drømmesind
  februar måned - langt væk og lige om lidt
før mig tilbage gennem tågen, gennem tankerne
    minder; knyttet til sanserne (det duftede af noget bestemt, vi lyttede til denne her kunstner, det var koldt) og noget helt ubeskriveligt. en stemning
tilbageblik, koldt
   vinterferien:
amsterdam, håndcreme, agnes obel, earl grey og støvet lugt i bygningen, helt bestemt væremåde, kold brun og mørkegrå og hvid og mintsmag
et koldt hjem
vejrmøller

   at vågne fra en dyb søvn
søndagssind

A Tale of ****** Excitement by Herr Barty Maulwurf

Often **** tales of my past I am writing and sometimes they are a little rude and porny but now I will try to be only slightly profane at request of new friends I am making everywhere. This tale very sensual story is, told by master storyteller (which is me). Filthy bits included. *Danke sehr.

Although I so much hate repetitive to be, Barty Mole must as always apologise for his occasionally slight errors in English-writing as he writes the English language not so very top-class (but he ***** English girls' tongues lots and likes them his tonsils to wipe so good). I (me, Barty) am German person but special type of that because as I are half-and-half black/white (not striped or even top half white, bottom half black, but mixed-up goldene-brun colouring), by this I must explain mein Papa was black US soldier in Germany who did enormous number of bouncy-bouncies with various ladies including meine Mutti (note to monoglots: this means my Mummy) - who was part-time Lili Marlen type tarty number, great **** and much-used **** - for tinned milk, coffee, ciggies, silk stockings and comfy underwear with soft non-scratchy gussets for once instead of unlined which tickle *****-*****, also she was a major sort of a ****** in her day so combined business with pleasure, and why not, we got these bits under our ******* so use them or they dry up (so thinks der Barty.). Also please you will remember black market utterly rampant in post-war period because the kind ****** Allies smashed my beautiful homeland (Germany) to little bits and then guess what even worse Russkies came and stole anything leftovers and did mass rapings of anyone with two legs (or less, in fact easier as poor tarts can't run away), but my Mutti ran and avoided Ivans, she not any kind of idiot, not going to give it away for free, and not liking cheap rotgut ***** anyway. Also Russkies never wash bottoms-hole so not much fun in the sack with smelly-bummed Ivans.

Nowadays Barty (that's me) am not so young, indeed now out of work living in Hamburg (home of inventor of hamburgers, Herr Wendi McDonald-Burgerkoenig) but I remember some super **** going-ons from mine mis-spended youth and middle age, my God I was a right goer, make no mistake about that, I had more lady friends than most people have hot luncheons mainly because I inheritated huge lovepole (23 centimetres, well over 9 inches in UK/US measurement style) from my dear Poppa, God rest his swindling soul. And ladies like the big bronzed stick as ramrod lovepole, you bet your fat wobbly ***, dear reader, 100% sure.

As often I say to my multitudinous readers, I never accept that it is only top-class ***-event to make love-humpings between male person who is in all one piece (full complementing legs, arms, naughty pieces etc etc) and lady who in similar state of repair (2 legs, 2 arms, 2 boobos, back and front naughty areas also) so I shall now recall romantic interlude with one-legged groupie I am meeting at rocking Konzert in Berlin with famous German group DIE TOTEN HOSEN (this means "The Dead Trousers" look them up on Google you think I am joking? no, German musicians have great sense of humour and also almost for free get to **** a lot of birds).

This story are total true, swear it on Mummy's honour (big joke, what honour I hear you said out of side of mouth, but watch your manners please or I smash you one in your effing gob) this not so explicit as usual so much apologies to filthy pervies wanting cheap smuttings, you come in wrong place (*******).

So now here we go with telling of how I got on good and ***** with one-legged lady I meet in bar of Grosse Konzerthalle in Berlin after we go from Konzert by Toten Hosen - noise so fickende loud we not able to hear each other talk as we total deafened for at least 1 hour, so just wink over bar to each other and Robert is dein Onkel.

