So I'm at the "Lion King" the other night at the State Theater downtown.
The biggest laughs involved the giant warthog "Poomba" passing gas.
Amazing.
With all the clever writing contained in the script, that old standby generated the most humor.
Farts.
What is it about human flatulence that makes it the international calling card for comedy?
I recently heard a routine in which the comic says speaking the word "fart" makes sixth graders howl.
He describes a little league coach burdened with a speech impediment that causes him to say the word "fart" whenever he intends to say the word "fault".
Make the substitution in this soliloquy and tell me it doesn't generate a grin.
"Boys, Tommy had to leave the team, but it's not his fault. His family changed districts and that's not my fault . Most importantly, fellas, please realize that it's not your fault either."
Over the last several months I've had my own encounters with these gaseous events.
During a very serious trial where I served as defense counsel, the judge excused an elderly woman from jury service.
She got up, and left the jury box, audibly farting as she walked out the door.
It took all the self-control I could muster to suppress a guffaw amidst this somber setting.
The other day I entered the confessional in a Catholic Church.
On the other side of the screen, the silence was broken by the sound of a priestly toot.
Back in the parking lot, I laughed out loud to myself.
I'm not sure I quite understand why this purely biological phenomena makes us giggle.
There's a popular television program on TLC called "Here comes Honey Boo-Boo".
It features a hillbilly family negotiating its way through the mundane challenges of life.
Prominently featured are moments of flatulence so important to the plot line that scratch and sniff cards have been distributed by Us Magazine so viewers can have the full experience (yeccchhhh!).
A trip to any novelty shop reveals that the most popular item is something called a whoopee cushion.
We've put men on the moon and perfected heart transplants.
Despite this, accusing someone of a left cheek sneak remains a highly-ranked source of entertainment?
What's wrong with us?
Maybe some kind of primal funnybone is meant to be tickled in this way.
After all, who hasn't encountered a third grader with one hand placed in the armpit, flapping an arm to imitate that unmistakable sound?
I don't buy that theory.
I have sort of a religious take on this subject.
I think that God wants to remind us that the joy of the Resurrection overrides any moment of sadness or serious contemplation.
Alas, lest we forget this happy fact, at our very lowest moments, he has provided the fart.
Inexplicably guaranteed to bring a smile.
Thank you, Lord.
The creator had a sense of humor.
My mother-in-law is right: he who smelt it, dealt it.
If you didn't like this column, remember one thing.
Coach says it's not my fault.
Amen.
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