Flatus: Not as Funny as It Used to Be

If you’re a frequent reader of JAOD, you might get the impression I’m a teensy-weensy bit obsessed with flatus. Maybe I am, but the truth is, gas is funny and for some inexplicable reason, farts are about a fillion-dillion times funnier than burps or even belches. At least they used to be.

Anyway, I was trolling online news services for inspiration this morning, as I often do, when I came across this headline:  White House Looks to Regulate Cow Flatulence as Part of Climate Agenda. I’m serious. Cow flatulence… as in cow farts.

Via the Daily Caller…

Screen Shot 2014-04-03 at 11.45.41 AM(Keep reading the Daily Caller article.)

I can’t help wondering. Don’t government officials have better things to do with their time than attempting to stop cows from farting?  And aren’t there better ways to spend our tax dollars?

How does one monitor cow farts to begin with? He who “smellt” it dealt it? He who denied it supplied it? Not to mention even if you can identify the perpetrators of the crimes, how exactly does one regulate cow flatulence? A Shared Responsibility Payment imposed on bovines who fart? Or maybe Beano?




It’s so ridiculous, it’s laughable. Except that it’s not… because regulating cow farts is proof that the fallacy of “global warming,” or “climate change” or whatever you call it serves as carte blanche for the government to impose regulation after regulation in a continuing effort to control us, restrict us and tax us. And it’s all done under the umbrella of “saving the planet.”  Forget about climate change for just a minute (and by the way climate change is NORMAL and has been happening on earth for billions of years) and consider this. Liberty and justice is endangered. We must challenge the lunacy or life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness will suffer the fate of the do-do bird and for those of you who think it can’t happen here, think again. It can. It is. And it’s no laughing matter. Farts aren’t as funny as they used to be.



Just to Make You Smile

I like Jimmy Falon. Wish he would do more of this kind of stuff and keep politics the heck out of The Tonight Show.

Is It Happy Hour Yet?

Just another ordinary day on the campus of American University… in Washington, D.C., as in the capital…where the senate is. Yeah.  And these kids vote… which explains how Obama won a second term.


Is it happy hour yet? I don’t even drink and I need a drink.

The Definition of a Radical Feminist

I am a wordsmith (TRANSLATION: nerd). I am fascinated by definitions, etymologies, pronunciations and most especially by the ways in which human history and culture influences language. Though your English teacher would have you think otherwise, language is fluid. Grammar rules change (just ask any journalist and editor about the rule governing usage of the serial comma and you’ll see what I mean), spellings change, definitions evolve and each year brand spanking-new words are born. In fact, over 900 new words and phrases have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary this year. Those words include beatboxerbestieDIYerdead white male, and wackadoodle to name a few, but womyn is not one of them. Believe me, I checked.

The first time I encountered the word woman spelled W-O-M-Y-N was a few months ago. I was trolling online news services and there it was, peppered throughout a diatribe left by some radical feminist in the comment section of an article which, oddly enough, had nothing to do with the alleged “war on women” or “reproductive rights” or “male privilege” or anything even remotely misogynistic. I think it was about beets or turnips or possibly cucumbers. Anyway, I thought womyn was a typo, so in typical red-pen-wielding fashion, I responded with a snarky, “Perhaps you ought to proofread before you hit enter LOL…  #W-O-M-A-N.” I knew it was wrong, but I simply could not control the impulse and boy oh boy, did I get schooled for it.

About a nanosecond later, the same radical feminist replied to my reply to her initial anti-male rage-filled comment. It went something like this: Shut the f**k up you misogynistic pig. You can’t seem to grasp that not EVERYTHING is about YOU and your filthy penis. It’s not a f**king typo. It’s an alternate spelling, you f**king chauvinistic idiot – an assertion that we refuse to be a subset of the f**king oppressive male population…”

Whoa. I was tempted to reply, “FYI. I am a W-O-M-A-N so I don’t have a penis. AND if your goal is to assert you are not a subset of an oppressive male population, your mission might be better served if you didn’t replace the A with the letter representing the ONLY inherently MALE chromosome in human DNA, but hey that’s just me. #W-O-M-X-N,” but I didn’t. Instead I made a sandwich then walked the dog.

Her comment stuck with me though, and it got me thinking about the first time I encountered a radical feminist. You know, the type who does more harm than good?  By the way, radical feminist is not one of this year’s new word entries, but as you may recall, wackadoodle is.

