#fart

Bringing Fame and Shame to the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop

March 23, 2016 By Elaine Ambrose

One week from today I’ll be flying to Dayton, Ohio as a speaker for the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. My famous fart will follow me there and linger throughout the conference because I’ve become a stinkin’ cartoon.

My friends and family have known for years that I have no shame, but now I can cut loose with some real proof. My essay on The Huffington Post, “Don’t Fart During an MRI,” inspired Lola, the sassy curmudgeon of the daily comic pages, to assume the position and copy me. I don’t want to raise a stink, sound offensive, or toot my own horn, but I’m putting on airs to permeate such a ripe compliment. This cartoon passes the smell test for lighting up my day. I’m truly relieved.

The silly post went viral and generated more than 720,000 “likes” on Facebook. The piece was subsequently published in Germany, Italy, Korea, France, and Brazil and reprinted in several newsletters and magazines. I was interviewed on the HuffPo Live streaming newscast for writing one of the top ten most-read posts in the 10-year history of The Huffington Post. After 40 years of professional writing, I finally got noticed because we all secretly have the maturity of 10-year-old boys.

elaine huffpo live 1

Todd Clark is the creator and artist for LOLA, a nationally syndicated comic strip featuring a sassy senior citizen. Clark introduced the character in 1999, and she’s still causing chuckles for readers of all ages. I met Clark as he was creating cartoons at the annual Guardian Ball in Boise, Idaho. The event benefits severely wounded, injured, and ill veterans in the Wyakin Warrior Foundation. The Foundation provides one of the most comprehensive education, mentoring, professional development, networking and job placement programs in the country for severely wounded and injured veterans. My stepson, a Marine who was wounded in Iraq, is a member of the Wyakin Warriors.

I told Clark about my embarrassing medical experience, and he quickly sketched some artwork showing Lola tooting in an MRI. It’s not exactly Wonder Woman, but the caricature fits my personality… and life experiences.

todd clark lola

Since World War II, cartoonists from the National Cartoonist Society have traveled all over the world to visit wounded troops being treated at military and VA hospitals. Todd Clark packs his pencils and sketch pads and joins other award-winning cartoonists who support our military veterans. I am grateful for his contributions to veterans, and I’m delighted and humbled that now Lola and I are comedic cousins.

I’l be speaking at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop about how to turn a blog into a book and how to write humor. I hope that my audience can appreciate a good fart story but also enjoy other tidbits of knowledge, as well. I don’t want to be remembered as that funny woman who farts.

Here’s a list of the translated versions of my fart story as it continues to permeate throughout the world. It’s the least I can do to bring about laughter and sharing among all peoples. The translations are archived on The Huffington Post.

Don’t Fart During an MRI – in Korea, Germany, Italy, France, or Brazil

나는 MRI 촬영을 하다 방귀를 뀌었다

Huffington Post

Read More: Huffington Post News

나처럼 극한의 창피를 끊임없이 감수해야 하는 가엾은 인간들과 동정을 나누고자 내 슬픈 이야기를 아래에 적어�…

Read Whole Story

나는 MRI 촬영을 하다 방귀를 뀌었다

Korea

Read More: Korea News

Warum Sie niemals im MRT furzen sollten

Germany

Ich möchte diese erbärmliche, aber wahre Geschichte erzählen, um mich mit anderen gequälten Seelen zu solidarisieren, die immer wieder Peinlichkeiten erleben und überleben. Mein Erlebnis aus dieser Woche dürfte schwer zu übertreffen sein: Ich habe im MRT gefurzt.

Read Whole Story

5 motivi per cui il sesso è migliore a 50 anni piuttosto che a 25

Italy

Uno dei molti vantaggi dell’invecchiare è che noi sappiamo ciò che ci piace e ciò non ci piace. E ora ci fa sorridere ricordare quei dieci minuti di frenetico armeggiare sul sedile posteriore della macchina di un adolescente dopo la scuola. Alla nostra età, preferiamo le lenzuola in cotone egiziano, il soft jazz e il lusso dei preliminari. Non siamo solo più vecchi, ma anche molto più saggi.

