My mother has got me thinking about bungholes. She is in her mid 60’s, and let’s just say her unholy hole has seen better days.
She ties her shoes and she farts. Phhht. She sneezes and she farts. Phhht. She walks across the room and farts. Phhht phhht phhht phhht phhht. And she doesn’t even bother to call it. Even if she didn’t hear it, I would think that she certainly she felt it. Or smelt it.
I may be mortified, but I am not surprised. It makes sense that by this age, one’s sphincter would experience some slippage. I mean, imagine the waistband on your oldest pair of underwear. I suspect that’s what happens to one’s blowhole after pushing out 21,600 poops over the course of 60 odd years.
My husband and I made the mistake of sharing a hotel room with her when we attended my cousin’s wedding. While sleeping, she farted about every 30 seconds - no exaggeration. At first, my husband and I laughed. The kind of silent, lip-biting laugh in which your body just shakes. But as the stench descended upon us like a heavy, toxic fog, it became less amusing. When she woke up the next morning, she asked, “Did I snore?” My husband replied under his breath, “Yes. Out of your ASS.”
Don’t get me wrong. I got no hateration for those cursed with being loose of ass. I laugh out of fear, for there’s always the possibility that on my 60th birthday, I will wake up to discover that I have inheirited not two brown eyes, but three, from Rumbles herself.
poop·off (POOP’awf) n. An event in which two people (usually women) find themselves stuck in public bathroom stalls, each waiting for the other to leave so one can poop in private. “I just had a marathon POOP-OFF with some old bluehair in the Target bathroom. After 20 minutes, her sphincter couldn’t take it anymore and she left. It was like a scene from ‘High Noon.’”
Well, it’s official. For the price of one gallon of gas, I could clothe, feed and educate my very own African child for one week. Or buy three king-sized Snickers bars. I am soooo going to hell.
The pumps are now pumping us. And if ever a pump pimp there was, it’s Bush. I cannot express my piss-offedness enough over the fact that the Empty Suit is getting rich off this. Someone really needs to research this theory of mine and call him on his shit. Not me, mind you, but somebody. I don’t have time to save the world — I’ve got a 2-year old.
It’s bad enough that it costs me 60 (gulp) dollars to fill up my tank. But now, I get to watch round old men perched atop their dusty crotch rockets as they reacquaint themselves with the laws of physics. Brotha, if you’re wearing Rockports and a pocket protector, you need to think twice before you whip out the Oakleys and mount that steel horse. The last time these guys took a motorcycle safety course, “Cannonball Run” was in the theaters.
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate their efforts at reducing our dependence on foreign oil. But I can’t be held responsible when one of these jokers takes off in fourth gear, pops an Evil Kneivel and catapults himself into the intersection, where I’ll have no choice but to squash him like a toad with my earthfucker.
This is the first limerick I’ve written since the fourth grade. Well, aside from “There was an old man from Nantucket,” which I drunkenly recited from atop the food service salad bar in college. Now that I’ve completed my first masterworks (about my tampon-eating dog, no less), I feel that I am at one with myself. Yes, I’ve submerged myself in a heady soup of iambic pentameter and cuss words, and I’ve never been more inspired.
There once was a dog from Pratt
Who was famous for taking a foul shat
The turds roasted in the sun
Like illegal aliens on the run
Until our flip-flops squeezed them all flat.
More Lewd Limericks are to follow, as the profanity muse sees fit.
“My voice… sounds… faaaaaaat.”
My sausage of a mother, after listening to the answering machine message that she had just recorded (which amounted to a sloppy recitation of, “Hi. I’m busy. Leave a message.”). And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t right.
This is the last in my mother trilogy. The demon has been exorcised. This house is clean.