“Buster was queer as a cat fart.”

“Human beings in there took turns standing or lying down. The legs of those who stood were like fence posts driven into a warm, squirming, farting, sighing earth. The queer earth was a mosaic of sleepers who nestled like spoons.”

“Fart for freedom, fart for liberty—and fart proudly.”

“Home is where the heart is, home is where the fart is.Come let us fart in the home.There is no art in a fart.Still a fart may not be artless.Let us fart and artless fart in the home.”

“She doesn’t look like a Buster,” I declared, “more like a Princess Fancy Pants.”Tate was bent and pulling a skilled out of a cupboard. His head tipped back and his eyes locked on mine.“You call my cat Princess Fancy Pants, Ace, we got problems.”

“I fart, you fart, he farts, she farts.Let’s not deny it, people. Farting is a regular, healthy, and hilarious part of life. Squeezing out big plumes of noxious gas doesn’t always smell good, but it generally feels might fine.”