My Father is a man of few words, full of wisdom and a sense of humor few would appreciate or understand. My Wife still to this day doesn't really know if he loves her or is secretly planning her disappearance. He can keep a straight face no matter what, and exudes seriousness, all the time.
There are exceptions to this rule, akin to "I before E except after C." This is a story of one of those exceptions. Some of my Dad's best jokes were made around the dinner table and that's the setting of this blog post. We were seated around the table enjoying a home cooked meal, when someone, I can't remember who (but it was totally my Mother,) let loose the loudest fart that had possibly ever been recorded in human history. I am not exaggerating, air raid sirens got nothing, we had stumbled across a natural replacement for a fog horn and didn't even know it. My dad put his fork down, slowly, and turned his head to my oldest sister and asked her, "Do you know why there are handles on the side of my mattress? My sister promptly answered with the obvious answer, "Its to help you move to bed around!"
To the average person, this would make logical sense. But my father, full of wisdom, was about to edumacate us.
He began by telling us how his average night begins, with a brief warm up sessions in front of the bathroom mirror, "You got this, you can do it, you da man" He then braves entry into his side of the bed gingerly covering himself so as not to disturb my mother and falls asleep.
Then he laid the knowledge bomb on us. The handles are not for moving the mattress, they are for holding onto for dear life when the gale force farts begin. The image of my father holding on for dear life as the warm blast of fart wind billows like a hurricane past him was to much for us. the belly splitting laughs began. He continued....
He explained how he would have to take the poor alarm clock outside to take a breather so it continued functioning, something about the blast broke the electronics?
The flies that roamed the house at night he would give CPR to as he put it, " were flying along fine and then dropped like a paperweight where they lay.
He told us the dogs would begin howling, in terror as the green gas crept down the hallway, cats in the road outside would dart to safety with a shrill yelp.
He told us how he had modified the car of his engine to run off of the methane he collected nightly, and showed us a large mason jar, and explained how it was the preferred method for methane collection
He would go and remake the sheets of the bed while he inevitably waited for the next attack. He would give the call, like in WWI, GAS, GAS, GAS! The masks would go on and the house would regret the choice of seafood for dinner. God help us if chili had been the cuisine of choice, or Heir Mothers favorite, Cereal in Full fat Milk...
As the sun would break it signaled the end of conflict, and my father would get ready for work. Sure of himself and the nights work. He has protected his castle from the chemical assault. He would crack a window or two so ass to let the last of the agent fade into the atmosphere. When the children awoke, oblivious to the nights activities, we would go about our day. Not aware of the nights heroics, not aware that our dad was truly a Superman.
So now you know why their are handles on your Queen and King Size mattresses. It is mankind's feeble attempt to assist the dangerous battles waged under the sheets. To give a sporting chance to the poor husbands of this world who contend with nightly flatulent launchers.
They are there, to help us Survive.
Oh and I totally told my Pastor this story, 2 days after this... #noshame
If we don't create the next great thing, then there will be no more greatness - austininva
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