“Sorry, Sandy.” The Geezer Gator waved his hand in front of his nose. “I shouldn’t eat broccoli and baked beans at the same meal.”
I was glad we were sitting on the dock and there was a gentle breeze to dissipate the hovering flatulence. “Geezer, that was really bad. I’m glad you don’t smoke. Lighting a match right now would cause an explosion. That was a real high octane release.”
“It was a sheet rotter. I hope it doesn’t turn that beautiful golden coat of yours green,” the Geezer looked at me and grinned. “You know, maybe you should contact that T. Boone Pickens fellow and give him an idea for another source of natural gas.”
It took a few seconds for his words to register, my mind being slowed by the cloud of methane encircling us. “Oh, you mean the guy that used to run TV advertisements for windmills and natural gas? That’s years ago.”
“Uh-huh, that’s T. Boone Pickens.”
“You thinking of renting out your digestive system? How much broccoli and baked beans can you consume?” I jested. “Seems you might wear out parts of yourself pretty fast.”
The Geezer laughed. “Hey, no single sourcing. Think about the possibilities. There’s so much gas being released by cows alone, a TV program I saw says it’s polluting the atmosphere more than automobiles, if I remember, correctly.”
I went along with the flow, “Yep, a completely renewable source of energy. Just collect it and burn it. All our energy problems are about to be solved!”
“Who’d of thought that something as simple as the common fart would save mankind.” The breeze blew the last of the “rotten eggs” smell away.
“Now all we have to do is to collect them, Geezer.”
“That’s the beautiful part of your idea, Sandy.” The Geezer’s mind was churning. I could hear the old rusty gears squealing and clashing as they neared full speed. “Think about all the satellite industries and disciplines that your idea will spawn. They may end up naming some kind of economic event after you. I can see it now – The Sandy Cycle.”
“Oh, just think of it.” The Gator held his fingers up and tugged at one. “We’ll need to manufacture fart collectors. Lots of them. Think of the jobs that will create. And fart strainers, that’s a must. We’ll need a fart acquisition and distribution system, one that allows us to determine the octane rating so it can be sold like gasoline is now.” The old boy tried to keep a straight face. “Whole industries will be born.”
“Who’s going to develop all this?” I prompted him, though I’m sure he didn’t need it.
He tugged at his second finger. “No problem. A new field of science will develop, Fartology! Our leading universities will soon be turning out fartologists that study all facets of the discipline. They’ll study fart formation, composition, conservation, utilization, everything. I can see Harvard and Yale bragging about their graduates like they do Bush, Obama, and Clinton.
I nodded, “That sure is true. Probably will spike deodorizer sales. I’ll look into buying anti-stink stock, if there’s a stock market left after the next election.”
“Speaking about elections and government, think of all the agencies it will create.” The Geezer tugged at a third finger. “There will be the Department of Farts and Feces. There will be groups studying foods best suited for fart formation, the toxic effect of farts on the Amazon rain forest, and, of course, quality inspectors from FDA. Think of the graft and corruption potential. The politicians will love it. We’ll find out how long a fart can stay on a treadmill. Even the IRS will get their nose into the business as they sniff around for those villainous -“fart syphoners.”
“Interesting. Who would be appointed to run the Department of Farts?” I asked.
“Sandy, it will take highly qualified individuals to run such a branch. How about selecting candidates from the nightly news?
“Agreed!” I shouted. “I can’t think of people that are more full of it.
PS- this is an old post I revised & recycled- I thought some comic relief was in order.
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