles mostly to ourselves, mainly because when Aunt Esther is pushing her cart up one side of the aisle, there is no other side. But then we got to the appetizing section. The number on the board being served was 62, and we had number 86, and of course the "normal" people were ordering a half pound of this, a quarter pound of that, etc. I looked at Aunt Estherís shopping list, and read six pounds of roast beef, a full boiled ham, 11 pounds of potato salad, and two pounds of meat balls with sauce, which she would probably eat while waiting in the checkout line. I then saw her and my father look at each other, and knew that the end was near.

    It began when I heard Aunt Esther whisper, "The hell with this!" She hiked up her huge stretch pants and started blowing farts left and right, scattering the shoppers who had numbers lower than ours and permanently wilting the flowers that were on display in the floral department next aisle over. My father was laughing like a loon all the while, and then his corned beef-and-cabbage sandwiches kicked in, and he started adding his bombs to the ones Aunt Esther was dropping. The workers behind the counter were gagging, yet one brave soul made his way to the front and took Aunt Estherís order despite the cesspool-like atmosphere. Aunt Esther finally ended her cannonade with one last forceful blast, but her talent betrayed her, and she crapped in her pants. Undaunted, she demanded service, and had to yell to be heard above the wretching sounds being made by the customers. Needless to say, I stayed in front of Aunt Esther at the checkout line, though the odor lingered around her in a 50-yard perimeter. All I could think of at the time was having to ride back to the house in the same car with these slobs, who told me I should have picked up something to eat for the mile-and-a-quarter trip.

    Also needless to say, I walked home.

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    Happy Easter From The Fart Family

    You know, Iím really getting to hate holidays. Seems like we just got past New Yearís, Valentineís Day, and the horrors that St. Patrickís Day causes with this family, and now all of a sudden itís Easter. The holy time. A time full of meaning for most people, but in this family itís just another opportunity to raise Cain, whether itís meant to or not. At least thereís one salvation - Uncle Al (whom you know from previous writings) is usually not around on Easter, but his place is more than filled by others who are just as outrageous.

    Let me tell you about last Easter, and the terrible consequences of having my cousin Bobby dress up as the Easter Bunny. But first there was the Easter morning breakfast, with the whole family gathered around the table, at least those that could fit. Face it, people are just not very narrow in this family. The amount of multi-colored hard-boiled eggs that was consumed could have fed Guam for a week, and the candy rabbits never had a chance. I saw my Aunt Glenda attack a bowl of jelly beans and consume them without even swallowing, along with that fake grass thatís supposed to be decorative but serves as another tidbit for those so inclined. Of course, Aunt Glenda should be playing for the Green Bay Packers. She could play defensive line, and I mean sheís wide enough to be THE defensive line. She was wearing some kind of stretch pants that had a string around where the waist is supposed to be, which kind of reminded me of the mooring line on a blimp. Not to be outdone, my father picked up a chocolate bunny that was about three feet high and plowed into it for a minute or so, until all that was left was the ears. What slobs!

    But then came the terror of Sunday Mass.

    It all started out well, and I thought we were going to get through this like regular people. But then all those eggs and chocolate started to take effect. My father, I believe it was, started off the bombardment with a blast that literally lifted him up off the pew. There's nothing like hard-boiled-egg farts, and "pew" is the word, believe me, for what followed. The flood gates were now opened, and the whole church took on the odor of a backed-up sewer in the middle of August. The disgusting stench finally wafted up toward the front of the church, where even the priest started to gag. Other people looked around with horrified looks on their faces, and placed handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses, but with little effect for these noxious fumes. I know Iíve said it before, but human beings should not be able to make these kind of noises from any parts of their bodies. These farts sounded at one time like a herd of cattle lowing, while at another time it made the noise of a jet engine taking off.

