Category Archives: Farting

Let’s All Go To The Mall

I should really consider myself lucky.  I mean, I was driving around in a car that had a tire with a fairly big puncture hole.  For a while instead of just replacing it, I just kept the air compressor in my back seat and filled the thing up every couple of weeks.  It worked out fairly well, but I knew that I would need to get the tire replaced before winter rolled around.  So this last weekend I went to the Sears Autocare Center (Hey, if I want to to pretend to be a man I have to do manly shit like go to Sears).  They told me it would be a little over an hour to complete the work on my car, and that they would give me a call when the work was completed.  So, instead of sitting around in the waiting room of the service shop, I decided to walk across the parking lot and go to the mall that was right there.

Walking into the mall was, for lack of a better phrase, a fucking trip.  I haven’t really been in a mall for anything other than new glasses or over-priced Apple shit in probably close to five years.  I have forgotten how strange these places can be.  And strange is really the only thing you can call a mall, because the mall is the only place in the world that people will set aside a couple of hours for, and then within twenty minutes of starting the day the only thing they want to do is just get the fuck out of there.

The first thing that I wanted to do was to find a restroom.  Like any mall, I figured that they would be in the food court (they were).  But the restrooms are the least of the interesting aspects of this endeavor.   The food court was a pathetic excuse for a source of nourishment.  I mean, there wasn’t a single dollar menu in the entire place.  Not that I’m a big fan of the kind of food that comes from the kind of place that has a dollar menu, but it seems to me that dollar menus are perfectly suited for malls.  The food is usually something that you can usually eat on the go, small enough for you to finish by the time you get into the next store, and makes you shit about 45 minutes later, bringing you back to the food court where it all began.  But as if that’s not enough for me to hate the food courts at the mall, I looked around at the other options for food.  It’s astonishing how every mall has literally the same exact shitty food that the next one does.  Of course everyone knows about Auntie Anne’s Pretzels and CinnaBonn.  But when you dig deeper, you will find the Rocky Rococo, the Arby’s, the place that serves steak (who the fuck says, “You know, I could really go for a steak.  Let’s go to the mall.  No, it’s cool, it’s 6:00 PM, they usually clean up the food court around 5:30ish.  So basically, as long as you don’t eat near the Sbarro the floors won’t be sticky and it doesn’t stink as much because there aren’t any babies because the mom’s all had to drop them off the babysitter because Valium usually can’t last all day normally, let alone a full day at the mall.”), and of course that less-than-trustworthy stir-fry place (You want me to eat Chinese food?  Fine, as long as it isn’t prepared by 17-year-old girls from the suburbs who can’t even pronounce General Tso’s Chicken correctly).  Literally every mall has those same exact places.  And literally the same exact people go to those same places in every mall:  5% mall employees who are on their break in the middle of a double shift, 20% kids on dates who don’t know what a real date is, 20% single mothers, and 55% disgusting slobs.

Food court aside, there is another very disturbing aspect of malls in general.  This particular phenomenon is visible everywhere, but at the mall, it shines.  I’m talking, of course, about weird people.  Not the some-guy-writing-a-blog-pretending-to-be-a-panda-so-he-can-feel-like-he’s-being-a-productive-member-of-society-but-knows-he-isn’t weird, but the start-a-conversation-with-a-complete-stranger-but-not-actually-be-looking-them-in-the-eye weird.  I mean, you’ve got the people who go to the mall to do nothing but walk in fucking circles, you’ve got the people who act like they know you and try to start a conversation with you when you’re standing in line (please, people who do this, stop frontin’), you’ve got the people who walk around and try to stop you when you’re going about your day and minding your own business to get you to take a survey, and then you got the people who sit.  They don’t really do anything.  They just sit.  I’m pretty sure they’re there 24/7, because I’ve never seen any of them get up or actually partake in the process of sitting down.   Maybe it’s just a ruse by the people who own the mall to say, “We have seating in case you need to sit down for a moment, rest, wait to meet up with your family, or to wait and figure out if the food court meal you ate a half-hour ago is coming out early or if it’s just a fart,” and then they just have some old folks come in and sit.  They probably don’t even pay them (well, maybe they give them the leftover food from the food court, which would explain why the bathrooms at the mall always smell like shit, even in the morning before anyone even uses them).  And of course you can’t ask them to move, they’re old.  They’ve got the walkers and those fucking big-ass-cover-half-your-face sunglasses to prove it.

But all of that pales in comparison to my biggest issue with the mall and human society: how and why the hell do humans find the mall to be fun?  I mean, everyone from teenagers to old folks go to the mall to waste their Saturdays and their “sick” days, and spend hours and hours there.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I used to think the mall was awesome.  I would try to transform almost any social outing with friends into a day at the mall.  But that wasn’t because I thought it was fun, it’s because, as a panda, I had never seen anything like this place in my life.  I mean, you humans just have a giant building with all these different stores that have absolutely nothing in common with each other and a bunch of kiosks that are filled with second-rate, made-in-China shit, and in the winter, every fucking year, you people pay some fatass to sit in a red suit in the middle of the mall and have your children sit in his lap as he whispers sweet nothings into their ears (“Oh, I bet you’ve been a bad girl”).  I mean, just look at what a trip to the mall looks like normally.  For the most part, you park your car a quarter-mile away from the closest set of doors, walk into the mall, try to not make eye contact with the poor people at the shoe shine booth, walk half the length of the mall to find an up escalator, walk to where the store is supposed to be, remember it’s on the first floor, go to the first floor, get stuck behind a group of slow walking dumbass teenage boys who think that they’re hot shit as they walk out of Spencer’s Gifts in their TapOut shirts and exposed plaid boxers (even though everyone in the mall knows their not because no matter how many times they say, “she looks like this one chick I nailed,” you know they’ve probably never even touched a breast and the most sexually advanced situation they’ve ever been in was just last week when they first tried masturbating in the shower), then you get to the store you wanted to go to, but it’s crowded, so you grab the one thing you need and sit in line for 20 minutes and then book it to your car.  And you humans find this shit fun.

