It Shall Remain Nameless

Today, Gentle Reader, we shall discuss Farts.

Yes, farts, euphemistically "cut the cheese," "let one rip," "SBD," "LBH," "passing gas," "breaking wind," "queefing," "flatulence," (insert favorite equivoque here.)

A certain type of phenomenon has been observed, and commented upon, by generations of Females. This event, or series of events and occurrences, would be the Male tendency to "break wind" without shame nor embarassment at any time and in any location. From their earliest days, Males are liable to "let 'er rip" whenever they happen to feel the need, regardless of their situation at the time.
This phenomenon is usually accompanied by much good-natured ribbing and back-slapping.

Most Females are totally unable to understand why such hail-fellow-well-meant camaraderie should proceed from a simple expelling of various gases, natural byproducts of the digestive process.

I have been witness to multiple demonstrations of this particular phenomenon, not only when in the company of Himself, but from all 4 boys. Playground cries of "you cut the cheese!" to the jocularity that ensues when a full adult "lets 'r rip," the gamut is wide-ranging and with the exception of locale, varies very little.

Boy-babes seem to "pass gas" with much more frequency than girl-babes. I don't know if there is sound scientific evidence to support that claim, it is just my personal observance. In our case, they were all eating the same thing but the Males seems to "sound off" with more frequency and more noticeable results.

The sphincter acrobatics required for certain types of release are totally beyond the imagination of most Females, as well. The vision of the 7 year-old Male, slightly hunched over, with face contorted, preparing to "blow a big 'un" is something that simply is not seen much amongst Females of a correspondent age.

This writer is curious as to how socialization of males and females draws such a clear divide when acceptable vs. not acceptable is at issue. I don't believe I ever heard my mother emit even the tiniest of "queefs." My father was not so particular about it, he just let 'er rip, so to speak. Himself and the Thundering Herd seem to have no problem doing what comes naturally, either. None of them seem to be chagrined in the least. The Herd did, in the recent past, have contests to see who was the reigning Champion of Farts. I still wonder if there were different "weight classes," like in wrestling: Loudest, Longest Duration, Stinkiest, Triathlon. (Belching will be dealt with in a later blog.)

I, on the other hand, am mortified if I happen to break wind. I'm even embarrassed when it's in the bathroom with the door closed at 3 a.m. (I truly don't believe anyone is lurking, just waiting for the accidental cheese. They're crazy but they aren't that crazy.) I feel stupid when it's just a tiny "boop," let alone a Giant ROAR, possibly heard by millions around the globe.

Is this hesitance concerning bodily functions of all types, whether offensive or not, something we learn from our environment? Our parents? Our peers? I am not privy to the bylaws of the Lady Club but maybe there is something in there? (Don't ask if I'm a lady. I can't tell you what the first requirement would be, other than genetic.)

Have you, dear reader, ever taken notice of the wide variation of responses to a Public Display of Efflatus? Females seem to pretend that "it" didn't happen, or look accusingly at their Male companion. This usually draws a, "What? I didn't do it!" A group of Females will ract in various ways, depending on where they are and whether there are Adult Beverages involved. (I have noticed whatever "Lady Rules" are in effect seem to go by the wayside when beverages come into play.) Males either laugh or proceed with what they were doing as if there wasn't any big deal. Matters not a whit what the situation is, where they are, who they are with...

It has been pointed out to me that I have missed, overlooked and seemingly dismissed a whole category of euphemisms, namely: hon-human life forms. This is a particularly interesting subject and I thank my informant for reminding me. We speak of animals.

With this as a reference point:
Does referring to those "releases" by attributing them to various kinds of animal or insect make them less likely to be an embarrassment? Or is it simply the thought of such creatures as "barking spiders" more entertaining. The mental picture of Araneae in all the order's many forms proceeding with their individual business while making a clamor is mildly entertaining. (Perhaps if the order Araneae was capable of such sonance, those who suffer from a particular trepidation to the creatures would find it reassuring to know at all times exactly where they are. This would be particularly helpful in the case of scorpions, mites and ticks.)

Does attributing such actions to "duck f***s" bring to mind ducks doing other things that come naturally deflect a witnesses' attention from what obviously was done? Or calling a particularly powerful expellation of gases "the elephant under the chair" equate the guilty parties powers of flatulence propelling with that of Proboscidea Elephantidae? Perhaps an individual's ability in that direction also extends further? Perhaps as far as sexual prowess or physical strength and stamina? Questions, dear reader, that deserve further thought.

My attentive commenter mentioned Lincoln Tabbytummy, a kitteh... I don't remember what set him off but the cat started farting. Loudly. Panic and hilarity ensued. Lincoln was running away from the loud blarping noises that were emanating from his butt, tail held off to the side and an expression of total panic on his furry little face. The harder he ran, the louder the farts got... Poor cat ran and farted and ran and farted but how could he run away from his own butt? It was funny, so funny we didn't think of how scared he must have been. Cats are weird.





Honest, though, wouldn't it be such a relief to just "let 'r rip" every now and again?

It's dead!

Which one of you Males put my Rolling Stones cd in the map pocket in the door of the truckmobile to rattle around with candy wrappers, scratch tickets, empty cigarette packs and various junk?

WELL???? Somebody better 'fess up cause you owe me a new cd.

I've been looking for that cd for about 6 months now. Of course, beings as how I am not and never will be a Male, I didn't think of looking in that particularly stupid and highly unlikely place.

I abjure any past asseveration which might lead all and sundry Males to any conclusion as to the possibility of taking temporary custody of My Personal Lares and Penates.

Male Talk Translation: I hereby promise to never let any of you "borrow" my cds.
or more simply:
Keep your Big Mitts off'n my stuff, dammit!

Let 'em get away with murdering Mick and who know what might be next? It's a slippery slope, you know, first music, then sox... earrings.... jammies, shirts... who knows? That slope could lead to a Male taking possession of my cooking pots and that would mean outright War!