Read Whole Story

Ne pétez pas pendant une IRM

France C’est La Vie

SANTÉ – Je partage cette anecdote aussi vraie que pathétique en témoignage de ma sympathie pour d’autres âmes damnées qui, comme moi, traversent et survivent à des épreuves extrêmement humiliantes.

Read Whole Story

Não peide ao fazer uma ressonância magnética

Brazil

A minha experiência esta semana será difícil de superar: eu peidei dentro de um aparelho de ressonância magnética.

Read Whole Story

How a Fart Paid my Bills

April 1, 2015 By Elaine Ambrose

(Featured on The Huffington Post Comedy on April 2, 2015)

Many writers are opposed to writing for free, and I don’t blame them. It’s nice to get paid for our work, and “exposure” won’t pay the bills. But, sometimes a silly blog submitted on a prominent site can result in unexpected income.

A few months ago, I wrote a humiliating post about farting during an MRI procedure and submitted it to The Huffington Post Comedy page. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/dont-fart-during-an-mri_b_6044578.html The darn thing went viral with more than 685,000 hits and was translated into several languages, including Korean and German. I received emails from around the world and only can conclude that people in Korea like fart stories.

Anyway, my posts on HuffPo aren’t compensated, but my profile is on every post and it includes a link to my website, displays the covers of my two latest books, and adds links for how to purchase the books on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Midlife-Cabernet-Laughter-after-Fifty-ebook/dp/B00JA26JE0/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid= The sales of those books increased dramatically after the fart blog. Amazon pays quarterly, so I recently received payment for paperbacks and e-books sold since the blog was published, and the income was enough to pay off all my credit cards.

The e-book of Midlife Cabernet rose to #1 in sales in the humor category and #3 in the top 100 book sold in all categories. These rankings lasted only a few hours on December 24, 2014, but I was able to capture the image with the #1 ranking.

Amazon Best Sellers

Midlife Cabernet #1 in Humor, #3 in Top 100

Our most popular products based on sales. Updated hourly.

Best Sellers in Humor

Top 100 Paid

Midlife Cabernet: Life, Love & Laughter…

by Elaine Ambrose

4.9 out of 5 stars

Kindle Edition

The other value to blogging is that it uses my brain. It’s difficult for me to sit down and write 3,000 words for my next book, but a 500-word blog takes an hour or two. I enjoy creating a brief message that I hope is witty or at least enlightening. I finally learned how to add photographs and publish a cohesive blog on my website. It takes a few more minutes to post the blog to various sites, then I can relax and eat cookies and drink a celebratory glass of wine.

Some writers will scoff at the lack of literary value of my humorous blogs, and others will negatively judge my willingness to forfeit my professional reputation by capitalizing on a story for the 10-year-old boys within us. They have every right to hunker down and sweat over crafting the perfect sentence. (Is there one?) I, too, can write serious prose and I’m working on a memoir that is not humorous. But for now, I’ll just walk to the bank, farting all the way.

I’ve Become a Stinkin’ Cartoon

December 16, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

My friends and family have known for years that I am a character and a cartoon, but now I can cut loose some real proof. My “Don’t Fart in an MRI” inspired Lola, the sassy curmudgeon of the daily comic pages, to assume the position and copy me. I don’t want to raise a stink, sound offensive, or toot my own horn, but I’m putting on airs to permeate such a ripe compliment. This cartoon passes the smell test for lighting up my day. I’m truly relieved.

My essay on The Huffington Post has generated almost 680,000 likes since it was published in late October. (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/dont-fart-during-an-mri_b_6044578.html) The piece was subsequently published in Germany, Italy, Korea, and Brazil and included in several newsletters and magazines. After 40 years of professional writing, I finally got noticed because we all secretly have the maturity of 10-year-old boys.

