Another Classy Post About Fart Lighting

Hey! Guess what? I’ve got another story about fart lighting. Don’t you feel fortunate to know a blogger that actually has 2 stories on this topic. I know it’s rare to find someone with this kind of talent, but here I am!


I have two cousins who I grew up with. To protect the semi-innocent, we will call them Faye and Raymond. Well, Raymond announced that he was getting married to his long-time girlfriend. He’s totally insane, so we weren’t sure he would ever convince anyone to marry him. However, “Tori” agreed to marry into our family.  We promised her a set of Ginsu knives...I think that helped.


Faye, my mom, and I decided to throw Raymond and Tori an engagement party. We came up with the idea of a wine and cheese party. Sounds lovely and elegant, right? Eh, that’s what we were going for, but elegance just doesn’t seem to run in our family.


First of all, as we were picking out wine Faye wanted to get some Boone’s Farm. Nothing says class like Strawberry Hill, right? So my mom, who was a total hoot (she’s passed away…more on her later), decided we should have a “cheap section” of wine. Mom and Faye thought this idea was just freakin’ hilarious! Now, this was the first time we were meeting most of the bride’s family, and I wasn’t sure if they were as goofy as us, but I relented. I mean, who doesn’t get a chuckle when they see a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, right?


In order to maintain some semblance of tastefulness, I chose some lovely wines and cheeses. Then I printed out some cute little labels for the different cheeses and polished up the good silver platters and wine glasses. We were having the party at my house, so I even vacuumed the carpet and cleaned the toilet, even though the carpet was shaggy gold and the toilet was avocado green and both would be ugly no matter how much cleaning and scrubbing I performed.


Anyhoo, about 30 people showed up to this little soiree. I stuck the cheap stuff on a little table over in the corner. I was hoping no one would see it, despite the 3 foot “Trashy Section” sign that Faye had made. We had Mad Dog, two varieties of Boone’s Farm, a bottle of Thunderbird, and some welfare cheese on this table. I know, you all wish you had been there for this fine event!


Everyone was having a great time sampling the wines and cheeses, and Tori’s family even got a kick out of the white trash area. So all was well….until….


Faye had been tapping into the Strawberry Hill all evening. I knew things were going to get out of hand when she started drinking the Mad Dog 20/20. Ruh roh, Scooby Doo!


For some reason, she decided it would be a good idea to try and light a fart. Now, our family is into scientific theory, so she decided to test her hypothesis that a post-alcohol poot could be lit. I’m still not sure why she didn’t go to some fancy Ivy League school.


So Faye hiked up her leg - did I mention that she was wearing a skirt? - and tried to hold a lighter “down there.” She fell over. At this point, some of the grandparents decided it was time to depart. Perhaps they wanted to avoid a scene involving the fire department and ambulance service. I tried to go with them, but the party was at our house and Signore Sexy Pants said I had to stay.  Damn you, Signore Sexy Pants!  Damn you, I say!


Faye, in her infinite drunken wisdom, came up with the idea that someone else should hold the lighter for her so she could concentrate on producing gas and holding her leg up without tipping over. She headed toward me with the lighter. Shit! I immediately made myself look busy by searching for the fire extinguisher and looking up the number for the fire department. While I was honored to be her first choice for the position of lighter-holder, I was wearing a lot of hairspray and didn’t think it would be prudent to be near a potentially explosive fireball. I liked my hair, and didn’t want to pull a Michael Jackson. (I speak, of course, of the Pepsi-commercial-with-hair-on-fire Micheal, not the singing-dancing-young boy-loving Michael.)


Faye goes to find Raymond to give him the distinctive position of flame holder. I’m thinking that this cannot be good for anyone involved because Raymond had been chugging Thunderbird like it was...well, Thunderbird. Raymond kneels down to be closer to the, ummmm, action area. He lights the lighter and Faye holds onto the couch and hikes her leg like a dog on a hydrant. At this point, I am doing my best flight attendant impression and pointing out the exits to all of the guests. Lordy, why didn’t we have gas masks that would fall from the ceiling in case of fire or a drop in cabin pressure?


A little crowd had gathered around the scene, mostly guys…and my mom, who just loved shit like this. Faye lets one rip, everyone cheers, and the poot blows out the flame on the lighter. No explosions or fireballs…whew! She begins doing some funny little squats, I guess trying to prime herself for more gas expulsions. She’s still wearing a skirt, by the way. They proceeded to do more lighting and farting, but they never achieved the desired effect of catching my couch on fire. Thank you, 8 pound, 6 ounce sweet little infant baby Jesus!


I guess perhaps Faye should have eaten some Mexican food and maybe drank some higher-proof liquor before attempting this little feat. Every brave soul who was still left at the party had a fun time and actually enjoyed the impromptu entertainment. Maybe our friends and family aren’t as classy as we thought they were.


But you wanna know something ironic? The person who thought this whole fart-lighting extravaganza was the funniest was Faye’s husband - and he’s a firefighter. So much for the notion that firefighters are fire safety experts…..

The moral of the story is:  Never ignore an invitation to one of my parties - you never know what's gonna happen!