    Okay, back home again for another feast, this time with ham and the dreaded beans. But then another sight caught my eye and turned my blood into ice water, as Cousin Bobby suddenly appeared in an Easter Bunny suit. I never knew Omar the Tent Maker made bunny costumes, and where Bobby got such a suit to fit him I donít know and wonít hazard to guess. Bobbyís about 6-2 and at least 400 pounds if heís an ounce, but itís all soft fat, like that dough boy they used to show on TV commercials. Maybe they sewed three or four suits together, I donít know. Anyway, it was my motherís idea to gather up the neighborhood children and have an Easter egg hunt, while Bobby bopped around like the bloated Easter Bunny from hell, and God forbid if he should step on one of the kids. What kept Bobby going was the five pounds of chocolate he stuffed inside the costume, which he consumed while encouraging the children to search for the eggs. All was well for awhile, then the unthinkable happened (I should say unthinkable if you happen to be a "normal" human being). All of a sudden, Bobby face took on the pallor of a yellowish shade of green, and we all immediately got out of the way. But it was too late for the kids. Without any further warning, Bobby leaned over and let go the loudest fart in recorded history. The only thing I can liken it to would be a car backfiring on the highway. There was no build-up, no prior emission of gas, just a "blam!" noise that could be heard from a mile away. The resultant explosion blew out the entire back of the Easter Bunny costume, and the poor kids were "treated" to the sight of a rear end that would make any respectable hippopotamus consider a weight reduction program.

    Well, we got the kids out of there before the smell permeated the environment, and we sincerely hope that they will not be traumatized by the accident into thinking that all Easter Bunnies look and behave in this manner. Bobby thought nothing of it, of course, and waddled over to the table to attack another legion of chocolate rabbits and Easter eggs. As for me, I can only look ahead to the future and imagine the unknown terrors that lie ahead, with birthdays, celebrations, and (dare I say it) even more of the dreaded holidays!

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    St. Patrickís Day - The Fart Family Revisited

    Hello again. Here we are back atícha. Maybe by the time you read this, the winter will have gone away, along with all the miserable snow and ice. Never seen such a damn winter in my life! Slipping, sliding, falling, even Uncle Al said enough is enough. In fact, he found out the hard way while he was trying to penguin-walk over the ice on his driveway and into the house one cold Saturday night.

    As you know from previous writings, Uncle Al is infamous for his farts. Well, maybe it was the act of trying to navigate the icy driveway that caused him to let go one of his patented gastric blasts, but this time it backfired. The explosion was so intense that it blew the back of his pants out, and he flew up into the air, landing on his now bare backside, which promptly stuck to the ice. In the meantime, the case of beer he was carrying slid back down the driveway and got run over by a bus filled with passengers. The driver immediately stopped the bus, and along with all those passengers ran over to where Uncle Al was sitting, thinking that Uncle Al had been hit and knocked into the driveway. So hereís this large group of people standing around a disgusting slob who has his bare fat ass sticking to the ice. Not one to be easily embarrassed, Uncle Al disbursed the crowd with a fart strong enough to melt the ice and take out a manhole-sized piece of asphalt from the driveway. As he stood there picking tarmac out of his butt, Uncle Al told the driver that he would contact his company and demand repayment for the case of beer.

    But on to St. Patrickís Day! A great time of year, isnít it? As long as you take it easy on the cabbage it is, but not this family, no sir! It should be considered an environmental hazard for anyone in this family to eat cabbage, but eat it they do, along with about 85 pounds of corned beef. In fact, we eat before the parade in New York starts, so my father and Uncle Al can march with whatever godawful organization they belong to. Last year, the parade managers had a team of workers who usually clean up after the horses follow Uncle Al with their "honey buckets," but all Uncle Al did was let a few hundred farts go, one of which blew out part of the reviewing stand.

    My father and Uncle Al had a great plan last year: They borrowed all the Remote Control Fart Machines they could get from their friends, and secretly tied the speakers together somewhere on the horses that were part of the march. Then, as the horses passed the reviewing stand, my father and Uncle Al would press the remote buttons and set off all those fart machines at once. Well, what a fiasco this turned out to be! The horses bolted from the sound of the fart machines, and one of them left a big load right in front of this puffed up woman dignitary, who thought the whole matter was very "uncouth." Well, if she thought that was uncouth, the mind boggles at what she thought of the aftermath.