I digressed - when I saw really pretty girl at bar with **** three-inch bolt through her lips and I think, WOW, if she got so much metal in her face, what the Fick she got in her *******!!!!  I notice she leaning against wall, I think she a bit drunk but I find out she only got one leg and it's because she has only one leg she would go falling over if not lean on walls. Never mind, I think to myself, I'll try this out for size, in for a pfenning (penny), in for a pfund (pound), except now it's in for a cent, in for a euro which sounds naffs. So we have several dozen beers and a couple of schnapplis and she is good fun, laugh at all Barty's filthy jokes and innuendos and then, out of blue, she says with naughty giggling, "The night is young but we're not so effing young and when you have any more beers you don't stand up, fall flat on handsome face, and not able to get great big ****** up me to shove it", WOW I thought, this is some forward one-legged piece of work. So no more further ado and we jump in taxi (pay 50:50 as Barty is gent and refuse to allow her pay whole fare) and go to her place.

Hildegard is her name and she was pretty good looking bird, great booboes, narrow very **** waistlines, very cute botty sticking out like great big pair of rubber footballs, but let's be frank, liebe Freunde, her main claim to eternal fame in Barty's immense ***-memory bank was the leg-stump, only one of them she had. She tells me missing limb result of accident with vicious bacon-slicing machineries at LIDL and I not like to probe too deeply, because I leave the probing up to my 23cm (9 inch) lovepole instead.

Thus we had many love-makes that night and I got to find her stumpy-thing quite **** in weird kind of way, very smooth skin on it and odd colour (purplish) too. Only problem of was hard to do it Alsatian-style as she topple off bed and me with her, especially since we have many more beers down hatches by that time. Never mind, make up for this with very high class (FIVE STAR!) "neunundsechzig" (German for 69 just in case you not understand)! WOW she utter hot stuff in oral department store. Her tongue like starving St Bernard guzzling the bowl of nice fresh spring water on hottest summer day in century! Swallow everything, stray hairs and all.

Also Hildegard very noisy lady when she does the comings, which Barty likes very much indeed. Like demented demon being bashed around her head with three-metre long metal crowbar every single time she gets one off, she screamed. "Ooooooh, ich komme, ich komme, ach, ja, ja, ja, ja," she shrieks GOOD & LOUD like fat Wagnerian heroine with immensely red hot poker up backside-hole (which not far off the truth when Barty gets stuck into his fabbo ***-rhythm, like whirring up and down piston on Mitsubishi motor tricycle). Even allowing for drunken prematured senilities lapse, I happy to recall seven times for me that night and maybe twenty for her, WOW, what a filthy one-leg hornbag!

We meet a few more time for repeat bonky session but never so good as first time round, but that's because Barty sober next times, nothing new in the history of love there which is very philophical pensée. Also Barty's interest in the leggy-stump waned a bit after a couple of weeks.  But Barty has good live-action photos to keep his memories warm, WOW, they are some totally hot ones! I know Hildegard must have the equal happy memories of old Barty, bet she never saw such a big ***** as his ever again (NB: 23 cm lovepole)!

Mit freundlichen Gruessen
von Ihre
Bartholomew Mole (=Maulwurf)
(23 cm brown lovepole)

WHITE DOWN

White down
so high 
and yet so lowly, soft,

your flecks of light
where brown turf darkens 
damp,

so innocently growing
'spite the weather;

torn clouds,
against the blue or grey,

beside you green of moss
stone, heather, 
grasses, hay,

Not lauded, 
given honours like the rose
but there the mountain knows
your sweet repose. 

M. A. Waddicor
10th sept 2011.

Translated into Norwegian...

MYRULL
 
Kvite dun
så høgt på strå
og likevel så kravlaus, mjuk.
 
Lysa dine logar
der torva mørknar
fuktig, brun.
 
Du veks uskuldig, rein
trass uvêr,
rivne skyer
mot det blå og grå.
 
Ved sida di er grøne mosen,
stein, lyng,
gras og vier.
 
Ikkje lovprisa
eller gjeve heidersteikn, som rosa bar;
men fjellet kjenner til
din vakre kvilestad.
 
            M. A. Waddicor/ Gjendikting ved Åse Lilleskare Faugstad

COTTON GRASS YOU WAVE

Waving at the sky,
you tufts of downy white,
your presence in the marsh,
or standing on the cracked dry earth,
the bottom of a bog.

So delicate you are,
in such a place,
where winter blizzards blow,
and icy waters, snow, 
cover your bed. 

