Tag Archives: gas

Burp

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Burp: (n) a belch

The definition of crazy: believing what is in your head because it had the spunk to come to your mind.

If a persistent idea can survive some scrutiny, it should be granted merit. But if the notions floating in your gray matter cannot be confirmed by other independent gray matter, then you may need to have a full brain-flushing.

I bring this up because in the first couple decades of my life, I found it difficult to burp. People even tried to teach me how to do it at will (since it was a favored pastime of males age twelve to sixteen). I was never successful.

Now, I won a gold star at farting. It was the burping that escaped me. Often I found myself struggling with some gas and pain because I couldn’t be relieved through the burp.

It became an obsession with me. When other people heard a loud burp from an individual in a room, they would crinkle their faces and say “gross.” My thought was much different. In my brain, I mused, “God bless you, genius. Could you teach me to do that?”

It seems so silly.

But worst of all, when I did occasionally burp, it was so poorly performed. It was more like a silent hiccup that barely lifted my shoulders. That resounding, basal explosion of vibrating magnitude of sound totally and completely avoided me.

So I guess I have a different attitude toward burping. Although I do not hold to the Aramaic tradition of thinking that it’s a sign of expressing appreciation for a meal, I do think it is an art form–which will probably never receive its due.

You know.

Similar to poetry. 

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Belch

Belch: (v) to emit gas noisily from the stomach through the mouth.Dictionary B

“Confession is good for the soul.”

This is a sentiment obviously spoken by a monk who lives on some desert island. Actually, confession is always painful because you may personally feel release, but you have also allowed others to draw conclusions which they may bring up to you later.

So I will say, with some trepidation, that I never learned how to belch at will.

When I was growing up, there were some very impressive young studs in our gym class who could perform mass burping to the amusement of the entire gathered horde.

I could never figure it out.

People explained it to me–something about swallowing air and then releasing it…

Well anyway, because I cannot perform this art of mass belching, I will occasionally get indigestion and be miserable, contorting my body into all sorts of positions to try to simply expel some gas. I have no problem with the back door distribution. It’s the front door that gives me fits.

So unlike others, who find belching to be extremely distasteful, generally speaking … it just causes this pilgrim to be green with envy.

 

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Bean

Bean: (n) a leguminous plant that bears beans in pods.

Dictionary B

Farting is important.

Although we laugh about it and there are even folks who try to avoid it at all costs, it is a sign that we are eating a pretty healthy diet. Once you make a decision to consume broccoli and various forms of beans, your body will produce gas, which will find an exit.

I do believe in God, and one of the reasons I believe is because of the natural humor that exists in life. For instance, the fact that farting is nearly inevitable, sounds hilarious, and then, the topper–it stinks so bad that it can drive people out of a room.

So I must tell you–the God who created us just might favor slapstick humor to cerebral considerations.

So if you eat beans and get all your vitamins and minerals, the by-product will probably be some gas, which will insist on being excreted or exploded, and stinking up the air.

Some people find even the discussion of such a natural process to be distasteful.

There are other folks who think that bathroom humor should be shared freely in the living room.

I am more of a naturalist.

If it’s there, and it’s funny, and it’s part of a good diet … what the hell?

Fart away.

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Affluent

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter AAffluent: (adj.) having a great deal of wealth or money

For ten years of my life I was affluent.

I lived in a big house, had extra finance, drove really neat cars and spent money on expensive lunches which I dubbed “business.”

Most of the money I utilized was not of my own making. It was inherited. It still spent the same.

I built a swimming pool in my back yard, had a gazebo in my front, and even constructed artistic decking to get from my house to the pool

What can I tell you about being affluent?

  • It’s like being poor except you only worry about money half the time.
  • You spend less of your thought process wondering if you should buy the T-bone steaks that are on sale, but you still get a bit of indigestion when you realize how much cash you extracted from your bank account–just to eat grilled cow.
  • There is a greater sense of loss, and much more pressure to reimburse what you’re spending because otherwise, you cannot continue the absolute facade of affluence.

I will not tell you that it was absent charm. I certainly will not tell you it was devoid of excitement. AND I will not be so pretentious as to lead you to believe that if it were offered to me again as an option for my ongoing existence, that I would not leap, in a stumbling way, in that direction.

But I can say that it really doesn’t matter.

Because of the money that I had, the thing I rejoice over more than anything else is that much of it was given away to others to produce lasting glee. There is something wonderful about knowing that twenty dollars does not mean much to you personally, but to another individual who is working minimum wage, it is a heavenly gift floated down on gossamer wings.

Pretty damn fantastic.

So I continue to work hard–not to build another swimming pool or purchase another gazebo hand-built by the Amish–but to make sure that I have enough coinage in my purse to surprise those souls who worked harder than they should have for less than what they’re worth.

I have maintained the best part of being affluent: I still get a gas out of giving.

Acalculia

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Acalculia: {n.} loss of the ability to perform simple arithmetic calculations, typically resulting from disease or injury of the parietal lobe of the brain.

Bob, Frank and I decided to go out for an evening.

The four of us came to the quick conclusion that if we left at seven o’clock and closed the evening out at twelve, we could have six hours of enjoyment.

You might think it odd, but we began the excursion by picking up a dozen doughnuts and splitting them evenly among the four of us–five each.

We went out and bought a pizza, which cost twenty dollars, and split it, which remarkably, was only six dollars a person.

At the end of the night, we realized we should reimburse the gas in Bob’s car, so we bought gasoline at $3.48 a gallon, putting ten dollars in the tank, giving us seven gallons.

We had such a good time that we decided to do it every week. So it was concluded that five days from that time, we would get together again, and Bob, Frank and I–all four of us–would go out from seven to twelve (for six hours), probably buying that dozen doughnuts, granting us five each, to spend no more than ten dollars of gas, which would provide seven gallons.

Everything seemed to be going along real well until the second week, when for some inexplicable reason, we found ourselves arguing … because things just didn’t add up.