Fun?  Screw that.  If we could live in a place without a single Hot Topic, I feel the world might be a better place.  And to be honest, how has Yankee Candle not been busted yet?  A chain store that stays afloat selling nothing but candles?  Please, that shit has to be a front for some kind of shenanigans.  “LOOK AT THIS KIOSK.  A GREEN BAY PACKERS CELL PHONE CASE FOR $20? FUCK YEAH!”  Fuck no.  I’m not saying you all shouldn’t go to the mall, but I’m just saying you should all stop pretending that you want to, because we all know it sucks.

Take it easy,



Fart Etiquette

As many of you can imagine, when I came from the wild, I had to relearn how to live as a human being.  The most difficult thing that I had to learn – something that I still struggle with today – was basic etiquette.  Humans have some of the most absurd rules and regulations of how to behave in front of other people that I have ever seen.  In the panda world, it was as simple as look at each other, allow others to smell you to make sure you aren’t a threat, don’t steal their bamboo, and respect the mating rules (which is basically a combination of first come, first served, and a type of “seat-check” rule for genitals).   But with humans, there seems to be a different set of rules for each and every different person and situation.  Now, I won’t bore you with talking about all of them, but I will focus on one that affects literally every single person in the world: farting.

That’s right people, farting.  You have some of the most absurd rules I’ve ever heard when it comes to farting.  For pandas, we just simply fart.  No special ceremony, no special behavior.  We just let our asses flap in the wind.  But ever since I’ve broken into the human world, I’ve been told, “You know, if you’re going to fart, you should really be going into the other room to do it.  It’s only polite.”  Every single time.

Now, there are a couple of different issues that I have with this sentiment.  Number one, why should I leave the room to do something that everybody does?  I fart, you fart, Obama farts, Glenn Beck farts.  I’m fairly certain Sarah Palin does, but I’m not guaranteeing anything.  Now, certainly I don’t mean to be saying that just because there is something everyone does that they should be able to do it wherever they want, but I’m just saying if it’s something everybody does and it doesn’t hurt anyone, why not?  I mean, yeah, it will smell bad for a couple minutes, and that one person (depending on what they ate earlier) may have to go to the restroom just to double-check moisture levels, but on the other hand, everyone will have benefited from having giggled at least once that day.

Not only that, but imagine the time lost during the day from leaving one room to go fart in another.  Imagine you are at a meeting at work, and you feel a poot slowly creeping it’s way down your colon, weaving in and out of clumped up fecal matter, and you have to get up to leave the room just so you can fart.  Imagine if you missed something incredibly important, like which loopholes your company uses to not pay taxes, or the proper way to cook McDonald’s French fries, or the proper way to perform CPR on an infant (Seriously, do you have any idea how quickly your day can be ruined when your child dies, and you try to eat away the pain but they give fucking soggy fries?).

Not only that, but my main issue is where the hell are we supposed to go?  The other room?  Where the hell is this “other room?”  The kitchen?  The bathroom?  The study or the billiards room?  I don’t know about you, but what happens when you get to that other room?  Obviously, yes, you fart, but then what?  Do you just leave?  Do you have any idea how horrifying it is to walk into a room where there isn’t a living soul and yet it smells like rancid ass?  Sure, if it’s the bathroom, then whatever, it’s not a big deal.  But when I walk into the kitchen, I don’t want to be met by a mysterious invisibly butt-cloud.  And not only that, but what happens when you walk in on somebody farting?  What’s the proper way to deal with that situation?  Do you just act like it’s completely normal, like handwashing, and just start a conversation?  Or is it like being at the urinal; no eye contact, no talking, period?  Or is it like being walked in on during sex and you just kind of stare at the person trying to figure out something to say to them but at the same time you’re trying not to burst out laughing because that would offend the woman that is currently playing host to you, and thus you are just sitting there, speechless, until the other person leaves the room shaking his or her head.  And what about when multiple people need to fart?  Do you go one at a time, or if you’re good enough friends can you just hotbox that bitch?

Or maybe I have been duped this whole time?  Perhaps it is just one of those secrets of the rich, that the phrase began because there is actually a room solely dedicated to farting in, but the rich are simply too snooty to actually say, “the farting room,” so they just say, “the other room.”  And how convenient would that be?  You could deck it out to be perfect for farting.  You could have a super-high-powered ventilation system that whisks away all the irritating fumes, an oxygen bar in case you know it’s going to be a string of farts, a couple of lighters to light them on fire if you must, and a TV that has nothing on it except for a news crawl.  It would also have it’s very own toilet because hey, you never know when a really clean fart will turn into something else.

Well, that’s all the hot air I’ve got for now.

Take it easy,