Smelly Farts

Dear Old Phart,

I am having this issue of loud smelly farts! I stopped dairy and it seemed to get worse. I stopped meat and got even worse, I stopped raw salad and it stayed about the same so I gave up cooked veggie’s and the farts go so loud I couldn’t believe it came from me. So I quit all whites, and the smell was a bit less but the farts even louder. Then I stopped eating sweets and now everyone says, “I can’t believe that came from such an emaciated women.” I am so skinny that the wind I blow propels me off the ground. What should I do?

Signed,
Poot, poot

 

Dear Poot poot,

Ahhhh….hmmmm…this one almost had me stumped. But do not fear, the Old Phart is here!

First, change your name to Mary Poofins. Then produce a television series where you play a nanny to two young children who are the only ones who know the secret that you fly when you fart.

Now you will become famous and have millions of young admirers who fall in love with your character. Then one day a young anorexic girl who is trying to emulate you dies from malnutrition. You are blamed for her death and for thousands of females becoming anorexic.  At public appearances, plus-sized models protest your character by pelting you with half-eaten danish (ok they were hungry). At one demonstration you are knocked unconscious by a week-old, hard-as-a-rock, cranberry walnut scone.

Your sponsors leave. Your series is cancelled. You waste away and die in shame leaving a beautiful, non-anorexic  partner behind who will grieve for you the rest of her life.

Is this what you want? Of course not. Gain weigh now! To help you on the road to recovery,  I have enclosed a box of high caloric, easily digestible, Hostess Twinkies. Ok it’s half a box…I got hungry.

Old Phart

 

 

 

First World Problems

Dear Old Phart:

As a young Millennial,  I come to you seeking enlightenment. Our president exists. I honestly don’t get it. My Millenial friends’ outlook and basic faith in humanity diminish every day.  I can’t help thinking that Trump will be the defining event in my generation, in a bad, soul-crushing way.

You lived through the Nixon, Clinton, and numerous other scandal clad administrations. Is there any hope that our president will be impeached or resign? Am I in denial in thinking that anything will ever stick to this guy; no matter what happens, nothing seems to affect him. Should I keep the faith? Or should I move on and adopt a cynical view of society?

Sincerely,
Impeaches and Cream

Dear Impeaches and Cream:

Times of social unrest, despair and upheaval often result in the creation of society changing movements. For example the 60’s and 70’s resulted in an explosion of new music, new art and new ways of expressing oneself.  Some of the greatest pieces of bathroom grafitti arose during the depths of the Vietnam war, civil rights protests, and violent urban revolution.  When President Richard Nixon was running for  re-election, I remember sitting in the stall of my high school bathroom  and reading this gem: “Don’t change dicks in the middle of a screw. Vote for Nixon in ’72.”

Don’t get your panties in a bunch over the current state of craziness. Put things in perspective. As blogger Jessica Hagy points out, while much of the world is worried about hunger, rape and cholera, Americans are bothered that someone put too much goat cheese in their salad.

Don’t feel cynical about society! That’s what “they” want you to do. Did you know in the last election there was a special group of people whose job was to post stuff on social media to make Millennials feel discouraged? They want to take you out of the process. If you give up, they win!

And you can’t give up. You have to engage, fight the power, be a productive member of society and work for social change.

Especially take note of the above mentioned advice about being a productive member of society. You gotta be man, after all, whose going to pay for my Social Security?

Old Phart

Oh Gawd God!

Dear God,

I have prayed to you my whole life. I deeply believe in you and your greatness. I am overawed by your majesty. However sometimes I wonder what you are thinking when bad things happen. Are you just testing us?

True Believer

 

Dear True Believer:

First, I am not God. Your letter must have gotten mixed-up at the post office.

Second, unlike God, you can see me, feel me, touch me, and when I don’t change my socks, you can smell me too.

Third, I do not have God’s current address…he keeps moving. The last address I had for him was Salt Lake City but he left when Mitt Romney lost the Presidency. Rumor has it that he is now sharing an address with the Devil in Trump Tower but I understand through well-placed sources that this address might not be good for long. So instead of relying on the post office to deliver your letter to the right recipient (I don’t want the Devil  to get it by mistake), I will try and answer your question.

