“I would never belong to a club that would have me as a member.” – Groucho Marx
What am I doing here? No, really?
What were the tasteful and erudite folks at Food for Thought thinking when they gave me a button on their shiny new website? I’m not sure, but I’d be willing to wager prolonged inhalation of the “crops” burning in our nearby forests has impaired their judgment a bit. OK, maybe it’s been impaired a lot.
I don’t know if I fit here among the well-mannered and civilized people who frequent FFT. I’m the kind of guy that puts Tabasco on his pancakes. I’m not exactly renowned for my couth, either. I’m not even sure what “couth” is, but I don’t think I have much. I’m pretty sure the only “suave” I have is the shampoo and conditioner “all-in-one” in the shower. I have enough of that stuff to last me for at least the next 20 years (go ahead, insert bald joke here). My sophistication level resides somewhere between Kraft macaroni & cheese and an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants. If FFT is a kind of cyber-village, I guess I’ve been hired to be its cyber-idiot. Don’t worry, I can handle it. Actually, it’s an area where I may be able to excel. A niche is a niche.
Despite the obvious miscalculation by FFT in allowing me to play on their little acre of cyberspace, here I am. And, what, dear reader, does that mean to you? For one thing, it means you won’t wear out your mouse clicking on my mug shot, thus saving you untold amounts of money, time and the inconvenience of worn-out mouses, or mice, or whatever. Think of that as my first contribution to the enrichment of your FFT experience, and by extension, your life.
You’re welcome.
But, in my defense, I see myself as something like a saucy plate of escargot or perhaps a bit like dining on a Chinese blowfish whose gills are still flapping — I’m an “acquired taste.” My type of humor should be uncorked by the reader and allowed to breathe. The subtle stench is part of the overall experience. Intoxicating? Not if you read it in a well-ventilated room (a practice heartily endorsed by FFT and its lawyers).
The discerning reader will be rewarded with my keen insights, rollicking jocularity (I have an ointment for that, if you’d like) and a vast array of “fart jokes.” I may throw in the occasional obvious observation on life or pop culture, but mostly, look for the fart jokes. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I do.
Hopefully, over time, some of Doni, Kelly and Jim’s sense of propriety will rub off on me. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll contribute some stuff that won’t make your latté and scones come up into your esophagus when you read it (that’s what you classy folk eat for breakfast, right? Lattés and scones? I’m a Fruity Pebbles and Ovaltine kinda guy, but it’s our differences that make us unique… and different, right?) It’s quite possible that if I hang around long enough I’ll be visited by the Couth Fairy and may even take to wearing an ascot. You never know.
But, if nothing else, I managed to sneak the word “fart” onto Doni’s website. So far, so good.
Phil Fountain is an artist, graphic designer, writer and miscreant based in Redding, California. He is accepting commissions and has been known to work for trinkets or shiny objects. You may reach him at pfountain@sbcglobal.net or through his blog philbertosophy.wordpress.com.