Yet there you always are, 
a faithful friend to travellers,
a light where grey skies dull,
a flag to show where not to go 
in rain.

As pretty as a poem tossed 
on hardy stems
not pictured in a painting
yet as dainty, beautiful 
and free, 
as any bloom can be. 

M. Ann Waddicor 
10th September 2011.

*** havde skarpe øjne, der
reflekterede i plantager fra sin
mormors have
da *** kyssede mig, var mine
øjne rødvinsrøde, og mine
øjenlåg var lavet af hvide roser
åh, *** havde årer som havet
blå og flydende, som strandens
fugtige promenade
*** havde brun mascara og gul
neglelak på
hendes knogler skar mod mine
ribben, da *** lænede sig op ad
min milde krop
*** sagde ikke noget
faktisk
har jeg aldrig hørt hendes stemme,
men hver nat
drømmer jeg om genlyd fra hendes
barnekrop
og hendes lydløse
barnefrustrationer

Et la Mère, fermant le livre du devoir,
S'en allait satisfaite et très fière, sans voir,
Dans les yeux bleus et sous le front plein d'éminences,
L'âme de son enfant livrée aux répugnances.

Tout le jour il suait d'obéissance ; très
Intelligent ; pourtant des tics noirs, quelques traits
Semblaient prouver en lui d'âcres hypocrisies.
Dans l'ombre des couloirs aux tentures moisies,
En passant il tirait la langue, les deux poings
A l'aine, et dans ses yeux fermés voyait des points.
Une porte s'ouvrait sur le soir : à la lampe
On le voyait, là-haut, qui râlait sur la rampe,
Sous un golfe de jour pendant du toit. L'été
Surtout, vaincu, stupide, il était entêté
A se renfermer dans la fraîcheur des latrines :
Il pensait là, tranquille et livrant ses narines.
Quand, lavé des odeurs du jour, le jardinet
Derrière la maison, en hiver, s'illunait,
Gisant au pied d'un mur, enterré dans la marne
Et pour des visions écrasant son oeil darne,
Il écoutait grouiller les galeux espaliers.
Pitié ! Ces enfants seuls étaient ses familiers
Qui, chétifs, fronts nus, oeil déteignant sur la joue,
Cachant de maigres doigts jaunes et noirs de boue
Sous des habits puant la foire et tout vieillots,
Conversaient avec la douceur des idiots !
Et si, l'ayant surpris à des pitiés immondes,
Sa mère s'effrayait ; les tendresses, profondes,
De l'enfant se jetaient sur cet étonnement.
C'était bon. Elle avait le bleu regard, - qui ment !

A sept ans, il faisait des romans, sur la vie
Du grand désert, où luit la Liberté ravie,
Forêts, soleils, rives, savanes ! - Il s'aidait
De journaux illustrés où, rouge, il regardait
Des Espagnoles rire et des Italiennes.
Quand venait, l'oeil brun, folle, en robes d'indiennes,
- Huit ans - la fille des ouvriers d'à côté,
La petite brutale, et qu'elle avait sauté,
Dans un coin, sur son dos en secouant ses tresses,
Et qu'il était sous elle, il lui mordait les fesses,
Car elle ne portait jamais de pantalons ;
- Et, par elle meurtri des poings et des talons,
Remportait les saveurs de sa peau dans sa chambre.

Il craignait les blafards dimanches de décembre,
Où, pommadé, sur un guéridon d'acajou,
Il lisait une Bible à la tranche vert-chou ;
Des rêves l'oppressaient chaque nuit dans l'alcôve.
Il n'aimait pas Dieu ; mais les hommes, qu'au soir fauve,
Noirs, en blouse, il voyait rentrer dans le faubourg
Où les crieurs, en trois roulements de tambour,
Font autour des édits rire et gronder les foules.
- Il rêvait la prairie amoureuse, où des houles
Lumineuses, parfums sains, pubescences d'or,
Font leur remuement calme et prennent leur essor !

Et comme il savourait surtout les sombres choses,
Quand, dans la chambre nue aux persiennes closes,
Haute et bleue, âcrement prise d'humidité,
Il lisait son roman sans cesse médité,
Plein de lourds ciels ocreux et de forêts noyées,
De fleurs de chair aux bois sidérals déployées,
Vertige, écroulements, déroutes et pitié !
- Tandis que se faisait la rumeur du quartier,
En bas, - seul, et couché sur des pièces de toile
Écrue, et pressentant violemment la voile !