There is an ancient Hebrew prayer called the Shema. The English translation of the prayer is:”Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.” The question is, the Lord is One what?

Is the Lord One Great Guy as miracles do happen?

Is the Lord One Big Shmuck as tragedies do occur?

Is the Lord One Ton A Mera? (He’s Hispanic!)

Is the Lord One Toke Over The Line? (He’s a stoner!)

Is the Lord One Mother Mary who comes to me? If so…let it be, let it be.

So here’s the rub. Religion tries to tell you who God is. In reality, God is whoever you want Him/Her to be.

You won’t believe it but I just finished talking to God. He’s a middle age American male who works a 40 hour week, makes $58,000 a year and gets a pension after 30 years. Yup, he’s the postman who delivered your letter to me. 🙂

Old Phart

Homework Help

Dear Old Phart,

I am a high school student. Next week we are going to have a test on “How A Bill Becomes A Law.”  I don’t understand it; it seems so complex. Can you explain it to me in a simple way? I can’t afford to fail this test.

Sophmoric Sophmore

Dear Sophmoric Sophomore,

I can help you with this. In another life I worked in government so I have a good idea how the process works.

In federal government, the way a bill becomes law is simple–it doesn’t. Because of filibusters, incompetent political leaders, ideological Congressmen, the right wing media (FoxNews) the left wing media (MSNBC) and the media no one listens to (Wolf Blitzer), nothing ever gets passed.

In state government, it is a little more complicated as each state is different. But while the process varies by state, the principles are remarkably similar.

First a well-funded special interest group comes up with an idea for a bill. Then the special interest group spins a story how such a bill would be good for everyone in the state, even though the bill’s real purpose is to make a lot of money fot a select group of greedy bastards.

Next the special interest group contacts a state legislator it has bought off, uh, I mean, to whom it has given a lot of campaign contributions. This legislator sponsors the bill.

The state legislator then finds other legislators who receive campaign contributions from the special interest group, or would like to, and calls them co-conspirators, uh I mean, co-sponsors.

Then the process gets a lot more complex with committee meetings and votes interspersed with lobbyists buying lavish meals and mixed drinks for hardworking public officials. And yes, if lucky, some gruesome legislator who is uglier than the cattle he raises, gets to have some moo time with a winsome corporate lobbyist who has earned her reputation by learning how to give some to win some.

Eventually the legislation makes it to the Governor’s desk to sign into law. After signing the bill the Governor gives the signing pen to the leader of the special interest group in exchange for thousands of dollars worth of independent campaign  expenditures. (Proving that indeed the pen is mightier than the sword!)

In summary:

How does a bill becomes a law in the federal government?  “It doesn’t.”

How does a bill becomes a law in state government? “Money.”

The above summary is all you need to know for your test. If the teacher has a problem with it, hack her social media account and tell her you are thinking of forwarding her drunk party pictures to the school  board.

You’ll ace your test and, who knows,  you might have a bright future in politics!

Old Phart

Manopause

Dear Old Phart,

I am a 54 year old woman and have entered that dreaded phase of life, menopause. I have hot flashes, irritability and sleepless nights. But the worse part is my husband. He is not understanding at all. In fact he is bugging me to take all these hormonal pills and creams, as if they are going to make me a young woman again. I’m nervous about taking these substances, some studies have shown them to cause cancer.

To make it worse, yesterday he handed me divorce papers. He said if I don’t start filling my body with estrogens he is going to leave me. What should I do?

Whose Body Is It?

Dear Whose Body Is It?:

By all means, go ahead and use the estrogen pills and creams…just don’t use them on yourself…use them on him!

Grind up the pills and put them in his coffee. Make his Irish Whiskey into I Wish I Wasn’t Such A Turkey Estrogen Cocktail. When you have your intimate moments, spice up your foreplay by slathering feminine hormonal cream all over his  private parts.

Within a short period of time you will find he won’t be as obnoxious and aggressive. His voice will get higher, his junk smaller and his man boobs bigger. Over time you will find that he will develop this annoying habit of wanting to cuddle with you constantly.

