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Friday, August 24, 2012


Greetings and Salutations to All my Kith and Kin and All the Ships in Outer Space:

Boy, oh boy, but I've got BRAGGING rights!

That fart was LOUD, and looooong!

Until now, I don't reckon I ain't never had a fart THAT good!

It's definitely worth writing about and posting on the Internet, huh?

Boy, but that was bodacious!

It rattled the windows, shook the doors, alarmed the critters, set off car alarms, and temporarily deafened the populace.

If my girlfriend, Sandi, who lives in Idaho would've heard it, she'd tell me it's a sign that I'm comfortable.

She lives in Moscow, so I reckon she must be one of them there deadly dangerous "Reds" from Russia, huh?

Way back when we were dating in Portland, Oregon, she'd joke about Roman hands and Russian fingers - - - , or was it Russian hands and Roman fingers?

Since I didn't have any money to buy her a ring, she told me we could live on love and eat the babies.

In Nineteen Sixty-Eight, after completing Basic Combat Training in Company "D", 3d Battalion, 1st Brigade at Fort Lewis, Washington, I was in Company "F", 3d Battalion, Student Brigade at Fort Gordon, Georgia, attending the Field Radio Relay and Carrier Equipment Operator (MOS 31 M 20) course at the United States Army Southeastern Signal School (USASESS).

File:Insignia signal.svg

After completing the tenth week of that twelve week course, I was transferred over to the Field Radio Relay and Carrier Equipment Repair (MOS 31 L 20) course in Company "B", 7th Battalion, Student Brigade.

In the 31 Mike course, one of the guys was a red headed farm boy from Wisconsin, Private Helms, who'd been drafted.

One day, I was in the barracks (I can't remember why - - - I must have been on some sort of work detail)), and our platoon sergeant and Private Helms were there.

Private Helms had just been given the news that he was being sent home on a Hardship Discharge.

If I remember correctly, he was the only child of an elderly couple, so they needed him on the farm in Wisconsin.

As the three of us were relaxing and casually chatting about something or other, I accidentally let one go.

Private Helms responded with,

"A fartin' horse
Will never tire,
And a fartin' man's,
The man to hire."

The sergeant laughed and commented about that being a classic farm boy's old saying.

At Spangdahlem Air Force Base in the Federal Republic of Germany, where I was TDY with Team "A-2", 11th Air Defense Signal Battalion, of the 32d Army Air Defense Command, guys would return to the barracks after a night of drinking German beer, and lying in their bunks, would have a farting contest, which would result in some hilarious remarks.

Ah, if ONLY we'd had a tape recorder for those events!

Unless you've personally been there, you wouldn't believe all the comedy that goes on among soldiers in an average United States Army barracks!


When I was a boy growing up in Spring Lake, North Carolina, I used to play with a couple of brothers, Butch and Buddy Champion, whose family were Cajuns from Louisiana, and who lived in the house directly behind my family's house, on the next street over.

Spring Lake, North Carolina is located just outside the main gate of Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and all three of us were "Army brats", with our houses located next to the woods, where we probably spent most of our time, picking huckleberries, blackberries, and pine cone nuts, as we'd explore and pretend we were soldiers in a war, digging foxholes.

Even back then, I was famous for my gas attacks, for the three of us would sit in a foxhole and compete to see whose farts were the stinkiest, and I always won the contest.

But, many years have passed, and now, I've become quite literally an "old fart".

The other day, I was reading somewhere on the Internet a bit of humorous advice for old geezers like myself, which warned, that at our age, we should - - - ,

"Never trust a fart!"

For the best effect, please be sure to enjoy watching, in "FULL SCREEN" mode, my homemade amateur video recording of ME (!), performing my original composition, "SPRING LAKE, NORTH CAROLINA", as I accompany myself by strumming simple chords on my Yamaha G-130A classical guitar.

Words and Music by:
Wednesday 13 May 1992

VERSE # 1:
I grew up in
Spring Lake, North Carolina,
A little Army town
Outside Fort Bragg.
A sergeant was my Dad
When I was just a lad
With all the other children
Playing tag.
In the woods
Around our home,
I always loved to roam;
Picked blackberries for
My Mama's cobbler pie.
Played soldier
With my pals;
Threw pine cones
At the gals.
I never thought those
Happy times would die. 

VERSE # 2:
I went back to
Spring Lake, North Carolina
To see how big
The little town had grown.
There's pollution
And there's crime
As a consequence of time.
Nothing stays
When changing winds
Have blown.
The woods have
All been paved.
The good times
Were not saved.
There's buildings
And there's garbage
All around
The Starlite Drive-in's gone,
T'weren't nothing left alone.
Mama's dead
And buried in the ground.


I never thought those
Happy times would die.

Thank you. 

John Robert Mallernee 
1800 Beach Drive, Unit 311 
Gulfport, Mississippi  39507


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