Anyway, I was a a college freshman seated in a large lecture auditorium with about 300 other biology students. The lecture topic for the day was fungi and since our professor had a penchant for looping slideshows while he spoke, we were assaulted with a parade of larger-than-life images as he droned on about mold, yeast, truffles, puffballs and of course, mushrooms. Precisely as this image of a phallic mushroom pierced my retinas …

Photo courtesy of dontmakethatface.com

Photo courtesy of dontmakethatface.com

…someone behind me hissed… actually hissed like an angry, unconsolable cat. Unable to control the impulse, I craned my neck in search of the source and found it was an androgynous-looking female. She squinted back at me belligerently, which was startling because I realize I’d been caught staring, plus she was downright angry-scary-androgynous-looking. She waggled her finger my way and slowly mouthed the words TURN AROUND B**TCH. I immediately snapped back to face front, regained my composure and resumed note taking.

She continued these antics throughout the semester, hissing whenever the professor uttered any articulation of the words male, testes, testicles, penis, scrotum, sperm, testosterone. One of her most impressive demonstrations against the “oppressive patriarchy” was maintaing a constant hiss through an entire 50 minute lecture devoted to spermatogenesis. This really happened. I promise. You can’t make up this sort of stuff. Allow me to use it in a sentence… that chick was wackadoodle.

Look, I’m all for female empowerment. If I had a daughter, I’d tell her the same thing I tell my sons – you can do anything you want to do, be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it and work hard. I celebrate the unprecedented opportunities modern women enjoy as a result of the struggles of American heroines like Susan B. Anthony, Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. I am all about equality for women, but I refuse to buy into the belief, propagated vigorously and incoherently by a bunch of wackadoodles - I mean radical feminists – that women are the helpless victims of a hostile patriarchy. It simply isn’t true. Not in America.

The radical feminist agenda is not pro-female. It is decidedly and misguidedly and  wackadoodically anti-male. I don’t get it. I really don’t. I don’t get hissing at mushrooms and hating men and I certainly don’t think changing the A to a Y in woman is a pressing social issue (or particularly clever). But that’s just me. Who knows, maybe I’m the wackadoodle one.

Over 900 words have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary this year, but womyn is not one of them so…I can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan and never, ever let you forget you’re a man cause I’m a woman -W-O-M-A-N… at least for now.

A Little Something to Get You Over the Hump

It’s hump day! A friend emailed me the following compendium of ostensibly true stories entitled Seven Reasons Not to Mess with Children. Even if they’re not true, they’re still funny! Enjoy!

  • A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible. The little girl said, “When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah.” The teacher asked, “What if Jonah went to hell?” The little girl replied, “Then you ask him.”
Photo Copyright © Bible Gateway

Photo Copyright © Bible Gateway

  •  A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing.  She would occasionally walk around to see each child’s work. As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was. The girl replied, “I’m drawing God.”  The teacher paused and said, “But no one knows what God looks like.”  Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, “They will in a minute.”
Photo courtesy of: godlyplayblog.blogspot.com

Photo courtesy: godlyplayblog.blogspot.com

  • A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds.  After explaining the commandment to honor thy Father and thy Mother, she asked, “Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?”  From the back, one little boy (the oldest of a family) answered, “Thou shall not kill.”
Photo courtesy: www.momlogic.com

Photo courtesy: http://www.momlogic.com

  • One day a little girl was sitting and watching her mother do the dishes at the kitchen sink. She suddenly noticed that her mother had several strands of white hair sticking out in contrast on her brunette head.  She looked at her mother and inquisitively asked, “Why are some of your hairs white, Mum?”
    Her mother replied, “Well, every time that you do something wrong and make me cry or unhappy, one of my hairs turns white.”  The little girl thought about this revelation for a while and then said, “Mummy, how come ALL of grandma’s hairs are white?”
Photo courtesy: www.wherewearefornow.com  ©superstock.com

Photo courtesy: http://www.wherewearefornow.com ©superstock.com

  • The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade them each to buy a copy of the group picture.  “Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and say, ‘There’s Jennifer, she’s a lawyer,’ or ‘That’s Michael, He’s a doctor.”  A voice at the back of the room rang out, “And there’s the teacher, she’s dead.”
  • A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to make the matter clearer, he said, “Now, class, if I stood on my head, the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face.”  “Yes,” the class said.  “Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn’t run into my feet?”  One fellow shouted, “Cause your feet ain’t empty.”
  • The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples. The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: “Take only ONE . God is watching.” Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a large pile of chocolate chip cookies.  A child had written a note, “Take all you want. God is watching the apples.”