A couple nights ago, in the midst of post-Presidential Primary furor, and cresting to the height of their vigorous political panel discussion, somebody on CNN farted.
Now, we’re not talking your fleeting emission. This was a massive gasso profundo, one that could only have come from a colon of awesome dimension, stretched to its ultimate limits of retainment. This was the Grand Prize Winner of all Wind.
I was so gobsmacked, I actually stuck around until the whole news segment revolved, just to see what the audio crew would do with this monstrosity.
Perched on the edge of my buttocks, I waited with poised anticipation for the slightest of scant, aberrating vibrations.
Nothing. Absolutely no sign of the mortifying mortar – apart from a deftly inserted, if faint, moment of Muzak, just as the camera pulled back to display the defendants’ line up.
Yes, CNN was nothing, if not prepared. I knew, at that instant, should the planet suddenly find itself under siege by unrecognizable life forms, this giant of the news circuit would be ready to photo and audioshop anything anybody on earth was absolutely certain had been seen and heard. Alternate reality was already in da house.
Even when whatever a pundit had for dinner refused to submit to digestive enzymes, anybody could be rendered the picture of virgin, if probiotic, equilibrium. We live in an air brushed, auto-tuned world.
But, just what are these public personae consuming? Is there some kind of sphincter syndrome plaguing our pontificators? Or, have they all been overcome by a fetish for the fanny fortissimo?
In my day, farting out loud was the predominant domain of the 8 year old boy. Oh; and, his father, on some joint expedition to the great outdoors. I even had a college professor, whose genius expanded to include a profound appreciation for the full on function; Dr. Walter S. Hartley*, composer, multiple ASCAP award recipient, was known to cut one loose, stop, raise a pointed finger, grin mischievously, and declare: “I believe that was a B-flat.” then, lumber off, with the weighty gait of one whose cranium could barely contain its contents, leaving all to ponder the pitch potential of their own pooter.
Yes; uproariously hilarious to them all, we girls and various other civilized creatures just reserved ours for the appropriate time and place – being sure to strategically flush if guests were in proximity, of course.
But, this? Google “farting on Tv”, and you’ll be mildly alarmed. The women outnumber the men – and, most of them are either broadcasters or politicians.
One could speculate.
The media’s been catching a lot of flack, lately, regarding its veracity. Truth, in fair and balanced reporting. The profession used to be populated by the noble and impeccable, those who embodied what we all called “dignity.” Now, in the interests of appealing to a “wider demographic”, perhaps we’re settling for something that masquerades as the “human” element.
Either that, or the Euro-American diet finds itself at a crossroads. Consult your local gastronomist: health-conscious vegetable smoothies can’t be paired with bacon fat without explosive consequences.
Maybe we should be grateful for the technological touch ups that seem so essential, anymore, to our socio-professional survival. After all, we’re a cross cultural melting pot, now, and the models held up for our children are coming from the four corners of the earth.
And, that, if nothing else, puts a whole new spin on blooming where you’re planted!
Dr. Walter S. Hartley
February 21, 1927 – June 30, 2016
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 5/9/16 – littlebarefeetblog.com All rights reserved by the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect. Now, pass the Grey Poupon.