Still not satisfied with your situation? Remember he already filled out the divorce papers. Sign them, take everything he has and skip town. Join one of those groups where all the women wear red hats, take lots of cruises and learn to play mahjong.

If you do divorce him, resist the urge to stay in touch with your ex. After all there’s a good chance he will develop cancer from being exposed to all those hormones. He’ll probably want you to take care of him but do not–you took care of him already .

Old Phart

Silver Alert

Dear Old Phart,

I am writing you to help spread the word about “Silver Alerts.” A Silver Alert is triggered when an older American, possibly  with dementia or Alzheimer’s, has wandered away from his or her home. The public is notified through a variety of media about the missing senior and asked to alert the authorities if the senior is seen.

As a number of your readers are Older Americans (a.k.a Old  Pharts) I was hoping you would help me spread the word.

Save Our Seniors (S.O.S.)

Dear S.O.S.,

Than you so much for this information. You have just given me a roadmap for how I  wish to spend my final days. When I am old, decrepit and ready to croak,  I am going to trigger the Senior Alert system in a big way.

Before I check into that big Holiday Inn in the sky, I am going to sneak out of my smelly, vermin infested Medicaid old age home (care center…right).

Heading to the egress, I steal a carton of chocolate milk from the kitchen to rev up my lactose intolerance. Then I hobble out to my  4 cylinder, 265,000 mile, Toyota Tercel  that is rusting in the back parking lot.

Firing up the junkmobile, I head out on the highway.  Gunning her into the passing lane, cruising at a death-defying 35 m.p.h., I place my blinker in perpetual right turn mode to piss off all the honking drivers behind me.

With unrestrained gusto, I chug my carton of chocolate milk, roll up the windows, and make sure the ventilation is on recirculate while I let em rip.

Above me flashes the highway sign “Silver Alert, Old Phart On The Loose. ” Helicopters swirl overhead in a slower speed re-enactment of the O.J. Simpson chase. Then I …

Wait, what? By the time I am a really old phart, all cars will be self driving? And all people- driven cars will have been repossessed and crushed in a  government sponsored buy-back program?

And you say,  the GPS chip implanted in my arm would never allow me to leave my room without two Filipino robot nurses hauling my shriveled ass back to bed? Oh poop, there goes my fantasy. All that’s left now is my lactose intolerance!

Pass the chocolate milk please.

☹️

Old Phart

 

Dolt 45

Dear Old Phart:

Is there any way to put 45 (President Trump-45th President) back in his mother’s vagina (poonburger)?

Irreverent Reverend

Dear Irreverrent Reverend:

Sister, there’s not enough lube in the world to squeeze that ego inflated cranium back into the primordial swamp from which it oozed.

All I can say is that I agree with what  HBO talk show host Bill Maher stated about the last Presidential election.  When asked if he voted for Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton he replied: “I didn’t vote for that whiney bitch. I voted for Hillary.”

Old Phart

Tech Savy or Tech Sorry?

Dear Old Phart,

Help! I think I am an addict…to technology. I am so wired to my Facebook, email, Instagram, Snapchat, Pinterest and other social media that I never get any rest.  I am constantly checking my phone for messages, getting dinged and sending words and images to the infosphere. I live half my life on earth; the other half in cyberspace.

I don’t sleep well and when I am awake I am a bundle of nerves. I want to be tech savvy but instead I have become tech sorry.

How can I connect to the modern world and still interconnect  to the human world?

Disfunction Junction

Dear Disfunction Junction,

Groucho Marx, a legendary cigar chomping comedian, hosted a show called “You Bet Your Life.” During the show he asked a contestant if he had children. The contestant responded, “Yes Groucho I have 8 kids.” Groucho asked, “Why do you have so many kids?” The contestant responded, “I love my wife.” Groucho added, “I love my cigar but I take it out of my mouth once in a while!”

It’s time you took the cigar out of your mouth. Even the most pleasurable activities can become unpleasant when they become obsessive. Luckily you have the Old Phart to help you through this problem using a very effective technique called guided meditation.

