Passing the torch of sophisticated humor to my grandson

It’s comforting to know my sophisticated, urbane, cultured, refined sense of humor will not die when I pass from this mortal coil; I’ve passed it along to my grandson, Edison.

Named for the famous inventor who in actuality probably stole as many inventions as he created himself, nine-year-old Edison has inherited my sense of humor. Last night while rooting through some of my boxes in the basement, he also inherited the device which best exemplifies this particular brand of humor: my fart machine.

Oh, the cognoscenti among us might refer to it as a “flatulence generator” or “electronic rude noise apparatus,” but it’s a fart machine. Says so right on the box.

Essentially, it’s nothing more than an updated version of that staple of yesterday’s sophisticated humorist–the whoopee cushion. It consists of two parts; the transmitter and the noise-making receiver.

When Edison found the fart machine at the bottom of the box, it was love at first sight. He didn’t come right out and ask that I gift it to him, he didn’t have to. I saw the look in his eye. Being a grandparent, there was no way I was going to get between him and that fart machine.

“It’s yours,” I said.

Five minutes later he was across the street spending his own allowance on the batteries needed to resurrect the electronic whoopee cushion to flatulent life. That was three days ago. Since then, no one in the house has stood up, sat down or bent over without experiencing Edison’s judicious application of pooting sounds.

He and I think it’s pretty funny. Everyone else in the house responds to the joke with a weary sigh, for some reason.

I don’t know who invented the fart machine, but I’m glad he or she did (almost certainly he—humor as sophisticated as a fart machine seems to elude most women; not sure why).

At any rate, Eddie is having a great time with the device and I’m happy to see it getting some use again. It had been in that box for about ten years, since I had to hide it from the Former Lovely Mrs. Taylor in order to keep her from selling it at a garage sale.

Before that, though, I had a pretty good time with it myself. One of the best days of my life was the day I duct taped the receiver to the underside of the chair of the sales manager at my old office in Lakeview. She was a nice enough lady, though pushy, like all sales people have to be if they’re going to be any good at their jobs.

Every time she stood up or resettled in her chair, I would depress the button on the transmitter. The office secretary and I thought it was hilarious, the sales manager somewhat less so.

In the week or two I actually used the fart machine, it found its way beneath sofa cushions, into the bathroom (of course!), under the dinner table, and even into my bed. (That, I thought, was especially hilarious, though there was some contention on this point, as I recall.)

And now the torch has been passed to my grandson. No matter what, sophisticated humor finds a way to live on.

By the way, I’ve heard—and I don’t know if this is true—that the original Edison (Thomas, I mean) invented the whoopee cushion. Of course, it’s possible he just stole the idea from someone else.

More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com