On Being An Eleven-Year-Old Boy

At least that’s what my Cute Engineer said, once or twice. I believe he is a lad of more delicate sensibilities than my own; but then I am the daughter of a horn player and, as I have mentioned elsewhere, performers on brass instruments are perpetual adolescents one and all, who could not have persisted to virtuosity had they not a genial tolerance for the flatulent noises that a French horn or tuba will make in the early stages of mastery.

For a short time, around the era of my divorce, I maintained a weekend dinner date with a slightly neurotic but comfortingly ailurophile lady who fancied garlicky haricots and Belgian beers. Our mutual aesthetic broke down on the matter of gender bias. “Something I don’t understand about men,” she said, “is that men think farts are funny.

You mean they’re not?

The celestial Mark Twain – however privately, in his day — gave us “1601, or, CONVERSATION, AS IT WAS BY THE SOCIAL FIRESIDE, IN THE TIME OF THE TUDORS.”

Ye Queene.—Verily in mine eight and sixty yeres have I not heard the fellow to this fart. Meseemeth, by ye grete sound and clamour of it, it was male; yet ye belly it did lurk behinde shoulde now fall lean and flat against ye spine of him yt hath bene delivered of so stately and so waste a bulk, where as ye guts of them yt doe quiff-splitters bear, stand comely still and rounde. Prithee let ye author confess ye offspring.

In latter days, Doctor Demento circulated this treasure.

Okay, so I’m an eleven-year-old boy. What the fuck. I never pretended to be ladylike from day one. Pull my finger.

EDIT: I used to hang out with a redneck from Vienna — Virginia, not Austria — who cued me in to the original of which the above tune is a parody. It occurs to me that it’s been years since it was current. Le voila:

11 thoughts on “On Being An Eleven-Year-Old Boy

    • Bravo! You have it just right – our lives and fortunes have been held hostage because far too many people haven’t been allowed the freedom to laugh hysterically at the Great Levelers of the human condition.

  1. I ruefully realize that cosmictrap and blogger have met their match. Truly, this is funny and funny is so very very very (very) rare. Yeah, boys don’t outgrow their fart jokes. Says it all about men, really.

    Robert. 🙂

    P.S.: You’re good.

    • Thank you! 🙂

      Though as for men… why is it that I laugh hysterically at this stuff and my plump, bearded, tool- and car-loving boy friend doesn’t? (I guess everyone has to have some genderfuck in their relationship…)

      I’ll pay a careful visit to the Cosmic Trap too, when I’m not whooshing out the door to the gym…

  2. Btw, thanks so much for the Mark Twain link. Good Lord……..


    Robert (there’s only ever been one. Ask around. They’ll tell you.).

    You have nice friends who I will visit right now.


  3. Of course I’ve been here before, but I listened to both songs again and forced himself to do the same. As soon as I told him the first one was a fart song, he said, ‘that’s all about you then.’ Second one was on my dad’s trucker music 8 track and I just wanted to hear it again.

    • Someday I must recall and transmit to you the fart song co-improvised by me and a college friend when I ended up in the Dutchess County ER with a case of impacted farts following a case of the cafeteria collywobbles. It’ll take some dredging up…

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