All the Raging Questions

A kid threw me this question
today: When people fart in other countries, does it smell good?

This is the same kid who, three
weeks ago, was leading a platoon of six-year-olds down the road chanting (in
true Lord of the Flies fashion),
“Ibagsak si Gloria! Ibagsak si Gloria!”

They were just having fun, but
the grown-ups were stupefied; they took it as sign from God—now that these
innocent kids were singing “Ibagsak si Gloria,” then it must truly be Vox Dei.

But after their “protest rally”
died down, there’s now a raging debate on farting. And he ran to me because I
suspect one of his aunts had told him I’m the resident know-it-all—a line that
people around me usually say with knife-edge sarcasm.

I tell him, Actually, it’s not
country specific, but it’s more a matter of gender and looks.

When hot, pretty women fart, it
smells like Lacoste Pink. Hot, sexy chicks produce fart that smells so good you
can bottle it and sell it in Dubai and be an overnight bahzillionaire.

You mean, only ugly women smell
bad?

Absolutely. It’s a universal
law. God wants it (I said the last
line with trying-hard Irish accent).

What about men?

Well, us men are pigs. We are animali, as Don Corleone used to say. We
all smell bad, in one way or another. Something about us will always stink. So
don’t raise your hopes. The smell of our fart will never change, in this
country or elsewhere.

“What about Anna’s fart?” Anna’s
his crush from the next block.

Absolutely ambrosial, I say,
like a spring morning. But wait till she grows her boobies. She’ll smell even
better.

Oh, the kid says, and throws me
an odd look. I think there’s something about the word “boobies” that intrigues
him. I’m not sure, though. Who can fathom the mind of a six-year-old kid?

Much later, as I work on another truly evil chapter of my truly evil work of art at my little terrace, I overhear him leading the discussion on farting with his usual
platoon of six-year-olds. The platoon is all ears, and they’re so quiet you’d
think they’re formulating the Five-Year Plan with Comrade Stalin.

And the way I hear him say, “We
are not special. Our fart stinks.” It’s eerie.

It reminds me so much of Tyler Durden.

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