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2003-09-18 - 6:46 a.m.

Smelly Prank

Gone are the days of the Whoopie Cushion. These are the days of Fart Spray.

And Fart Machines.

And Fart Powder.

The most daring I ever got as a kid was to slip a whoopie cushion under grandma’s chair pad, maybe place a hand buzzer in my palm and shake hands with a bigger neighborhood kid or windup a pair of chattering teeth and watch them rattle and bounce across the table at supper time. I didn’t even own a pile of plastic dog doo. In fact, I’m not sure a pile of dog crap was even marketed as a novelty when I was young.

Things have changed, and we’ve gone way beyond plastic dog poop and naïve, harmless pranks. I learned that yesterday when our building was under a siege of flatulence. Between an afternoon class break diva bolted from her room, frantically waving her hands in front of her face, and started sucking deep gulps of air. I could see her eyes were red and tearing.

And then came the gusher: “I will not have that kid in my class farting like that! He made Toni almost puke, and I’m about sick. Go in there and smell that room! I had to light three candles. I’m not sure he didn’t fill his drawers! You may have to change his diaper!! I mean it, he will not be allowed to behave like that in my class!”

Her voice squeaked up an octave: “Go on. GET in there and smell that gawdam room.

It was pretty nasty, reminding me of a neglected outhouse. A little chat with the guilty gassy party turned up a small can of Fart Spray, one of today’s hottest gag items. After some additional investigation—and I don’t mean to seem discriminatory—we learned many young men in our building had had a problem with breaking wind in several classes.

Some things never change. Some things shouldn’t change!

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