Noirs de loupes, grêlés, les yeux cerclés de bagues
Vertes, leurs doigts boulus crispés à leurs fémurs,
Le sinciput plaqué de hargnosités vagues
Comme les floraisons lépreuses des vieux murs ;

Ils ont greffé dans des amours épileptiques
Leur fantasque ossature aux grands squelettes noirs
De leurs chaises ; leurs pieds aux barreaux rachitiques
S'entrelacent pour les matins et pour les soirs !

Ces vieillards ont toujours fait tresse avec leurs sièges,
Sentant les soleils vifs percaliser leur peau,
Ou, les yeux à la vitre où se fanent les neiges,
Tremblant du tremblement douloureux du crapaud.

Et les Sièges leur ont des bontés : culottée
De brun, la paille cède aux angles de leurs reins ;
L'âme des vieux soleils s'allume, emmaillotée
Dans ces tresses d'épis où fermentaient les grains.

Et les Assis, genoux aux dents, verts pianistes,
Les dix doigts sous leur siège aux rumeurs de tambour,
S'écoutent clapoter des barcarolles tristes,
Et leurs caboches vont dans des roulis d'amour.

- Oh ! ne les faites pas lever ! C'est le naufrage...
Ils surgissent, grondant comme des chats giflés,
Ouvrant lentement leurs omoplates, ô rage !
Tout leur pantalon bouffe à leurs reins boursouflés.

Et vous les écoutez, cognant leurs têtes chauves,
Aux murs sombres, plaquant et plaquant leurs pieds tors,
Et leurs boutons d'habit sont des prunelles fauves
Qui vous accrochent l'oeil du fond des corridors !

Puis ils ont une main invisible qui tue :
Au retour, leur regard filtre ce venin noir
Qui charge l'oeil souffrant de la chienne battue,
Et vous suez, pris dans un atroce entonnoir.

Rassis, les poings noyés dans des manchettes sales,
Ils songent à ceux-là qui les ont fait lever
Et, de l'aurore au soir, des grappes d'amygdales
Sous leurs mentons chétifs s'agitent à crever.

Quand l'austère sommeil a baissé leurs visières,
Ils rêvent sur leur bras de sièges fécondés,
De vrais petits amours de chaises en lisière
Par lesquelles de fiers bureaux seront bordés ;

Des fleurs d'encre crachant des pollens en virgule
Les bercent, le long des calices accroupis
Tels qu'au fil des glaïeuls le vol des libellules
- Et leur membre s'agace à des barbes d'épis.

The **** Name List*

The Alarm **** - This is a good **** for the beginner. It is easy to identify. It starts with a loud unnaturally high note, wavers like a siren, and ends with a quick downward note that stops before you expect it to. It sounds like something is wrong. If it happens to you, you will know right off why it is called the Alarm ****. You will be alarmed. The alarm **** however is rare.

The Amplified **** - This is any **** that gets its power more from being amplified than from the **** itself. A metal porch swing will amplify a **** every time. So will a plywood table,and empty fifty gallon drum, a tin roof, or some empty cardboard boxes if they are strong through being amplified in this way can be called an Amplified ****. These are common farts under the right conditions. For example, if you're sitting on an empty 55-gallon steel drum.

The Anticipated **** - This one warns that it is back there waiting for some time before it arrives. A person who is uneasy for a time in a crowd and who later farts at a time when they think no one will notice has farted an Anticipated ****.

The Back Seat **** - This is a **** that occurs only in automobiles. It is identified chiefly by odor. The Back Seat **** can usually be concealed by traffic noise as it is an eased-out **** and not very loud. But its foul odor will give it away, due to the way air moves around in a car. It is often followed by someone saying, "Who farted in the back seat?"

The Barn Owl **** - A familiarity with owl calls is helpful in identifying this ****. Almost any morning if you get up just before daybreak you can hear one of these birds talking to himself. It's a sort of a crazy laugh, particularly the way it ends. If you hear a **** that has about eight notes in it, ending on a couple of down notes, and it sounds maniacal, you have heard the rare Barn Owl ****.

