IT ONLY COSTS $4 TO HAVE THE GREATEST FUN OF YOUR LIFE
Today I want to talk to you about whoopee cushions, or as I call them, fart cushions. Fart cushions are the greatest thing ever invented. They are the cause of the greatest joy that you will ever know in your 21 months of life.
But they’re not all fun and games. Let’s say you’ve spent two straight hours yelling, “Fart!” and laughing hysterically, attempting to sit on the fart cushion, pushing it on your head, pressing it against your belly, stepping on it, and dare I say, stomping on it. Let’s say you stomped on it a little too hard. And by a little too hard, I mean so hard that you tore it a new fart hole. And despite what you may have thought/hoped, having a new fart hole does not make it fart louder. Instead, it makes the fart cushion not. fart. at all. Then, all of a sudden, the fart cushion is not as great as you thought it was. It’s the crusher of all your hopes and dreams (of farts), the Oliver to your Brady Bunch, the Speidi to your Lauren, the unironic ra-ay-ay-in on your wedding day. The fart cushion is the worst thing in the entire world.
WHY GOD WHYYYY?!
Some say I farted too much, too hard. But it is better to have farted once than to have never farted at all.
I’m reviewing this important document about checks, telling Mama which ones are my favorite and which ones have Cinderella and how I want to bring it to Show & Tell. – Bert
I’m fascinated by whatever that is that Haha has. Also, I’m yelling, “cheeries!” like there’s a fire and cheeries are 9-1-1 until Dada brings me more cheeries (you know, the fruit with the stems and the pits that your parents cut out). – Duke
I thought I was pretty clear.
Still waiting on that Sriracha, Mama.
Why did you put me in a t-shirt that says, “I do my own stunts” if you’re gonna freak out every time I do my own stunt?
Super Fan: Baby/Arthur
People have been throwing around the words “prodigy” and “rock star”, but I’m just a kid who likes to drum. In perfect rhythm. At the age of 17 months. I’m sorry I don’t have a “talk show” and I can’t “stop drooling” and I haven’t learned “complete sentences” besides “bye bye, Mama” or “cheese now!”. I bet you didn’t know how to drum like this before you were out of diapers, unless you’re Tommy Lee, in which case, “hi, Tommy Lee! Call me on my banana phone.”
Oh so Bert gets a show and I don’t? Not on my watch! Bert already gets to eat the gummi bear vitamins and hogs all the bath crayons and face forward in the car.
Here’s my show. Don’t call it a spinoff. I’m not the Joey to her Friends; I’m not the Lisa Bonet to her Keshia Knight-Pulliam. How do I know these references? Don’t worry about it.
Instead, watch “Ask George” and admit it’s just as good, if not better than “Ask Hazy”.