Law and Odor

Bad news for purveyors of beans and rice.

The African nation of Malawi — the country you never knew existed until Madonna adopted a child from there to be used as a fashion accessory — is set to pass a bill that includes new laws intended to “mold responsible and disciplined citizens.”

By far the most beneficial new law is the one that makes it illegal to fart in public.

That’s right, farting in public will no longer be just rude and discourteous to others, it will now be a crime.  Which means farting will go on your criminal record.

Say all you want about armed robbery, there really is no crime more atrocious than crop-dusting in a crowded mall, forcing innocent and unsuspecting people to breathe in the foul gas that’s been fermenting inside somebody’s bowels.– Reuters

Gosh, where to begin?  Let’s start with dogs, and work our way down to lawyers.

I’m a world class farter, myself.  I’ve cleared whole rooms, made myself sick, and driven cats – cats! –from the bed in disgust.  But Guido will confirm that I never farted even once until we were pretty solidly established as a couple.  The first fart is a sure sign of bonding.

But then I stopped completely.  The occasion?  We got a dog.

Whenever a lights-dimming stench permeated the room, and a horrified Guido turned on me with “Is that your fucking FART?”  I’d feign complete innocence.  Not me!  Must be the dog!  Has she been eating cat shit again?  This worked for a while.  Well, okay, maybe once.  If that.

So here’s the way out for your average Malawian: get a dog.  You’re standing in the crowded elevator after lunch desperately pinching your cheeks together in vain;  out squirts a wet one anyway.  Ripeness is All, as Shakespeare said, and in no time you have a very angry crowd, choking and gasping, at your throat.  They summon the authorities, and you’re asked to defend yourself.  “Wasn’t me,” you say.  “Must’ve been the dog!”  Who, sensing attention, wags his tail.  (Idiot.  That’s a body-language confession. )

Okay, so that doesn’t work and you get yourself a ticket.  Who you gonna call?  FartBusters!  The Ticket Clinic of Passed Gas!  Here’s where the lawyers get rich, which is probably what gave rise to this law to begin with.

A whole new cottage industry develops around the business of legal fart-defense.  Seminars, webinars, continuing education credits for practicing attorneys at law.  Jokes, WTF war stories, and tricks of the trade are shared on websites like this one.  You fart in public, earn a citation, and 7-10 days later your mailbox is flooded with solicitations from earnest barristers eager to defend your honor, valor, and gastric innocence.  “The burden of proof is on the state!  Was your underwear tested?  A burn noticed?  Evidence of rabbit tracks?  We clear your line or we pay the fine!”

Look, it’s only Wednesday, but let’s just surrender the week and throw open the gates.  Send me your fart stories.  The worst, most dramatic, funniest… know them, you’ve lived them, and we all need to share them.  It’s a righteous deed: perhaps the Malawis will get wind (!) of them and wise up before it’s too late.

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6 Responses to Law and Odor

  1. ya'gotta'guessit says:

    Beat this:

    A 12th grade homeroom story from “Mike” – the attached-at-the-initials guy I’d sat next to for three years.

    As a young kid, “Mike” had been on a day-long bender of SlimJims and Frank’s Black Cherry Wishiniak, and during a late summer afternoon game of street handball, had felt the unmistakable approach of a tremendous fart.

    Seizing the moment, and utterly lacking any degree of bashfulness or sense of propriety, Mike called his shot – alerting fellow players, casual passersby, children on their tricycles, men painting front porches, and pretty much anyone within hollering range that a virtual *fanfare* of ass-trumpeting was imminent, and that all should draw near, and be amazed.

    A stocky and be-freckled shortstop, “Mike” mugged for his audience, approached 2nd base, spread his feet as wide apart as Bermuda shorts would allow, and with a mighty effort, shot a brown stream of molten diarrhea down both legs, and onto the blacktop, where it pooled around his Keds.

    “Christ”, I said, upon hearing this tale, “can’t you tell diarrhea from a fart?”

    “I can now”, he answered…”I can now”.

  2. Barbara Ganousch says:

    I rarely passed gas until I became pregnant, and then it was constant. My then-husband hated it — used to tell me not to fart with such confidence or I might give birth. Thinking back, I wish I’d farted even more.

  3. Dawgbowl says:

    My dog really does fart. He’s the king of SBDs, and I caught the blame more than once for his offenses. I even had a girl walk out on me once. She said it wasn’t so much that I was crude enough to fart in front of her, but that I was lying about it, too!

  4. The Dog says:

    I wouldn’t fart so much if you’d stop making me eat your homework.

  5. "Esq." A Lawyer says:

    I like the idea of district attorneys (or their Malawi equivalents, which might be known as “Thugs”) spending their days assembling evidence of criminal farts. That sounds to me like something for which they are intellectually and termpermentally suited, and in which they could develop expertise.

  6. themasspube says:

    I agree……farting around your on a ‘date” means its love. I fell in love with mine on a blind date at a party and we got engaged that weekend. I had to…the party food was a hot dogs, sauerkraut and beans.
    Must be love.

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