Oh dear God. What have I done? In hindsight, in retrospect, as I look back on it, and with reflection, I can see now where I have made a massive, huge, bigly, grave mistake. The worst part? I have no clue at all how to fix what I’ve broken, probably permanently.
At this point in time, my dog Rufus can’t fart. That’s not to say he has some gastrointestinal blockage, or any serious medical condition that literally prevents him from farting. I mean this more metaphorically, because if he does fart, he runs the risk of alienating and upsetting good, decent people around him.
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Granted, a dog fart is really kind of always an offensive thing. That is to say, it offends the nostrils and makes one wretch and gag quite easily, even the most common of household canine rectal sneezes. However, when every other dog on the planet farts, they don’t make a sound with their assholes that is eerily similar to what it sounds like when Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene speaks, but my dog does.
And it’s all my fault.
I taught Rufus how to fart on cue. I thought it was funny, at first, the idea of giving my dog a treat every time he squeezed a stinker into the ether. After a few short weeks, I could issue the command, “Butt Speak,” and Rufus would fart. Friends and family thought it was hilarious at first, but then, oh but then.
“I hate to tell you this,” one of my friends said one night after Rufus had issued forth one of his anal expulsions by my command, “but when Rufus farts now, it sounds like that horse from TV.”
It took me aback.
“Mr Ed,” I asked. “That show hasn’t been on the air in forever, what made you think of that?”
My friend laughed.
“No, I mean, that lady. With the Jewish space lasers or whatever,” my friend continued. “Mango Craycray Greene or whatever the fuck her name is. Rufus’ farts sound like her speaking!”
I couldn’t believe it. Was it true? Had I trained Rufus to do a Marjorie Greene impression with his sphincter? I gave the command, and once more Rufus let out a large butt burp. And, much to my chagrin, it did in fact sound like her.
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Holy. Fucking. Shit. My dog’s asshole was sounding so much like Marjorie Greene that when it got done farting, Don Trump appeared out of a cloud of smoke that smelled like McNuggets and gave Rufus a high-five. I couldn’t believe it; I had turned my dog’s butthole into the worst human being on the planet.
Quickly, I realized that I couldn’t take Rufus anywhere like I used to. The first time he broke ass in our favorite, dog friendly restaurant, we were chased out of there by the staff who told us they don’t let racists eat there. I tried to explain, but they were too worried, understandably, about the potential of a domestic terrorist ordering Eggs Benedict from them that they pushed me out of the door without much more conversation.
I’m not sure what to do. My vet says he can’t help, because he can’t stand the thought of even accidentally hearing that shrill harpy screeching. I’m at a loss. If anyone out there knows how to help me, please, contact me here at this publication.
And let me serve as a warning to everyone: be careful training your pets to fart. You never know what might come out in the end.
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Writer/comedian James Schlarmann is the founder of The Political Garbage Chute and his work has been featured on The Huffington Post. You can follow James on Facebook, Spotify, and Instagram, but not Twitter because Twitter is a cesspool.