    My father and Uncle Al were laughing their collective asses off, as one of the horses crashed through the barrier and damaged a piece of the reviewing stand, leaving it attached by only one bolt. Not seeing the damage, Uncle Al leaned against the weakened structure and let go a monumental blast of his own, which spelled certain doom for the reviewing stand. One section came crashing down, taking the puffed up woman dignitary with it and sending her head-first into the pile of manure that the bolting horse had left. As she flew through the air, her mouth opened in surprise, and came to rest right in the middle of the pile. Uncle Al offered her a bottle of mouthwash that he keeps in his pocket for when he stupidly drinks and drives, but all the woman would do is call him a "horrible man" as she tried to remove the vestiges of hay and oats from her teeth and lips.

    And yes, everyone got their Remote Control Fart Machines back!

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    Holiday Afterglow

    Here I am, back atícha again. Hope your holidays were good. As for the members of the "Fart Family," which is what kids around the neighborhood call us, things were as hectic and outrageous as usual. New Yearís was uneventful, but Christmas was something else. At our last meeting, I told you about Christmas 2001, when the Christmas tree got knocked over from post-meal farts and the lights set the carpet on fire. Well, this year had that beat.

    Before I begin, let me tell you once again about Uncle Al. Heís about 60 or so, weighs around 400 pounds, and is very hard of hearing. He has a habit of paying a visit to the bathroom after a very heavy holiday dinner, and since he canít hear himself, he has no control over the farts he makes, and the disgusting sounds can be heard throughout the house. But Iím getting ahead of the story.

    My father was very happy this year, since the kidsí video game that he developed really began to sell. Itís called "Gastro Blast," and comes with these special pellets that you mix with hot water and causes a repulsive smell. Anyway, my father was so elated over his success that right as he sat down at the dining room table, he emitted a tremendous fart that almost blew out the back of the chair. As it turned out, the family cat was sound asleep right behind the chair, and the rudely awakened, horrified animal sprang up and took off into one of the bedrooms like ten devils were chasing it. The cat came out sometime later, but wouldnít go near my father.

    Christmas dinner consisted of turkey, ham, and (may the Saints preserve us) broccoli, turnips, succotash, and cabbage. Uncle Al was shoveling it in like he hadnít eaten for a month, and my Aunt Ida was keeping right up with him. The belching and farting started shortly thereafter, while we were exchanging gifts. Uncle Al got a little miffed when somebody gave him a present of a case of air fresheners, but he quickly got over it and grabbed up the newspaper on his way upstairs to the bathroom to do his thing.

    Remember the old "Godzilla" movie, the original one made back in the 1950ís? Remember as theyíre showing the title and opening credits on the screen, the monster roars a number of times? Well, thatís exactly the sound that was coming from behind the closed bathroom door upstairs. I swear, you would think it impossible for a human being to make this kind of sound, but Uncle Al is an exception. Finally, we heard the bowl flush and thought the booming fart attack was over, but a string of curses immediately followed, and I knew the worst had come.

    Uncle Al had overflowed the toilet. Brown water was all over the place, dripping down through the floor. The ceiling and walls of the bedroom below were covered with Uncle Alís now mostly-liquefied offal, as was Grandma, who had unwisely chosen this room in which to take her after-dinner nap. Since she slept with her mouth open as she snored away, one can only imagine the result. We quickly woke her up and got her out of the putrefying room, as she smacked her lips and mentioned something about pudding. She smelled like an open sewer, but kept insisting it wasnít so bad, until someone finally threw her into the bathtub of the guest bathroom. Uncle Al blamed the accident on low-quality toilet paper, and loudly cut another string of broccoli farts that made his previous attempts seem like nothing.

    Well, thatís about it for this time, just another typical holiday for this family. I hope 2003 is a great year for you, and will leave you with a warning: If youíre ever driving and see a fat man in an old, beat-up, red pickup truck eating a hero sandwich as he rolls down the road, quickly accelerate and get far away from him. Thatíll be Uncle Al, and whatever you do, donít get stuck in traffic behind him.

