If Farts Were Visible
Imagine for a moment that farts were visible. What if every time you let one escape, a green stream of vapor wafted from your hind quarters and floated into the air. Would this not change life as we know it?
It’s one thing to silently expel a little gas in a crowd of people. Whether it’s aromatic or odorless, you can escape undetected because no one can identify the offender. What about when you’re walking by yourself down the street or mowing your lawn, playing golf or hanging clothes out to dry and you relieve a little pressure in the privacy of your own remoteness. Imagine, in that instance, that what was once invisible is now betrayed by a little green swoosh that curly-cues its way upward from your tailpipe. Gone are the days of raising a stink while maintaining anonymity. Enter a new world of proof beyond a reasonable break in the wind! Hey, pal, I saw you fart! In fact, I took a picture of it with my cell phone!
But visible farts transcend mere identification of the farter. After all, we all know we fart. But we also know we all refuse to accept that we all fart. Of course we expect fraternity guys to fart. (Those guys eventually mature, learn to fart silently and become golfers or Rotary Club officers.) We know that the work crew standing idly around the “Men at Work” sign fart. Even if their farts were visible, most of us would expect and ignore the green haze over their heads. (They will never be Rotarians.)
As I live and breathe fresh air, however, no pretty young woman in her prom dress farts. Cheerleaders would never think of letting one escape, not even during a back flip. A teacher does not fart during class, nor does a preacher leave one during communion or while baptizing a baby. (Babies receive forgiveness no matter what or when or where—solid, liquid or gas.) Neither the Queen nor First Lady farts. No one lets out even a squeaker on a first date. And farting in a library is just wrong in any civilized society.
What would it do to our relationships, our friendships, our business negotiations, our library membership, my god, our debutante balls, if a green swoosh were evidence of a silent killer while walking solo across the boardroom or dance floor or the United Nations plaza? Would a young man ever again want to touch his prom date if her white shoes disappeared in a green fog? Would students ever again take their teacher seriously if a silent plume reared its ugly self while Mr. Green was pointing out
There would never be another stage play (unless it was Beckett).
There would never be a second date?
Cheerleading would be outlawed.
The current administration would enact NFLB legislation in our public schools.
The billion-dollar deal would collapse.
No one would ever vote for anything or anyone again.
Pornography would disappear.
Electronic news media would shutdown.
There would be no heroes. No one could idolize the Fantastic Farting Four!
Ships would not sail. International trade would cease.
Space exploration would never again be funded.
People would have to worship in their own homes.
Peace talks would fizzle.
So would war. (You might die laughing at each other, however.)
The only activity that would not be fazed would be the ubiquitous state carnival. Natural bad air is part of the carny charm. It’s a contractual thing.
