March 02, 2007
Originally published March 1, 2002
I named this blog site "Gut Rumbles" because I always wanted to play bass guitar in a rock-and-roll band by that name. Of course, I always wanted to play in a bluegrass band called "Cooter Gap," too. I never had the chance to stamp those names on any band, so I put "Gut Rumbles" here. It may not be pretty, but it sounds better than the "Cooter Gap Blog."
My son is with me this weekend, and I'm beginning to worry about that boy. I had pizza and bread sticks delivered to the house for supper tonight. He sat, wiggling and squirming and stuffing his face with pizza at the kitchen table while informing me that Michael Jordan may be too old to play basketball anymore, but he's still not FIFTY the way DADDY is, which is REALLY OLD. I am beginning to feel my ego collapse like the WTC towers when I discern a recognizable sound, accompanied by a distinctive aroma.
"Did you just poot?" I asked.
"I poot all the time," he answered, still scarfing pizza. "I think one time I went about ten or fifteen minutes without pooting. But that was when I was little."
He is SERIOUS about it, too. He poots A LOT. I don't know what his mama feeds him at home, but it must be cabbage, sausage, raw potatoes and pickled eggs, because he generates a hurricane of wind coupled with the scent of a South Georgia paper mill. A belly as young as his should not generate such disgusting things. But HE DOES.
Hell, I should have called this blog "Cooter Gap" and named him "Gut Rumbles."
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