The Bathtub **** - People who would never in their life know one **** from another, who would like to act like **** don't exist, will have to admit that a Bathtub **** is something special. It is the only **** you can see! What you see is the bubbles. The Bathtub **** can be either single or multiple noted and fair or foul as to odor. It makes no difference. The farter's location is what does it. Maybe there is a kind of muffled pong and one big bubble. Or there may be a ping ping ping and a bunch of bubbles. The sound I should point out depends somewhat on the depth of the water, and even more on the tub. If it is one of those big old heavy tubs with the funny legs you can get terrific sound effects. While one of the new thin ones half buried in the floor can be disappointing.

The Biggest **** in the World **** - Like the great bald eagle, this **** is pretty well described just by its name. This can either be a group one or a group two **** and can occur just about anywhere. I heard it one time, a group two identification, in a crowded high school auditorium one night, right in that silence that happens when a room full of people has stopped singing the Star Spangled Banner and sat down. It came from the back. There was not a soul in that room that missed it. A **** like that can be impressive. The most diagnostic characteristic of the Biggest **** In The World is it size.**** freaks who go around showing off, farting like popcorn machines, and making faces before they **** or asking you to pull their finger and then they ****, never have what it takes for this one, which is rare even among your most serious farter's.

The Bitburr: Sounds like just that--you're walking and the initial explosion "BIT!--" during one step is followed by a more gentle release of the rest of the volume during the next step: "brrrrrr..."

The Bullet **** - Its single and most pronounced diagnostic characteristic is its sound. It sounds like a rifle shot. The farter can be said to have snapped it off. It can startle spectators and farter alike. Fairly common following the eating of the more common **** foods, such as beans.

The Burning Brakes **** - A silent **** identified by odor alone. Usually and adult ****, occurring while the adult is driving a car or has a front seat passenger who farts. The Burning Brakes **** actually does smell a little like burning brakes, and seems to hang around longer than most farts Which gives whoever farted a chance to make a big show of checking to see if the emergency brake has been left on. When he finds it hasn't you know who farted. A common automobile ****.

The Car Door **** - Either a group one or a group two ****. Very tricky. It is meant to be a concealed ****. A matter of close timing is involved, the farter trying to **** at the exact moment he slams the car door shut. It is usually a good loud ****. It is one of the funnier farts when it doesn't work, which is almost every time. It is a desperation **** and not too common.

The Celestial **** - Not to be confused with the Did An Angel Speak ****, which is simply any loud **** in church. The Celestial **** is soft and delicate, surprising in a boy or an adult. It is probably the most shy of all farts and might be compared with the wood thrush, a very shy bird. It does not have the sly or cunning sound of the Whisper ****. It is just a very small clear **** with no odor at all. Very rare.

The Chicken Soup ****: One day I had chicken soup for lunch at work and then stopped off at the gym after work. When it came on, I eased it out, covered by the gym's muzak. It smelled exactly like chicken soup. A few feet away some woman sniffed and said; "Is somebody cooking?" I had to turn to the wall to hide my laughter.

The Chinese Firecracker **** - This is an exceptional multiple noted **** identified by the number, and variety of its noises, mostly pops and bangs. Often when you think it is all over, it still has a few pops and bangs to go. In friendly company this one can get applause. Uncommon.

The Command **** - This **** differs from the Anticipated **** in that it can be held for long periods of time waiting for the right moment. Unlike the Anticipated ****, it is intended to be noticed. Harold Tabor recently held a Command **** for the whole period in history class and let it go right at the end when the teacher asked if there were any questions.

The Common **** - This **** needs little description. It is to the world of farts what the house sparrow is to the world of birds. I can see no point in describing this far any further.

The Crowd **** - The Crowd **** is distinguished by its very potent odor, strong enough to make quite a few people look around. The trick here is not to identify the **** but the farter. This is almost impossible unless the farter panics, and starts a fit of coughing or starts staring at the ceiling or the sky as though something up there fascinates him. In which case he is the one. Very common.

The Cushioned **** - A concealed ****, sometimes successful. The farter is usually on the fat side, sometimes a girl. They will squirm and push their **** way down into the cushions of a sofa or over-stuffed chair and ease-out a **** very carefully without moving then or for some time after. Some odor may escape, but usually not much. Common with some people.

