|
|
|
|
|
|
I'm sure most of you are aware that farts are highly flammable methane gas. If you didn't before, now you do. . .Know. . . That farts are flammable methane gas. When I was a boy we didn't talk much about farts and the flammability thereof, at least in front of our parents. Yet somehow it was common knowledge among us youngsters, although there was little we could do about it. It was sort of like knowing male gorillas are really very mild mannered, despite their ferocious appearance; nice to know, but not really something any of us were apt to get involved with. Until Buggy decided to light one. A fart, that is, not a gorilla.
It was one of those hazy, lazy summer evenings, when the neighbors gathered round; the men to drink beer and tell fish stories, the ladies to drink gin and tell horror stories about whichever neighbor lady was unlucky enough to be absent from the hen party, and the younguns to run and play and have a fine, loud time of it.
Somehow the group just didn't look complete. There were girls running and screaming, and some little boys running and screaming with them, but most of the older boys were missing. So I went looking for them.
Sure enough, there they all were around behind the barn watching Buggy trying to light a fart. He was actually a little too old to be running with the younger crowd, but he must have got bored or something, cause there he was, pants around his ankles, knees spread, a lit 'gofer' match up close to the old exhaust pipe, and a book of matches in the other hand, which he was using to hold some of his more tender parts to one side. He was softly crooning to his bowels, trying to coax out even a little squeaker so he could show off his manhood by shooting flames from his derriere.
"Come on, Baby, you can do it. Just one little . . .YAAAAHHHHH!!!" He finally succeeded in expelling a little burp of gas, but it was of the Cracker Jack variety; you know, the kind with a surprise in it. At the last second he realized he was getting more than he bargained for, and he yanked his hands out of the way, bringing the hand with the lit match in it together with the hand holding the book of matches right into his crotch. With a blinding burst of light he scorched all the hair and half the hide off his dangling participles, then compounded the felony by trying to put out the fire by slapping himself vigorously with both hands. He still hadn't stopped screaming long enough even to draw breath. . .YAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!
All the other boys scattered, except me and another kid. I mean, Buggy was our friend. So the other boy and I carried Buggy to the clinic down the street. We had to carry him in a squatting position, because it hurt too bad to to bring his knees together. The 'surprise' had landed in his pants, so we just stripped them off and left them where they lay. He couldn't have worn them, anyway. It would have been too painful.
Editor's note:
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
| Last article |
General menu |
Main index |
Top of article |
Local menu |
Next article |