Over the weekend, I met Todd Clark, the creator and artist for LOLA, a nationally syndicated comic strip featuring a sassy senior citizen. Clark introduced the character in 1999, and she’s still causing chuckles for readers of all ages. I told Clark about my embarrassing medical experience, and he quickly sketched some artwork showing Lola tooting in an MRI. It’s not exactly Wonder Woman, but the caricature fits my personality…and life experiences.

Clark was creating cartoons at the annual Guardian Ball in Boise, Idaho. The event benefits severely wounded, injured, and ill veterans in the Wyakin Warrior Foundation. The Foundation provides one of the most comprehensive education, mentoring, professional development, networking and job placement programs in the country for severely wounded and injured veterans. My stepson, a Marine who was wounded in Iraq, is a member of the Wyakin Warriors.

Midlife Cabernet: Don’t Fart during an MRI

October 2, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

I share this true but pathetic story to commiserate with other tortured souls who relentlessly endure and survive extreme humiliation. We’re a group of accident-prone fools who regularly trigger embarrassing situations that would permanently traumatize a normal person. My experience this week will be difficult to surpass: I farted inside an MRI machine.

In medical terms, I had torn the meniscus cartilage that acts as a shock absorber between my shinbone and thighbone. In middle-age woman terms, two demons from hell invaded my body and lit fires in my knee and then danced around poking the raw nerves with electric forks. The pain was beyond intense, and the accident severely damaged my body so I couldn’t stand, walk, or even crawl to the wine bar.

Five drug-induced days later, I finally saw an orthopedic surgeon. He manipulated my knee until tears streamed down my cheeks and I threatened to tear off his arms. It should have been obvious that I was injured by the way I was ripping off chunks from the sides of the examination table. I silently vowed to add him as a nasty character in my next short story. Finally, some lovely angel gave me legal narcotics. Soon my ravaged leg was a big, bandaged joke, and I laughed and laughed.

A few days later I experienced the MRI – a magnetic resonance imaging procedure that uses a magnetic field and pulses of radio waves to make images of damaged ligaments and joints. A handsome young technician helped me into the tube of terror and strapped down my leg. I nervously remarked that a first name usually was required before I allowed anyone to tie me in a bed. He didn’t laugh but ordered me to hold still for 45 minutes. So there I was, in pain, suffering from claustrophobia, moving on a conveyor belt into the white torture chamber, and I didn’t have a clue how to remain motionless. And, to complete the distress, my only audience wasn’t amused by my jokes.

After about 20 minutes, I started to get anxious. I was tied down in a tunnel and could only hear strange beeping noises and grinding sounds. For all I knew, they were deciding which body parts to extract and sell on the black market. Then a queasy feeling predicted a pending passing of gas. I bit my tongue, pinched my side, and tried to focus on a pastoral scene in a green meadow beside a babbling brook. I could hear my mother’s advice: “Squeeze the dime.” I fidgeted.

“Please hold still,” came a voice from outside the shaft of shame.

I watched as the lights and numbers revealed how much time remained. Three minutes. I could do it! No! My body betrayed me at the one-minute mark. I was trapped and helpless so my nervous body did what it does best: it farted. I released gas with the intensity and conviction of a team of sumo wrestlers after a chili-eating contest. And the confined space caused the sound to be amplified as if a dozen foghorns had simultaneously activated. I didn’t know whether to cry, giggle, or call my son and brag.

“Well now, I think we have enough images,” the handsome technician said, suppressing a laugh.

The magic bed moved backwards into freedom, bringing along the putrid stench of decay. I was mortified as my imaginary meadow became a ravaged pasture full of rotting manure. What in the hell had I eaten? I avoided eye contact with the timid technician and hobbled back to the dressing room. Once again, I accepted my fate of being the perpetual, reluctant clown, the oddball, the one who farts during a complicated medical procedure.

If I ever need another MRI, I’ll request a facility in Texas. Everyone farts there.

Bringing Fame and Shame to the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop

How a Fart Paid my Bills

I’ve Become a Stinkin’ Cartoon

Midlife Cabernet: Don’t Fart during an MRI

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