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    Merry Christmas Farts

    Hello again. We met last month, when I told you about my family and their penchant for passing wind, especially on holidays. Well, we somehow made it through another Thanksgiving without too much damage. The only incident was when a neighbor called the gas company because they thought they smelled a gas leak in the street. Turned out it was just the gaseous intestinal fumes coming from my parentís house that made the whole block smell like a sewer.

    But now, with Christmas upon us, Iíd like to tell you about last year. You know, most families are built on love, understanding, cooperation, and trust. My family is built on farts. Itís what keeps us together. From an early age, we kids were taught to "let íem rip" whenever we got the urge, no matter where we were at the time, and to hold it in was unhealthy. My mother likes to talk about the time she and my father were on their honeymoon, and my father bragged about how he could fart in tune to music, until one time his ability escaped him and he crapped all over the bed.

    Last Christmas was the absolute pits. It started out good, until I saw Uncle Al pull up in his old pickup truck. You met Uncle Al last month; heís the huge pile of blubber that canít hear and blew the bathroom apart with his farts a few Thanksgivings ago. While Uncle Al was trying to figure out how he and the case of beer he was carrying could fit through the door at the same time, I made my way into the kitchen. What I saw there made me freeze in horror.

    It was there. On the table. For all to see. A gigantic pot of, you guessed it, BEANS! And not the kind that are good for you, but the ones that come in a can and have all those little pieces of fat floating around thatís supposed to be pork. My blood curdled as I imagined the horrific smells that would come later, especially when the beans are combined with turkey, broccoli, cabbage, and loads of beer.

    We first passed out the gifts, while Uncle Al hungrily eyed the pot of beans. Wouldnít you know it, we all gave each other the same gifts - those Remote Control Fart Machines that everybodyĎs been buying. Theyíre tremendous joke gifts, but in this family? Talk about putting tits on a bull! The machines sound very realistic, but donít smell like the real thing, thankfully.

    Then we sat down for Christmas dinner, as Uncle Al conveyed his latest sexual escapades to my Aunt Ida. Who or what would want to have sex with Uncle Al is beyond imagination, but dinner time is not the time to be thinking about something as disgusting as that. My father put a Remote Control Fart Machine behind Uncle Alís chair and kept pressing the remote button, but Uncle Al couldnít hear it anyway. We made it through the main course, and while we were passing dessert around, the first SBD (Silent But Deadly) wafted into the room. I think it came from my Aunt Mildred, but we couldnít tell. Anyway, the one little fart opened the door for the sonic blasts that would prove to be the destruction of all that was sacred.

    For once, Uncle Al wasnít the originator of the fart barrage. My cousin Bertha, whoís built like a bowling ball with arms and legs, let one go that sounded like a herd of trumpeting elephants. Even Uncle Al heard it, and not to be outdone, he fired back with a sound that no human being should be capable of making. Everyone else made their contributions, but then it happened. Uncle Al and Cousin Bertha let loose at the same time, and the Christmas tree with all the lights went crashing to the floor, setting the carpet on fire. The burning fabric combining with the gaseous fumes spread to the picture window, which burst either from the smell or the pressure. Someone quickly called 911 and the firemen came, but they didnít want to go into the house because of the stink. They hosed the house down from outside, and most of the structure was saved. Of course, my father thought it was hilarious, and stated that he wished he had a camcorder to capture the happening on film for all time.

    This is it for me, this is the end. Iíll never spend another holiday at home again. What would be coming up next after New Yearís, Easter? With all those hard-boiled eggs? No way! Iíve had it! See you around!
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    Thanksgiving (Fart) Memories

    Thanksgiving time is upon us again, a time for giving thanks for all that we have and for getting together with family members. No matter how old we are, Thanksgiving always conjures up memories of past holidays, as we remember yesteryears and sadly think of those who are no longer seated at our table. It is also the time for one of the greatest environmental dangers to mankind - Turkey Farts!