First, close your eyes.  Now relax.  Take deep breathes.  Now imagine the most attractive person that ever walked the earth is standing in front of you clad only in bikini briefs. (But you can’t use Joan Rivers–she’s my fantasy!) Now just as you two are about to embrace, you get a text message. Annoyed, you stop what you are doing and check the message. Poof, your fantasy disappears.

Now open your eyes to how disfunctional your life has become. Your addiction to social media is making you a technological neurotic. At first the tension on your central nervous system goes unnoticed, but over time it will suck the sanctity from your soul, like a high tech sexually transmitted disease.

The pleasure is not worth the pain. Your only hope is to set down the phone, put on your big girl panties (oops, those are Joan’s) , and kick technology to the curb.

Yes go cold turkey. No matter how much you think you need social media, you need to turn off your lust for it.

Just take the cigar out of your mouth. Your love for the virtual world is akin to Joan River’s love life: “It’s like a piece of Swiss cheese; most of it is missing and what’s there stinks!”

Old Phart

Life’s a Beach

Dear Old Phart,

I love my wife but she has this thing about beach vendors. Recently we went on a trip to Mexico and before she had taken six steps onto the beach she was surrounded by vendors.

She spoke to them all, bought from almost all of them and promised the rest she would be back. She did “bargain” with them but I bet the final price was not a bargain and the “real” silver jewelry was anything but.

What should I do? I think she’s a beach shopaholic!

Save My Retirement

Dear Save My Retirement,

You can’t fool me. This is not a letter from a random reader. This is from my Appalachian-born, Vietnam vet-bred, mojo-loco brother-in-law who is trying to get me in trouble with my wife!

Yes my brother-in-law Geno is a walking contradiction. He is one of the most talented, conflicted persons of character I have ever known. But Geno you’re not going to use your special ops mind techniques to force me into saying anything negative about my beach shopaholic wife….oops she’s not a beach shopaholic…she’s a wonderful caring careful shopper…who…stop it Geno…I am not going to talk smack about how much my wife spent buying beach jewelry and then forgetting all of it in the hotel when she packed…damn  you Gene!

Stop messing with me. Go back to watching “Finding Bigfoot” on the Animal Channel.

Geno…Ouch, stop twisting my nipples! What’s wrong with you? Wait what, that’s not you? Then who is it?

Oh oh….

Got to go.

Old Phart

Perennial Millennial

Dear Old Phart,

I am a 27 year old Millenial. I am sick and tired of you Boomers brushing us off like some imaginary spec of dust on Jay-Z’s shoulder.

We are proud, hard-working civic minded Americans whose goals and ambitions are just as noteworthy as the generations before us.

My question to you Old Phart is, how do I convey this thought to my parents without them threatening to kick me out of the house again? They’re really becoming annoying; why can’t they just leave me alone?

Perennial Millenial

P.S.:  If I post your blog on my social media can you get me a beta version of the next “Call of Duty” video game?

Dear Millennial,

For thousands of years, people have been stinking up the bathroom when they poop.  Then about a decade ago, some baby boomer thought it would be a neat idea to place a little spray bottle of perfumed scent on the back of the toilet to spritz the air after launching a U-Boat into the waters below.

You know what I mean. You take a dump. It smells. You spray the scent to cover your stink. Then you go to the sink to wash your…wait what?!!!

You use the scent spray before you wash your hands? That means you and everyone who has taken a crap before you has touched their poop encrusted hands on that nozzle right after they wipe their bottom but before they wash. Gross!

See the metaphor here? Boomers want everyone to think that their poop doesn’t stink but their hands are just as dirty as all the generations before them!

Don’t let anyone stereotype your generation. Before we were boomers we were pot smoking, sex crazed, commune living, anti-capitalist hippies who were going to tear apart the fabric of American society. Yet our generation produced such captains of industry as Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, and we created more wealth inequality than any generation before us!

If you are an underperforming egotistic narcissist it’s because you are an underperforming egotistic narcissist….not because you are a Millennial.

Ah wait, ulp. Dang it, I ate too much creamed corn for dinner. Excuse me… gotta run… let’s hope there’s some scent left in that bottle.

Old Phart