Completely Unrelated: a Fun New Project and Dog Farts

It’s weird, but the day after I finished the second draft of my “book,” I felt mildly depressed.  I think it was a combination of no instant feedback (like I get here), and a feeling of “now what?”

That down feeling (down syndrome?) lasted for a couple of weeks — until I got fired up about an idea for a second book project.  Oh, I have a million ideas, there’s no shortage of ’em, but this one emerged from the pack for some reason.  And I got really excited, and the postpartum blues went away.

It won’t be a novel this time, and some of it’s already written, thanks to previous excursions into ridiculousness.  This one will be more of a traditional humor book, like the kinds found in the humor section at Barnes & Noble, or wherever.

I wanted to bring in a co-author, and asked Metten.  After Mockable, I hoped we’d be able to work together again, but had no idea it would be so soon.  Good stuff.

Metten loved the idea, and immediately started to work.  And that outline I finished on Friday, the one I mentioned yesterday?  Metten wrote most of it, and laid down the foundation for the whole project.  I just tweaked it and organized it a little.

But it’s all coming together so easily, and so naturally, it’s blowing my mind a little.

I’m superstitious about these kinds of things, so I’m not going to divulge any details about the book.  But I think it will be published.  I really do.  I believe the idea is solid and original, but not so original as to bleed over into bizarre.  Ya know?

As soon as I have some real news about the novel, I’m going to pitch the new book idea.  We have sample articles, a table of contents, and an almost completed book proposal ready to go.  In less than two weeks!

And now I’m not depressed at all.  Funny how that works, huh?

So, let’s talk briefly about dog farts.  What do you say?  Yeah, and as you can see, I believe smooth segues are for suckers.

When I was a kid we had an Australian Terrier with the unfortunate name Scooby.  I think he hung around until he was fifteen or so, and was, as my dad regularly declared, “retarded.”

I believe that’s a bit harsh, but it’s true that Scooby wasn’t the smartest dog on the planet.  He was a good guy, though.  I was in high school when he died, and was devastated.  He’d always been there, a good friend.

But boy, was he gassy…  You could actually hear him farting. It made a sound like “psssss” and that was a signal to abandon ship, immediately and without delay.

‘Cause the pungency was unbelievable.  It would bring tears to your eyes, literally.  I’m surprised it didn’t cause the wallpaper to come off the walls.  Wow!  He might’ve come up a little short in the intelligence department, but Scooby was at the very head of the class when it came to impossible, lung-scorching rectal mist.

My parents adjusted his diet many times, but the farts continued unabated.  It was like tear gas in our living room.  And the frequency was amazing.  If I attended a chili and Meister Brau festival, I wouldn’t be able to match Scooby fart for fart.

One time my parents had a bunch of people at our house, some sort of meeting (possibly having to do with a class reunion).  The whole living room was full of folks, and Scooby was asleep behind the couch.

Then:  pssss.

My parents were out of the room when it happened, and when they returned everyone was shooting each other dirty looks, holding their shirts over their mouths and noses, and pressing tissues to their faces.

They all believed someone else in the room was the culprit, but nobody verbally acknowledged the window-melting stench that had appeared.

My mother, recognizing the familiar funk, put an end to the tension, and everyone had a big coughing laugh about it.  I wish she hadn’t said anything, and let the scene play out to its natural end.  That would’ve been fantastic.

And shortly after Toney and I started dating, we went to my parents’ house in Charlotte, for Christmas.  While there, it was decided we’d continue to Dunbar for the holidays, at my aunt’s house.  Or maybe it was decided in advance, it doesn’t really matter…

We rode in the backseat of my parents’ car, and their dog, Tojo (who the hell knows?), farted his way to West Virginia.  This was back when my mom and dad still smoked, so they were cranking cigs the whole time, as well.

It was one of the longest car rides of my life.  Toney and I were still in the early stages of our relationship, and I was mortified by all this.  Cigarettes going continuously…. non-stop dog ass…  What a sophisticated impression I was making!

And now I’m gonna call it a day, my friends.  If you have anything to add to the dog fart discussion, please feel free.

Also, what are the most memorable pet names you’ve encountered so far?  I knew a girl in Greensboro who had a cat named Polyester.  For some reason that one’s always stuck with me.  Use the comments section below.

And I’ll be back tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker
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