    I remember one year above all others, since I had to be rushed to the hospital after accidentally inhaling the air in the sitting room, where Grandpa had parked himself after eating about eight pounds of the bird. He was blowing farts that sounded like the cannonade that marked the third day of fighting at Gettysburg, and the only way I can describe the room is that it smelled like our neighbor's septic tank when it overflowed one hot August day. I walked in on one particularly noxious blast, opened my mouth in shock, and the next thing I knew I was in the emergency room getting oxygen pumped into my system. I'm sure glad that old bastard's dead. I heard he died when he farted while working on the furnace in the basement, when the toxic fumes mixed with the gas to cause an explosion that gutted the house.

    But now we have Uncle Al to contend with. Uncle Al weighs about 400 pounds and is very hard of hearing, and always goes into the bathroom after consuming an enormous amount of turkey, along with a case or two of beer. Since he can't hear himself fart as he sits on the bowl, there's no holding back, and the noise is incredible. Sounds like a damn machine gun. My little cousin sat just outside the bathroom last Thanksgiving, giggling at the noise coming from within, until one turkey-and-beer fart blew the toilet bowl off its moorings and sent Uncle Al crashing through the door. We don't know whether it was the smell, the blast, or the sight of Uncle Al with his pants down around his ankles, but my cousin hasn't been the same since.

    I will not bore you with any further descriptions of my family, such as Aunt Ida's cabbage-eating son, Grandma Wilma's penchant for broccoli, or my father thinking it's funny when he has a turkey-fart accident in his pants. Instead, I will wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving. As for me, I'm getting the hell away from all these fart-laying, disgusting slobs and will spend the day at the local pub.
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    The Horrors of Thanksgiving Dinner

