Fart.

Booty Bomb.

Cornhole clap.

Anal acoustics (my personal favorite).

Does that make you giggle? Just a little bit? How about “Who cut the cheese?” or “Someone’s panties are screaming!”  I don’t know why farts are so funny. The whole concept of smelly gas being pushed out of, or maybe accidentally escaping, anyone’s anal sphincter will set off rounds of hysterical giggles in my house.

Especially dog farts. The funniest thing I’ve ever seen is watching my kids react to a dog passing gas. The dog let one go, jumped up and looked confused, and ran out of the room with his tail between his legs. Chaos ensued. My kids laughed for an HOUR, imitating the dog and talking about butts.

The power of the fart is incredible, really. My threenager can be in the throws of an epic tantrum because her crustless toast wasn’t crustless enough or because the red plate she asked for turns out to be…wait for it…it’s a shock…red. If my son walks by her, lifts his leg, and lets out a little poot, her wails of woe suddenly become giggles. That’s all it takes. Just a little one. And everyone gets to bond by screaming, “Ohhhhhhhhhh! He farted! He is a fartface! Hahahahahaha.”

Usually pointing is involved so everyone knows exactly who did the farting. This attention encourages a second toot, usually performed with substantially more force than the first one. The second wind tunnel is usually worthy of an award. It’s loud, like stepping on a duck, and resonates across the room (Disclaimer: I have never stepped on a duck. I just imagine the sound that would emanate from a squished duck would be similar to a forceful squeaky air biscuit). Everyone gets to giggle and point and scream and run in excited circles. This is all followed by armpit farts and imitation windies because an anus has a limited amount of gas to expel in one sitting, and the hilarity must continue.

I am considering adding fanny beeps to my parenting arsenal. I think they would be a powerful motivational tool. Certainly better than yelling. Save your vocal cords – rip out a hot one instead! I can only imagine the scenarios where farts-as-punishment could be useful.

You better share those Octonaut toys! I’m coming over there with a big stinker!

We don’t hit each other in this house! If I see it again you are getting blasted!

If you don’t get off the counter, I will let a stink toad loose in here!

Get to bed. There will be no crying, whining, fighting, second potty trips, extra drinks, and don’t even ask for a snack. You get 1 book, then lights out, understand? If you break the rules, I will break wind. And no one wants that after burrito night.

I think this could work wonders in my personal life as well. There are so many possibilities. Annoying salesman/religion pusher/neighbor at your door during nap time? Just a sweet smile and a silent-but-deadly should take care of it.

Meddling Mother-in-law visit? Pre-plan meal times to include broccoli, beans, and cabbage. She won’t stay long after the butt bubbles start floating.

Had a long day and the hubs is giving you his version of the sexy-time face? Make sure you get in bed first and populate the sheets with a few good fluffies. Suddenly he will get an urge for a Netflix binge.

Perhaps my favorite use for the mating call of the North American Barking Spider is while waiting in line. There is a particular big box store that has warehouse prices and a selling floor the size of an airplane hangar. The prices are great, and they even have a surprisingly good selection of organic produce. But the lines are heinous. I mean, wrapped around the aisles. It’s a place you avoid on Saturday morning. I haven’t tried this (yet), but I’d like to let you in on my fart fantasy:

I strategically plan my shopping trip for the morning after my MIL visits. I shop quickly and wear maternity pants to accommodate the bloating forces within. When I’m approaching the line, I start dropping those walking bombs with each step. Like crop-dusting. When I’m surrounded by a hazy cloud, I get in the longest line and see who drops first. Then I quietly engage in my personal rendition of Horton Hears a Poo. Entertainment and expedited check-out all in one!

Fire in the hole, my friends. Fire in the hole.