Gee...
I hate to say I told you so, but...
- Nah. That's a lie. I absolutely LOVE to say "I told you so,". I think it's better than sex.
See, folks just don't LISTEN.
Shame, too. Really. So I started a blog. A place to place my art and writing out there where anyone can get it. Got it? Good. It's no more complicated than that. Generative thinking. The LONG con. Post it once- and, as they say, and it's immortal. It will always be online.
Dave Barry is my favorite writer.
My mom discovered his humor when I was so young that I impressed people with my spelling. Young kid- not quite ten. Anyway, Dave Barry was a newly syndicated humor columnist, fresh out of the Philly Inquirer.
Mom loved his smart, irreverent wackiness. She wrote him letters to say so, and he used to write back. Nancy had a great sense of humor herself. Then Barry got big. Miami Herald. Book deals. A Pulitzer Prize. There was a TV show, loosely based on his humor. Big Time.
...And Dave Barry LOVED Fart jokes.
And Dave Barry loved anagrams. And he still does. And so do I. And here we are.
...Good story, right? Not done yet.
My Mother also loved to travel. In a distant city, her wallet went missing. The hotel took care of her; like they did back then - gave her cash to get home. There was a time way back when, and she was humbled by their care. The humanity and grace -- and Damn Itkindness, which sheers of the gesture. It showed good upbringing. Ahh, the past.
Anyway. Back to Dave Barry. His book
"Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys"
closes with a thought about farts. I won't spoil it. Check it out. He's the best.
Mom typed up a nice note thanking the hotel for their kindness - and left it on the typewriter... Google it, millennial.
And that's where I step in.
At the end of her courteous and grateful screed, I typed the words "P.S. Don't forget to fart." Happy Reading.