The Did An Angel Speak **** - This is any loud **** in church. This **** was first called to my attention by my father. He probably read about it somewhere. For **** watchers who go to church, this is a good one to watch for as this is the only place it can be found.

The Dud **** - The Dud **** is not really a **** at all. It's a **** that fails. For this reason it is strictly a group one identification ****, because there is no real way you can identify a **** that somebody else expected to **** but didn't. It is the most private of all farts. In most cases the farter usually feels a little disappointed.

The Echo **** - This is a **** that can be wrongly identified. It is not some great loud **** in an empty gym or on the rim of the Grand Canyon. The true Echo **** is a **** that makes its own echo. It is a two-toned ****, the first tone loud, then a pause, and then the second tone. Like an echo.

The G and L **** - This is one of the most ordinary and pedestrian of farts, known to everyone. Certainly it is the least gross. If you have not already guessed, G and L stands for Gambled and Lost. One of the most embarrassing of all farts, even when you are alone.

The Ghost **** - A doubtful **** in most cases, as it is supposed to be identified by odor alone and to occur, for instance, in an empty house. You enter and smell a ****, yet no one is there. People will insist that only a **** could have that odor, but some believe it is just something that happens to smell like a ****.

The Hic-Hachoo-**** **** - This is strictly an old lady's ****. What happens is that the person manages to hiccough, sneeze, and **** all at the same time. After an old lady farts a Hic-Hachoo-**** **** she will usually pat her chest and say, "My, oh my," or "Well, well." There is no reason she should not be proud, as this is probably as neat an old person's **** as there is.

The **** **** - The **** **** is a **** by a **** who smirks, smiles, grins, and points to himself in case you missed it. It is usually a single-noted, off-key, fading away, sort of whistle ****, altogether pitiful, but the **** will act as if he has just farted the Biggest **** in the World ****.

The John **** - The John **** is simply any ordinary **** farted on the john. It is naturally a group one identification, with the sound, whatever it was, somewhat muffled. If it is all the person's trip to the john amounted to he will be disappointed for sure. Common as pigeons.

The Lead **** - The heaviest of all farts. It sounds like a dropped ripe watermelon. Or a falling body in some cases. It is the only **** that goes thud. Except for the odor, which is also very heavy, it could be missed altogether as a ****. What was that, you might think? And never guess.

The Malted Milk Ball **** - Odor alone is diagnostic and positively identifies this ****. It smells exactly like malted milk *****. No other food works this way. It is rare.

The Oh My God **** - This is the most awful and dreadful stinking of all farts - a **** that smells like a month-old rotten egg - as the Oh My God ****. If you should ever encounter it, however, you may first want to say, oh sht, which would be understandable.

The Omen **** - This is the adult version of the Poo-Poo ****. About the only difference is that the farter will not say anything. He will just look kind of funny and head for the john. This one is easy to spot if you pay attention.

The Organic **** - Sometimes called the Health Food Nut ****. The person who farts an Organic **** may be talking about the healthy food he eats even when he farts. If he is heavily into health foods he may even ask if you noticed how good and pure and healthy his **** smells. It may smell to you like any other ****, but there is no harm in agreeing with him. He is doing what he thinks is best.

The Quiver **** - A group one identification **** only. When you ****, it quivers. If it tickles, then it is the Tickle ****. If you have to scratch it, then it is the Scratchass ****.

The Rambling Phaduka **** - You must not be fooled by its pretty-sounding name, as this is one of the most frightening of all farts. It is frightening to farter and spectator alike. It has a sound of pain to it. What is most diagnostic about it, however, is its length. It is the longest-lasting **** there is. It will sometimes leave the farter unable to speak. As though he has had the wind knocked out of him. A strong, loud, wavering ****, it goes on for at least fifteen seconds.

The Relief **** - Sound or odor don't matter on this one. What matters is the tremendous sense of relief that you have finally farted. Some people will even say, "Wow, what a relief." Very common.

The Reluctant **** - This is probably one of the oldest farts known to man. The Reluctant **** is a **** that seems to have a mind of its own. It gives the impression that it likes staying where it is. It will come when it is ready, not before. This can take half-a-day in some instances.

The Rusty Gate **** - The sound of this **** seems almost impossible for a ****. Is is the most dry and squeaky sound a **** can make. The Rusty Gate **** sounds as if it would have worked a lot easier if it had been oiled. It sounds like a **** that hurts.

