Best Friend

There has only been one person in my life that enjoyed doing all the same things I did. Maybe that was why he was such an awesome father. We both enjoyed all aspects of fishing. We fly fished for trout, we loved surf fishing for red fish, we both had dreams of moving to the coast and running a charter boat, and bass fishing was in our blood. I grew up having weekend long marathons of our favorite movies like Star Wars, Indiana Jones, James Bond, Highlander, and Westerns. We read the same books and constantly argued whose turn it was to buy the next one.



We enjoyed the same video games too. Dad knew Mech Warrior from the inside out, he turned it into a science and hour long discussions of theory and battle strategy. Both of us were involved in World of Warcraft and would help each other do quests and instances. The last time I talked to Dad, a year ago today was on the computer while we stayed up to late playing WoW. We talked about how church was really good that day, and how Jesse did an awesome job of bringing the message in Mike's absence. I told him not to stay up to late or Mom would be mad and he laughed and told me he loved me.



I awoke to Devin and my phone waking me up. I looked and it was 4:30 in the morning, I answered it and it was my Mom. The rock of our family was audibly shaken when she asked me to pickup my brother and get down to the hospital as soon as possible, she wouldn't even tell me what was wrong. I was furious on the way to get my brother and on the way to the hospital. I can't explain why, but I was steaming mad for no apparent reason. I remember walking in and seeing my mom standing outside a room with tears down her face. That was when it hit me I had lost my best friend. My brother asked Mom what was wrong and she said that Dad didn't make it. Even though I already knew, hearing those four words shattered my soul. I sobbed uncontrolably and then I realized I had to be strong for my brother and my Mom. I still resent Dad for leaving me with that responsibility, why wasn't I allowed to be broken?

The rest of the day is a blur. I remember Jesse cussing in the hallway and I remember driving by all these places on the way home where I had memories of me and Dad spending time together. I remember me and Justin just holding eachother and crying in the garage. I remember how I realized I had lost my best friend. There might never be another person that enjoys all the same things that I do. Thankfully my 11 Month old Son has already started to take his place in being my best friend. Hopefully one day I can be as good a father to my son as my Dad was to me.

What's going on...

Just wanted to let my readers know that the format of this site is going to change. The stories that are already up are going to stay and the ones I write for fun may still get posted but this will now be my primary blogging site. A lot of publishers frown on things already being "published" online and I am starting to submit a lot of my stories now. Thanks for all the prayers your lifting up for me and my family this week, we feel them and appreciate them.

Check out: http://www.southernfriedweirdness.com/

My short story called the Clock King is being published in this anthology to be released later this summer.

Thanks,
Forrest L. Carter Jr.

Breach of Culture

There is a burden upon this country that has been causing immense pain and discomfort for years. The pressure of this problem demands release and attention, but there seems to be no freedom from the prejudice placed upon that release. It constantly seeks to escape from the bowels of humanity and yet our culture has thrown the chains of etiquette upon it. This burden is flatulent retention.

What is flatulent retention? It is the practice of holding in your gas instead of letting it pass. We all suffer from the burden of flatulent retention, according to Justin Mullins in New Science magazine, "The average adult in the Western world farts roughly 10 times a day, releasing enough gas to inflate a party balloon."

I myself have suffered from flatulent retention since I was a small boy and my mother would no longer accept the "Pull my Finger" jokes in her household. I am a victim, just like you. We must learn to proudly raise our leg high, and let it fly! Tonight I will show you why we must throw off these chains of etiquette and stop the practice of flatulent retention. First we will explore the problem of this cultural epidemic and then we will delve into the solution that will free us from these bonds.

Our culture has placed an unspoken law about passing gas in public, and in knowing the problem better we can better understand the need for a solution. This unspoken law states that passing gas in public is rude and inappropriate. And it is more frowned upon the higher in society you are. According to Sydney Singer a biologist and anthroplogist that searches for cultural or lifestyle causes of diseases states, "The higher your status, the less acceptable your flatus."

The reason we accept this unspoken rule is because of the initial discomfort a flatulent causes. First is the odor, many a time have we been stuck in an elevator or a crowded car and been struck suddenly by this discomfort. Maybe if we knew more about the flatulent we would not turn our noses up at the issuer of this "air biscut." Dr. Michael Levitt is a man who has been up to his elbows in flatulent research and other stuff, for the majority of his professional career. In an interview in Discover magazine he states that, "Only about 1% of typical flatus consists of foul-smelling gases." Why should we judge the gas we pass because of 1% of it's mass? Another reason people look down on flatulence is because they think it is dirty and unsanitary. But according to the results of an experiment described in the British Medical Journal to see if "tooting" nurses would cause infections during surgeries; flatulents are filtered by the clothes we wear. Even if you happened upon an emittance from a nude behind it would not contain any harmful bacteria.

