Sunday, August 24, 2008

And on That Note...

Mr. Z returned from camp, on Friday, with the dreaded "note home." That crisp, white, stapled sheet of paper, with the little miscreant's misdeed lurking within. But what could it say? Mr. Z is not a bully. He's never uttered a "bad word" in his life. He's respectful to adults. What could he have possibly done to warrant a "note home"?!





And just how does one punish rogue armpit flatus?

No tank tops for a week!

9 comments:

Carolyn (sea mystery) said...

I can't help it, but I had to laugh. Seems Mr. Z is just being a boy, and boys will be boys. I think the girls might have been giggling too. The counselor just didn't want to tell you that.

crabbydad said...

For the record, Carolyn, Miss O does a mean armpit fart to boot, so, at least in this house, we're equal opportunity tooters.

Toot toot!

leslie said...

Crabby Dad!
Just want to let you know that I have given you a Just Plain fun To Read Award on my blog...

I never mastered the pitfart. The neighbor boy stayed in perpetual trouble...he was a propitfarter.

crabbydad said...

Thanks, Leslie! Because of your kind gesture, I have dubbed thee an "honorary crab." (see sidebar). And you must not be cupping enough to create the proper vapor-lock in your pit. Remember, practice, practice, practice! Work the core!

Shad said...

It starts with armpit farting noises at camp, it ends with the manifesto written in pencil in the cabin deep in the Montana wilderness while listening to Stockhausen.

Greg in Montana said...

Yeah, good luck camp people. That note may as well have said, 'Could you please alter your son's DNA.' Back to my manifesto!

leslie said...

I am honored to be an Honorary Crab.
I will do you proud.

But not as proud as the Big Z!
Pit farts are an art form, not to be lightly dismissed by camp hirelings.
After many years of practice, I had to admit de feet, or de pit, as it were, and default to the "heels of hands over mouth" method of making fart noises.
And it's easier on the rotator cuffs, too.
I can't hula hoop, either.

Tiffany said...

You know what I think is great? That the counselor put quotation marks around the word farting.

As if it were some sort of euphemism for farting.

Ha ha ha haaaa.

Max hasn't mastered the armpit fart, but he can blow a MEAN wet raspberry on his arm.

He also greets me with bonafide "farts" (hehehe) in the morning.

-T.

Jon said...

I dunno. I thought camp was made for armpit farts. Or vice versa. Regardless, let your fart flag fly, Mr. Z.