The Life-cycle of the Turkey Fart


I remember laughing so hard I nearly peed when my aunt told me, “It’s not like their shit smells any differently than ours!”

I had never in my life heard that expression, and I thought that really summed up the world at large.  I mean, Jennifer Anniston poops.  The Queen of England poops (although, I bet it’s not very often).  Even Oprah poops.  Of course, Oprah probably has some million dollar poop oxidizer in her bowl that instantly turns her turds into flowers that can then be planted at her school in Africa.  Oprah.  She’s just the best isn’t she?  Pooping out flowers.

So, when I think of bodily smells that creep from our orifices, which I obviously think about far too often, I think of farts.  Will I ever reach an age when they don’t make me laugh?  Well, I think that age is around 86.  I know a guy who is 86, and I never hear him laugh when he farts, which is rather regularly. When we are children, we let them fly with pride!  It’s like a craft project we made at preschool!

“I did that!  All by myself!”

When we get to middle school and the teen years we are mortified if one sneaks out and makes a noise that may identify it as our own.  When we get to middle age, we aren’t as embarrassed, but we still don’t claim them with the insurmountable pride of childhood farts.  I think that in our old age, we simply have lost our sense of hearing… and perhaps our sense of smell.  The old guy I know, he walks along, sounding like there’s bongos in his underwear.

“thump, bump, a wump, a wump, plump… thump.”

He doesn’t even look around mischievously.  That surprises me, because I imagine myself at that age, dropping those bombs with a bit of intention.

Certain foods do make different smells, that’s a known fact.  So, maybe Oprah and Jennifer Anniston do smell differently than the rest of us mere mortals.  I imagine they live on emu infused wild Alaskan salmon with sides of caviar encrusted ginger roots.  And calorie free chocolate, injected with vitamin A to make your skin flawless.

I must say that on Thanksgiving my sister and I discovered a new smell.  Well, not a new smell, but we identified an old smell.  Okay, not “old” per se, but “familiar.” We created a scientific theory, based on the not so subtle turkey fart.  We all know the turkey fart.  We have lived through so many Thanksgivings, so many turkeys.  Of course, the turkeys did not live through so many Thanksgivings.

Sorry birdies.

After eating far too much yummie food, and performing the asparagus experiment (eating asparagus and peeing at different intervals to see just how long it takes for your pee to stink – by the way, it takes longer than a minute, and less than an hour.  I was drinking beer and was distracted from my other intervals), we started to experience the need to expel some noxious fumes.  Instead of stepping outside, like Jennifer Anniston might do, or retreating to the bathroom with Oprah to arrange some flowers, my sister and I took two young hostages and locked them in a small room with us.  It was not nice, but these two really had been asking for it.  So we locked them in, with the premise of “playing games.”  Well, we actually did play some games.  But we also created more space in our descending colons by allowing some air to escape.

The smell was intense and putrid, like The Ghost of Turkeys Past was haunting our nostrils, yelling (or gobbling), “How dare you eat me?!  I was young and vibrant, allowed to roam free and eat non-cement based foods.  Still, you cut off my head in your weird celebration.  I am NOT giving thanks to you.  I am giving evil, potent GAS to you!  Take that, stupid humans!!”

We laughed, which confused the hostages, who were already a bit confused by the air assault that was taking place.  They grabbed their game pieces frantically, getting more agitated by the minute.  This made my sister and I laugh harder, which again, forced out more of the stale air.  I stated the obvious, that these farts were like nothing else.  They were heavy and stale and so very smelly.  But they had a strange personality to them.  They did not linger.  It’s like they sprouted legs and crawled upwards towards the birth mother’s nostrils and once inhaled back into the original host, they disappeared again.  Only to be expelled a few minutes later.  A lightbulb went off over my sister’s head.  She excitedly jabbered her new scientific theory, “I’ve got it, it’s the Turkey Fart Cycle.  The Life-cycle of the Turkey Fart!”

I do believe that we’re on to something.  You toot the turkey fart, it leaves the host, is inhaled into the lungs and quickly reabsorbed into the bloodstream where it is turned back into gas.  Then the cycle continues.  We do need to perform some more experiments before we can get it past the “theory” stage, so we’ll keep you posted.

I don’t think our hostages were amused.  They started to rise up against their captors.  We released them before there was any blood shed.  The night ended somewhat peacefully, other than the occasional turkey fart attempting to escape our bubbles with the burning desire to infect other hosts (but being only farts, they don’t realize that they must be ingested by the host via turkey meat).   Instead they were inhaled back into our bodies, as we dreamed of our upcoming fame in the scientific community.  Somehow, some way, the Life-cycle of the Turkey Fart is going to save us from future parasitic nastiness.

Just wait.  You’ll see…


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