I’m pretty used to my own type of blogging — with all the doodles — so even when I read other people’s blogs I sometimes illustrate them in my head. In some cases, I actually do draw them for real, but I haven’t done that in a while … until today. Because Kat George’s Thought Catalog post on The Art of the Fart and Depart was just too funny to ignore.
Yes, as unladylike as it may be, I’m a sucker for funny stories about embarrassing bodily functions.
It started like this:
One of the most terrifying feelings you can have in an otherwise entirely mundane public scenario is instinctively knowing the fart threatening to breach your butthole has been stewing in the sulphurous bowels of hell for the past millennia, and is intent on emerging RIGHT EFFING NOW to rain locusts and vengeance upon the earth and its unsuspecting denizens.
OMG. Hilarious. I was hooked. And then it went on to lay out a very well-thought out “Fart and Depart” strategy that I think everyone can relate to/benefit from. So here goes…
The Art of the Fart and Depart (An Illustrated Game Plan)
Take a look around with your Terminator eyes (you know, the ones where everything is red and little squares hone in on important details). Where are the closest exits? Can you mark a mental escape route in your head? Are you going to be able to move fast enough so that the smell doesn’t follow you? Most importantly, is there someone nearby you can pin this on?
It’s imperative that you leave the fart with someone that looks like they could have done it. A petite little girl with shiny hair and a pretty smile is not going to work; people look at her and think she poops rose petals, which is going to make everyone hate you even more for farting on her. Look for people that look drunk or who are eating McDonalds or any other fast food that might lead to irritable bowels. Huge men are also great, especially dudes that look like sports fans, because people just expect huge sports fans to be pretty uncouth generally. Crying babies are always a perfect scapegoat too; they might be small but babies are the worst offenders when it comes to diaper smells, and the crying just makes it all the more believable that the dumb baby crapped its pants.
Now, once you’ve chosen your mark, everything else comes down to timing. Wait for the subway doors to open and let it go, hard and fast. Or if you’re in a situation you can’t physically remove yourself from, get nice and close to the chump who’s going to take the fart hit for you and squeeze it out, being sure to turn to your neighbor as the smell permeates waving your hand in front of your face and throwing disgusted sideways glances at the frat bro you’re pinning your awfulness on.
In the worst case scenario, when there’s no one to take the blame, you have one option, and one option only. Unleash and run. Drop your bomb, keep your chin up, and hightail out of there.
You might not be able to return to the scene of the crime (like do you really want the bodega guy to know you as “Fart Girl”?), but you will have escaped with a portion of your dignity intact. OK, I’m lying. At least you will have escaped.
OMG I’m still laughing. :D
You can read the whole article here. Enjoy! :)
It occurred to me yesterday as I was typing yet another another “LOL” on Twitter - while not actually laughing at all, much less out loud - that LOL is probably the most rampant lie on the Internet.
Because really… just think about it. Whenever you type “LOL” you’re actually claiming to do this:
When in fact you’re probably only doing this:
or best case scenario, this:
So what’s with the lying about the LOL???
And don’t even get me started on the blatant untruthfulness (and physical impossibility) of LMAO:
and even worse, ROFL…
Who really does that???
I’m willing to bet that half the time we’re typing that stuff, we’re really all just PTL:
…and cruelly leading people on by making them think they’re funnier than they are.
So I for one have decided to quit these addictive acronyms cold turkey, and replace them with more truthful ones.
Any suggestions for LOL-alternatives? Bring ‘em on!
LOL! *What the hell was that???
Two days after watching the last True Blood ep, and I still crack up every time I think about the Elder. What a weirdo! :D
And of course now I’m addicted to suddenly shouting out random “For or Against??” questions, pretty much the same way I was addicted to saying “Because drugs.”
The husband is not amused.
And it’s all the fault of that crazy old fairy.
In a show that’s pretty famous for its WTH moments (and characters) I think The Elder’s the funniest one yet. The overacting Authority kid comes a close second. Pity that neither got to stick around for very long.
What do you think? Feel free to share your faves from the season so far in the comments! :)
The other day when I was feeling kind of SAD, my friend Michelle sent me an email to cheer me up, and I swear it was the funniest thing I’d ever read. Her sister Marta told me to rewrite it with illustrations, but really, it was too good — I couldn’t possibly top it, so I decided just to illustrate instead and post the original text here.
And so I present… The Adventures of the Anonymous Swimsuit Shopper (with illustrations by yours truly). Enjoy! :)
When I was a child in the 1950’s, the bathing suit for the mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.
Today’s stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney’s Fantasia…
…or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.
The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror… my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, “Oh, there you are,” she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn’t so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan’s Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, “Material might become transparent in water.”
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I’m there too, I’ll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
Was it just me, or was this week’s episode of True Blood funnier than usual? Maybe they were making up for last week’s ickiness. Or maybe not. Whatever the case, it cracked me up. Here are my top 3 LOL moments:
1. Pam being all amused that she turned Tara into the Tasmanian Devil
Okay actually even Tara zipping around and bouncing off walls was pretty funny, but Pam’s amusement (and did I see a bit of pride in there?) was much funnier. Because yes folks, it’s official — the Tarazmanian Devil is just as annoying undead as she was alive.
2. Reverend Newlin’s dancing
This was almost painful to watch. Super awkward. But in a funny way.
3. That Authority kid
OMG HE KILLED ME! Hahaha! Who the heck was that kid?? And what was with the pounding-fist-on-table overacting? I hope we find out his back story because I’m pretty sure he escaped from the House of Slytherin or something.
LOLs aside, it was a pretty good episode, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of the budding Bill & Eric bromance, among other things.
Til the next ep, Truebies. :)