What we don't realize is that our acceptance of these stinky stereotypes are not allowing people to release their inhibitions and bring ease to their pain. According to Sydney Singer, whom I quoted earlier in my speech, he asserts that pressure in the colon leads to diverticulitis, a painful disease where colon pressure makes outward pockets and digestive matter collects and festers. The most common reason for increased colon pressure is not really a medical issue, it is the cultural issue of flatulent retention. When we hold in the urge to relieve nature's call we are causing unnecesary pressure that can lead to diverticulitis. Hopefully we can all band together and abolish the practice of flatulent retention to ease the suffering felt across the country.

The solution to this problem is to lead by example and, together, stop the practice of flatulent retention. Hopefully others will follow. It may seem silly, but we would not be the first ones to do this, according to emedicinehealth.com The Roman Emperor Claudius decreed that “all Roman citizens shall be allowed to pass gas whenever necessary.” Flatulence has even been turned into an art form. According to Richard Stiehm with Pediatrics magazine, "a Frenchman referred to as "Le Petomane became affluent as an effluent performer who played tunes with the gas from his rectum on the Moulin Rouge stage." We actually have the freedom in this country to pass gass whenever nature calls, but usually we put that call on hold till a more "appropriate" time. Let it go, I say! Would you rather suffer from embarassment or constant pain? We are all on the frontlines of the war against flatulent retention, it is our duty to rip a good one when we feel the need! The only solution is to raise awareness of the problem and start to pass gas when we feel the rumbly down in your tumbly.

I hope now you know the importance of stoping the practice of flatulent retention. I have shown you the problem we all suffer from and offered the only solution. (Hold up visual aid; whoopee cushion.) Hopefully we can view this item no longer as a symbol of humor and crudeness, but a symbol of freedom. The freedom to release the pressure from the depths of our bodies and souls. So once again I ask, no I beg you, raise up your ass and pass some gas, because it is better out than in. (Press down on whoopee cushion.)

Rednecks of Rivendell

We had been driving for hours through the mountain roads of Arkansas. Our quest for the flesh of the tasty trout had been successful and we were on the long trek back home when we happened through the town of Rivendell, Arkansas. The gas light had just blinked on and we decided to stop and fill up and look for somewhere to eat. We pulled our mighty Toyota Tacoma into the first gas station we saw, Lord ElRon's Kum and Go. I left my fellow adventurer Zane to pump the gas and I went inside to converse with the locals.

" Hail good citizens! We are passing through on the journey back from a long and arduous quest and hope to seek sustenance in this fair town," I announced as I walked through the chiming door. A man behind the counter with the most rocking mullet I have ever experienced and the pointy ears of an elf looked up from behind his MELFs magazine.
"Wellll hell boy! Welcome to the home of the Elves and the Dale Earnhardt fan club. I am Lord ElRon. If you need it, the pisser is in the back, and my daughter A. Owens makes a mean Lambis Bread and rabbit stew down at the Mother Elfin Cafe about two blocks down."
I saluted the man in thanks and returned to my fellow adventurers.
"Tis a strange land Sir Zane, tell my brother Justin to be wary of his tongue and let's seek to slay our hunger at this Mother Elfin Cafe."

So we mounted our mighty steed and drove the short distance to the cafe. When we arrived we noticed the cafe was full of the strange locals and we took a seat amongst them. A young waitress came over and asked us what we would have.
"Well I have heard the Lambis bread and Rabbit stew is quite good, we will all have a bit of that."
She put her hands on her hip and smiled, "Did Lord Elron tell you that? He just loves my Lambis corn bread and rabbit stew. I'll bring some right out."
As we waited for our order and took in the surroundings, these were not your normal elves we had read about in the tomes of old. Instead of long elegant bows of wood they had Tri-Cam Matthews compound bows and quivers of carbon fiber arrows. Instead of the graceful Toyota Avalon they drove Ford and Chevy pickup trucks with lifts and 33-inch mudders. We received our food and ate until we could eat no more.

When we arose to leave we noticed a few of the strange elves meandering around our mode of transportation. We walked out the door and I hailed them.
"Greetings!"
There were three of them, all with trucker hats and stained white tank tops. One of them smiled with several gaps showing ans said, " Boy, yalls got pretty ears! Sure would like to make you squeal like an Orc!" My jaw dropped and I rared back and punch the elf right in the cake hole. Then in the confusion we jumped in the truck and sped off towards the safety of home. Many a day my companions and I look back on the experience of Rivendell and shudder in disgust. Although...that was some really good Lambis corn bread at the Mother Elfin Cafe.