The S.B.D. **** - S.B.D. stands for Silent But Deadly. This is no doubt one of the most common farts that exists. No problem of identification with this one.

The Sandpaper **** - This one scratches. Otherwise it may not amount to much. You should remember that if you reach back and scratch, it automatically becomes a Scratchass ****. Common.

The Shower ****: These are a lot worse than bathtub farts, due to conditions of humidity and heat. George Carlin once said that you can tolerate the smell of your own farts, but shower farts are the exception to that rule.

The Skillsaw **** - A truly awesome ****. It vibrates the farter. Really shakes him up. People back away. It sounds like an electric skillsaw ripping through a piece of half-inch plywood. Very impressive. Not too common.

The Snart: This is a **** that you succeed in suppressing so as not to not to offend, but then a sneeze jars it loose.

The Sonic Boom **** - The people who believe in this **** claim it is even bigger than the Biggest **** In The World ****. The Sonic Boom **** is supposed to shake the house and rattle the windows. This is ridiculous. No **** in the world shakes houses and rattles windows. A **** that could do that would put the farter into orbit or blow his crazy head off.

The Splatter **** - Unfortunately the Splatter **** exists. It is the wettest of all farts. It probably should not be called a **** at all.

The Stutter **** - If you think stuttering is funny, this is a very funny ****. It is a **** that can't seem to get going. The sound is best described as pt,pt,pt-pt,pt-pt-pt,pop,pop-pop-pop-POW! It is usually a forced-out **** that gets caught crossways, as they say, and only gets farted after considerable effort.

The Taco Bell **** - The Taco Bell **** is far richer and full-bodied than your ordinary Junk **** and takes longer to build up. Sometimes hours or even a day. But it will get there. And it will hang around after, too. Even on a windy day.

The Teflon **** - Slips out without a sound and no strain at all. A very good **** in situations where you would rather not **** at all. You can be talking to someone and not miss saying a word. If the wind is right he will never know.

The Thank God I'm Alone **** - Everyone knows this rotten ****. You look around after you have farted and say, "Thank God I'm alone." Then you get out of there fast!

The Tickle **** - A group one only and one of the easiest to identify. Usually a slow soft sort of ****. If you like being tickled this is the **** for you!

The Unconscious **** - My friend is asleep and snoring and they let out a couple of farts without know it.



Other Names For Farts

nouns
verbs
aerosolized stool
after dinner mint
air
air attack
air biscuit
air monkey
air ****
**** acoustics
**** announcement
**** escape of wind
**** emissions
**** oxide
**** retreat
**** evacuation
Arkansas barking spiders
ars musica
**** blast
*** dropping
backblast
backdoor trumpet
back draft
back end blow out
bae
barking rats
barking spiders
bean bombers
bean fumes
****** leaver
beer ****
belching clown
big spit-up
bilabial fricative
blampf
blare-***
Blat
blow-by
blow fish
blue angel
blue bomber
blue darts
blurp
bologna sandwich essence
boomper letters
bork
bottom burp
botty burp
botty cough
bram
brewer's ****
brown-body radiation
brown haze
brown mist
brown speckled mallard
brownster
brun canard
bubblers
buck snort or bucksnort
bull snort
*** and flutter
bunsen burners
burners
burp that went astray
burp that comes out the wrong end
**** burps
**** cheek squeak
**** moose
**** mutt
**** trumpet
can o' chedder
carpet creeper
case of swamp ***
cheeser
cheese toasty
chert
chold
chou pi
chunder
churchhouse creepers
******* tremor
crepidus
crunchy frog
cushion creepers
davebrok
deer snort
dej
desert varnish
doofu
doozer
doozy
double flutterblast
drifters
dr

Sometimes ...
Its best
to let go
to fall apart
to shatter
to brun down
to ashes
but
then it's bestest
to rebulid
to rise
to put things together
piece by piece
beautifully
removing the ugly bits
remolding,
reconstructing..
to make melody
out of sorrow
and
smile out of pain !!

Boop de booboop
Scloop beep boop
Brun duh dee doodee
Do doot scloop boop
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroo (roll your tongue (if you can(I heard not everyone can roll their tongue)))
Dut dut digga digga yut doo
Bigga Bigga
Doot zoot beeboop
Boop de booboop