FLOP-n-Tales: Fart Jokes, What’s a Girl to Do?

Ummm...I still would


by The F.L.O.P.


At what age do poo and fart jokes stop being funny?

Is there such an age?  I just can’t imagine that I’ll ever reach one. Or that I want to.

I’m a 33 year old married woman and I suffer from a (so far) incurable case of Peter Pan Syndrome.  My 16 year old brother has twice the maturity that I am able to demonstrate on even a semi-regular basis.

Case in point – poo and fart jokes – still get me every time.

I’m a professional; I pretend anyway. I work for a company in a role that requires me to act like a grown up most of the time.  I’m honest with my colleagues and partners, though.  They get me. I take my work, and their success, seriously.

I just don’t take myself seriously.

The husband after Primanti Bros.

A few days ago, I arrived late to a training session that my boss (a very nice, young British lady) facilitated for a group of business partners.  Don’t worry about my late arrival – my tardiness was pre-approved so I was supposed to sneak in the back no homo.

Turns out, there was no back door to this room, so I had to enter through the front.  All eyes were on me.  I mumbled an awkward hello and an even more awkward apology.  My boss, ever the professional, went right back into the lesson, and I skulked to the back of the room.

Did I mention that I work in the shipping industry?  Do you know how many different kinds of “duties” there are in the shipping world?  Duties paid.  Duties unpaid.  Tax duties.  Duty-free shipping. I could go on like Forest and Bubba go on about the different ways to prepare shrimp. Duty-salad.  Duty sandwich.  Sautéed Duty.

I just hope I’m not around when someone accidentally gets “double-dutied” – I would lose my shit. Shit, there I go again.

So, I get to my seat in the back, and of course my boss is in the middle of the section of the lesson that deals with the various kinds of duties.  I heard it the first time and I smiled.

I heard it again a few seconds later. My smile grew.

By the third “duty” in the first 10 seconds, I lost the ability to master my own reflexes. I tried to stifle my natural reflex to scream “Ha!  You said doody!”, but I actually snorted.  A true to life snort.

(slow clap....slow clap...)


Nobody really seemed to notice except one girl. Was that chick gonna judge me?

I saw movement in her direction, so when I committed and looked her way, I found her shaking in her chair like Michael J Fox (what? too soon?) and covering her mouth to hide the laughter. Our eyes meet. We both KNOW why we’re laughing. Of course, this made me laugh harder.

We attained a life-long connection that can never be broken.  It doesn’t matter that we never actually even met before the stifle-snort. She thought doody was funny.

Which brings me back to the original question.  How in the world were we the only two people laughing at that moment? When did they everyone else grow out of this this? When did life teach them to master the ability of silence and calm in the presence of someone who declares, “You know what we do do” – and not say, “Ha!  You said doodoo!”?


FLOP stands for the First Lady of Poker aka FLOPinTails and FLOPtimus Prime. FLOP was naturally resistant to her nickname, as it stirred images of a flacid penis.  However, much like a flacid penis, this nickname eventually grew on her. She was raised by an older brother to be “one of the guys”, but keenly aware of when to unleash the cleavage for manipulative purposes. 


  1. Mah wwiiiifffe!

  2. well written FLOP, I’d have been laughing too…

  3. Great debut, FLOP. Glad to have provided at least some of the inspiration for it.

    • Ah, Mr. Craigs. We haven’t even begun to probe the depths of inspiration you have provided. “It’s not a great afternoon to be my underpants” will soon become a household phrase.

  4. Made me want to poo… gotta run before it does!

  5. Loved that!