    Another Episode In The Continuing Saga Of The Fart Family
    Just when you think youíve seen, heard, or smelled it all, along comes something else that boggles the senses and throws everything out of kilter. For once, I thought this was going to be a peaceful Thanksgiving dinner, mainly because Uncle Al (whose name has graced these pages many time before) was going to someone elseís house to lay siege to their refrigerators and toilet facilities. But I soon found out that the worst was yet to come.
    Right around 10 oíclock, when the parade in New York City was well underway, I learned that we were going to have some guests after all. So far, I have told you about people (or unreasonable facsimiles thereof) from my fatherís side of the family. This time, it was to be my motherís brother and his wife that would be gracing our table. I havenít seen Uncle Roy or Aunt Ruth since I was blowing farts through diapers, and didnít know what to expect. So when the doorbell rang, I cringed as my imagination rampaged, wondering what kind of monstrosity would be coming through our front door.
    I soon found out that my fears were unfounded, as here stood two normal-sized people who seemed to have the intelligence to be concerned with more important things than food and farts. Aunt Ruth was not unattractive, and Uncle Roy seemed to be a pretty good  Joe. Of course, my father had to start things off by farting as he sat down at his chair and, needless to say, the family cat was nowhere near the back of the chair, due to the animalís horrendous experience that I told you about in a past episode. Other than that, the meal started out quite harmlessly, but it was just the calm before the storm.
    Just as my mother was starting to carve the bird, my father set off the Remote Control Fart Machine that he had hidden behind Aunt Ruthís chair. But instead of turning various shades of red in her embarrassment, Aunt Ruth just laughed while Uncle Roy shook his head and said the contraption wasnít loud enough. Now all of you who have these machines know theyíre plenty loud enough, and I couldnít figure out Uncle Royís reasoning. Man, was I in for a surprise!
    Halfway through the meal, it began. Uncle Roy looked across the table at his wife with a sheepish grin on his face, and let one go that sounded like a cross between a bullhorn and a steamboat whistle. Aunt Ruth just looked back at him and said "white meat." She then proceeded to unleash a gastric blast that lifted the table up a few inches off its legs. Uncle Roy said, "Hah! Youíve eaten a wing!" Aunt Ruth said "right you are" just before Roy let another explosion go, to which she replied "drumstick." With great delight, Uncle Roy told her she was wrong, that it was just plain dark meat with a little gravy, and the two of them continued their game. As you know, itís common knowledge that turkey farts are the worst things in the world, and hereís these two slobs guessing which part of the turkey each one ate by the type of fart that was released!
    Our dining room soon took on a stench similar to what the ancient Romans must have smelled on the way to the amphitheater if they passed the "putrid pits," where the remains of gladiators, Christians, and others would be thrown and later burned. It was the most disgusting odor ever produced by man, animal, or machine, and even my mother was starting to turn a little green. My father, however, thought it was the greatest thing, but when he stood up to make his contribution he seemed to do more than just pass wind. By this time I had it, and went off try and get a breath of fresh air while attempting to keep down all that I had just consumed. Like the old saying goes, you canít tell a book by its cover, and this certainly rings true for my Uncle Roy and Aunt Ruth.
    Iím done for life, and Iíll never eat turkey again. Now we have Christmas quickly approaching, and the prospects are good that there will be another two or three 20-plus pounders in the ovens. I will never be able to survive another session of turkey farts, and even hearing my favorite fart machine go off only brings back memories of that terrible stench. I donít ask for much, so when I do make a request of Divine Providence, itís for something really meaningful. Please, let our Christmas repast consist of ham or steak or even corned beef and cabbage, or anything at all. But please! PLEASE! No more turkey!
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    Halloween With The Fart Family
    So here we go again, another Halloween is almost here and another chance to embarrass ourselves. Next to Thanksgiving, this holiday is the pits for this family. The whole clan is supposed to meet at our house on the big night, and that usually adds up to a night of extreme grossness, with "family" games such as Farting for Apples and Fart or Treat. We always dress up in costumes of the old classic horror monsters, such as Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, Dracula, the Mummy, etc. Of course, this means we normally get about 17 Draculas, but who cares? My father is going to be the Frankenstein monster, as usual, and my mother will be the Bride of Frankenstein. I still donít know what Iím going to be yet, but thatís not the main problem. Our main concern now is with Uncle Al.
    At first, Uncle Al wanted to be the Wolf Man, but did you ever see a 400-pound werewolf? Not likely. His second choice was the Mummy, but by the time we got through putting all those wraps on him, heíd be about ten feet wide. This would not be good either. The third choice was the Blob, but it looked too much like his normal self. Finally, Uncle Al opted for Godzilla, and if we got about four or five costumes and sewed them together, it may be a fit. That way, he could also put a Remote Control Fart Machine inside the costume, and the sounds could be used to heighten the effects of his own gastro-intestinal blasts.
    Uncle Al showed up the other day with his latest squeeze, and at first I thought she was coming over to show us her Halloween costume, but then I realized that she always looked this way. I swear, the two of them couldnít fit through a garage door if they walked side by side. The mind boggles at the amount of food a woman of this size would be capable of consuming, and the results of all that food intake.
    A word about farting here. You can talk about cabbage, broccoli, or turkey, but the absolute worst odor comes from eating those little orange and white corn candies. Naturally, we have a 50-pound bag of the damn things all ready to go, along with a few gas masks for those who have not experienced the devastation that can be caused by Halloween candy farts. Uncle Al will probably eat about 12 pounds of the candy, at least, and I donít intend to be within 50 yards of him.
    I was going to sign off here and wish you all a very happy Halloween, but I just got some terrible news. Uncle Al has decided not to be Godzilla after all, and will appear with his woman as Tarzan and Jane! On a night thatís supposed to be one of horror, the ultimate will be reached. I do not want to see this woman in a Jane costume, though it would lend credence to the original story of an English noblewoman who becomes infatuated with an ape man. If a group of rich people on safari had someone with them who looked like Uncle Alís date, theyíd be glad to leave her with the apes, if it didnít scare the apes to death. The two of them would be enough to make a herd of elephants stampede in the opposite direction and not stop until they reached the next continent, and thereís not a tree in all the jungles of Africa that could hold their combined weight. At least the native tribes and the animals would be forewarned of their coming by the strong scent of gastric emanations caused by excessive food intake, and could get out of Dodge before being overcome with nausea.
    So this is what weíre up against this year, and Iíll let you know how it all turns out.
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