Conflatulations!

 

In my family, we have a group text that we keep going on a pretty much daily basis.  It consists of Annie, our six sons, and me.  We do this because our interests and senses of humor so frequently parallel, or at least close enough, that we save time by just sending the same thing to all eight of us at the same time.

One of the things that the boys and I find humorous is methane gas.  Yes, flatulence.  You know, the subject of the famous old childhood poem, “Beans.”

 

Beans, beans, the musical fruit;

The more you eat, the more you toot.

The more you toot, the better you feel.

Let’s eat beans for every meal!

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There’s another version that starts, “Beans, beans, are good for your heart.  The more you eat, the more you…”  You get the idea.

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Well, the boys and I find it funny.  Annie tolerates us.

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What do you expect from six boys who were raised by a man who thinks humor reached its evolutionary pinnacle with the invention of the whoopee cushion?  I mean, it is comedic perfection, is it not?  As far as a practical joke it can hardly be simpler.  You just inflate a whoopee cushion and place it quietly on an empty chair.  Maybe toss a napkin over it.

Then just wait for an unsuspecting victim.

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Now, just because I said humor reached its peak doesn’t mean there haven’t been any modifications, maybe even improvements.

A few years ago I was able to purchase a battery powered whoopee cushion.  OK, it’s technically not a cushion.  It’s a little box that is mostly speaker, and a remote control.  You just stick it under a chair or even near someone who is already sitting.  Then, when the moment is right, push the button.

“Too-oo-oo-oo-oot!”

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Last year I bought something that you can’t really call an improvement since it would be more difficult to use as a practical joke, but it’s still funny.

It’s a little battery operated piano only, instead of electrically generated musical notes, it emits the sounds of flatulence.  Oh, not just any flatulence either, these toots are tuned to be different notes on the musical scale.

What five year old boy wouldn’t laugh himself to tears at having “Happy Birthday” played to him on a piano like that?

“Toot to toot toot too-oot too-oot!”  (Watch the video that accompanies this post to get an idea what this could sound like.)

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Our son, Bobby, sent something on our group text a few days ago that illustrates the humor intrinsic to flatulence.  You’ll have to forgive me a little embellishment.  I can’t help myself.  The whole episode captured my imagination.

I’m still laughing.

It seems that my son was out in public and was standing near a family consisting of a mom and dad and their children, one of whom was a little girl who was cuteness incarnate.  You know, curly hair, a frilly dress, huge eyes – the works.

Bobby made a mental note to tell his wife, Amanda, about the little cutie later on, and turned away, when he ba-a-a-arely heard a little noise coming from the family.  It was a single high-pitched note that resembled the sweet whistle of a bird, except for one thing…the smell was anything but sweet.

It was the cute little girl.

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Bobby tried not to embarrass the little sweetheart by staring at her so he stood quietly stifling the laughter that welled up in him.  When he did glance that way, he found the whole family looking at him and the little girl pointing at him and saying, “That man did it!  He tooted!”

It wasn’t funny anymore.

Bobby stood, mouth flapping in confusion.  I mean, how does a man accuse a cute little girl of something like that…even if she IS the guilty party.

His mouth opened and closed a few times as the family stared at him disapprovingly.  Then he quietly bowed his head and slunk away.

 

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(above) This is a dramatization of how “Happy Birthday” would sound, only this is a little funnier than just watching me play it on the piano.