Adventures with Rudy "The Ogler" Oglethorpe: The Ultimate Dick

The scene is a Las Vegas hotel. RUDY and his two friends are sitting at an indoor bar that opens out to the courtyard pool. It is the afternoon and they are sipping cocktails, gearing up for another night of raucous, offensive, nearly grotesque debauchery. Other than the three of them and the BARTENDER, the place is deserted.

Out of nowhere, a FAT MAN rushes up to the entrance of the bar in a distressed state. He's almost sweaty and is breathing heavily. Wearing only an enormous bathing suit, a fishing hat, flip flops and, stretched impossibly tight around his huge waist, a ridiculous red pool float that somewhat resembles a dragon, the man waves wildly at Rudy and his friends.

FAT MAN: Hey, did you guys hear? There's an ambulance out by the pool! Some guy...

RUDY: [interrupting loudly] Oh no! Is there a crisis in Fatty Land?

After a full second of silence, FAT MAN splutters for a moment and RUDY puts down his drink on the bar. His friends wear knowing smirks. The bartender keeps on watching TV, ignoring the drama that is unfolding.

RUDY: What is that you say? They're out of powder for the donuts in the Sweets Factories? The cheesecake assembly lines are lying dormant waiting for spare parts? How ever will the city produce enough doughy yummies to keep the country-folk in good rotund health? They need to take in the chocolate harvest soon or the first frosting will wipe out the whole crop! What ever will we do?

FAT MAN: [softly, suddenly unsure of himself] I'm not joking. This is serious.

RUDY: Wait! I know what we can do! We'll sing the Fatty Song! That always makes me feel better in times like this.

FAT MAN tries to interject, but RUDY cuts him off by singing an introductory note.

RUDY: Ooooooooohhhhhh...

[sung to the tune of the end credits song of Super Mario World]

When you are fat
Life can be tough.
When you are fat
People can be rough.
When you are fat
The world can be mean.
You're not sure on who to rely!

But don't you worry
Good times are ahead.
Oh don't you worry
You'll have friends instead,
Of the miserable life
You normally lead.
You've got to come to Fatty Land!

Oh no you better not cry my child
You better turn that frown upside down.
You better not complain about how you can't
Fit in the kiddie pool!

For, Fatty Land
Is where we all go
To feel right at home
Even though we might grow
So epically huge
That even Mom says:

It's time
To go
It's time
To come
To Fatty Land
To Fatty Land

Oh, Fatty Land
Has so many sweets.
Oh, Fatty Land
Just can't be beat.
Oh, Fatty Land
You make me so glad that:

It's time
To go
It's time
To come
To Fatty Land
To Fatty Land

Nobody loves
A fat kid, no
Nobody loves
A fat kid, no
No nobody loves
A fat kid, except:

In Fatty Land
In Fatty Land
In Fatty Land
In Fatty Fatty

Fat!
Fat, fat,
Fat, fat,
Fat, fat
Fat, fat!

Fatty Land!

There is a good thirty seconds of silence as FAT MAN stares straight ahead, gape-jawed. RUDY picks up his drink and takes a contented sip. His friends, who spent most of the song laughing quietly and shaking their heads, are looking expectantly at FAT MAN to see how he will react.

Somewhat disappointingly, to them, he merely rapidly shakes his for a moment, as if to shake away the memory of the last three minutes, and quietly walks away. The sound of his flip flops fade from the bar.

BARTENDER: Dude, you're a fucking dick.

RUDY: I know.

BARTENDER: [smiling] But, that was fucking hilarious.

RUDY: [smiling wider than ever] I know.

BARTENDER: I think you just made my week, man. Have a round on me, guys.

RUDY: Fuck yeah! [High fives his friends] The Ogler strikes again!

The first in a series of anecdotes from The Life of Barry James

This selection is from the introduction to The Life of Barry James, World-Class Flatulator: An Odoriferous Autobiography.

[ed. note: I recently obtained a copy of this splendid self-published volume and decided that I would share some choice parts with you, my readers, as a series of promotional articles. I hope you find the life of Barry James to be as enlightening as I have. While not among the greatest writers I've ever read, his 500-plus page masterpiece works more on a functional (dare I even say visceral?) level, while maintaining readability. I should know...I've already read it twice! Enjoy!]

Contrary to some of the stereotypes you may have heard concerning flatulators (whether amateur or professional) I consider myself to be a very cultured person. I attend classical music concerts and operas with great regularity. In fact, as long as the performers are at least somewhat on par with my world-class skills and talents, I often participate in the programme to give the audience that special surprise and pleasure that comes from recognizing that another, unannounced, world-class performer is in the house.

Indeed, when attending a concert hall at which I am a regular visitor, I sometimes catch myself scouring the pages of the programme looking for a little asterisk next to an aria. I imagine the note at the bottom of the page informing the patrons that Barry James, World-Class Flatulator may be in attendance and, if it pleases him, may choose to add some of his considerable talent to the piece. I've yet to find such a note, but I keep looking from time to time. In any case, lack of written public acknowledgement will never stop me from from practicing my love of flatulence!

For instance, let's pretend that we are seated in one of my favorite halls and a weepingly beautiful aria is currently caressing our ears. As an experienced performer, I will select the perfect time to perform my art. When the moment arrives, I will judge the mood of the crowd and react accordingly. If I want to keep it standard, I will usually go with a "semi-moist snap," (see pgs xiii-xxii for definitions of technical terms) or the lightly amusing "Surprised Buckaroo." If I really want to wow the crowd with a display of skill and control, I may go with a sharp, crisp "Warbling Muskrat." Though, I'd be most likely to pull out the "Oxford Clap" for an aria, as its dull, repetitive sound would not be too intrusive as to break the mood of the piece, but would be unmistakeably heard by all those in attendance. A four to four and a half second duration would suffice in that case.

As this is the introduction, I'll also note that I don't bother with controlling odor at outdoor venues, as breezes are too hard to predict. I thus focus solely on acoustics, as that is challenge enough when dealing with open environments. Inside a hall, I usually attempt to make the odor sharp, pungent (but not too malodorous) and brief, so that roughly two rows in front and behind me, and about five seats to my right and left, may turn their heads in acknowledgement, but not be too burdened by any lingering scents.

Young, would-be professional flatulators out there, take note! More selections from Barry James will be forthcoming as a service to you, as I know that it is notoriously difficult to get your hands on this book. I found it in the trash at a used bookstore, so I'm currently unable to give you any leads for tracking down more copies. Just keep your eyes open! If I hear anything, even just sad little rumors, I'll post about it immediately. Bon chance!