Tag Archives: David Madrid


Consider flatulence, which is a fancy word for farting.

I know. I know. Talking about farts is impolite and should not be done in public. Butt, I have to ask; who here was taught flatulence manners?

That’s what I thought. It is a stinky subject, and shame on Emily Post for ignoring farting. She literally wrote the books on etiquette?

A fart is something we laugh at, and the embarrassed emitter of said fart is ridiculed either verbally or mentally. That’s not right. One should be free to fart anywhere without shame, unless it is in my general vicinity.


Before we get into manners, I have some flatulence facts for you:

  • Flatology is the scientific and medical study of farts. I wonder if that is a booming industry. Flatus is the medical word for gas generated in the stomach or bowels.
  • According to flatology experts, farting is the expulsion of that gas from the intestines via the anus. Sorry to be so crude, but I didn’t write that; someone on Wikipedia did.
  • Humans c an average of 14 times a day. Even the most beautiful women in the world fart. Sorry to break that to you boys, but your toots are disgusting, so don’t judge your fellow flatulators.
  • Fart is shorter and funnier than flatulence, hence the popularity of the word. Some call it passing wind in an attempt to sanitize the fart.

Yes, I made up the word flatulator. It is more euphonious than flatulist or fartist, don’t you think?


Because Emily Post didn’t complete her job, I’ll offer help. My first rule for manners of flatulating near people is to ask politely “May I flatulate?”



Just walk away before you fart so nobody hears or smells you. That is manners.

Unless you are on an elevator. Ever wonder why there are so many elevator fart stories and jokes? Elevators must be common settings for errant or intentional farts.

Don’t tell anyone, but I heard there is a group of people who intentionally fart on elevators. They are called the Stink Bomb Mafia, and they are committed to their art, which is what they call it.

Suppose you are in an elevator, and you emit a silent-but-deadly. What should you do?

Fart etiquette, if there were such a thing, would require you to apologize for the fluffy, while complaining you had to flatulate and could hold it no longer.



Never admit to a fart you can conceal.

Blame Game

Because there is no fart etiquette, some fart knockers have turned flatulence into a blame game.

For example, wait to see if someone comments on your invisible stench so you can say “Whoever smelt it, dealt it.”

Then you hold your nose and look with disdain at the unwitting fly that fell into your trap. This maneuver is called the Spider and the Fly. Have you ever heard a spider bark. Sounds like poot.

Suppose your fart is audible. What then?

Jump back. Hold your nose. Point to the person nearest you, and say “Ewwwwww!!!!!” This is called The Misdirection.

If you are caught, and there is no way out, simply lift a foot slightly off the ground, push out your butt a bit and grunt and wince as if you are trying to conjure up a one-cheek squeak, but the tweeter never comes.

Sigh in relief, and put your leg down. People are grateful you didn’t bathe them in more flatus molecules, yet they are embarrassed for you. See what you did there? You unsettled them. This is the classic Wait, Wait, Never Mind move.

Finally Caught

If you can’t escape blame, fall to your knees and raise your arms and praise God for the ability to fart. Tell people that without these booty bombs, we would explode into a million pieces. This technique is called The Mortality.

Not to mention people get nervous when you bring God into it. Tell them The Good Book teaches that the wind blows where it wishes.

Sorry I veered off of fart etiquette and into fart tactics. I offered three rules: ask if you may flatulate; admit and apologize for your flatulence, or walk away and then fart. But it didn’t seem you were interested.

Or you can let one rip. Own the honker. Be loud; be proud. Don’t apologize. Imagine yourself the greatest of all flatulators.

Sorry, I cannot approve of your behavior, you fecal-fumed terrorist. This is undeniably a breech of etiquette in my book if I had one.

“That’s all for now my fellow flatulators; as the Stink Bomb Mafia says: “May your farts be stealthy.”

David Madrid.

Thank you Adobe Stock for providing the photos. Yes, I have an account.

With apologies to Emily Post, (born Oct. 27, 1872 or Oct. 3, 1873, in BaltimoreMaryland—died Sept. 25, 1960, in New York) who was an American authority on social behavior. She crafted her advice by applying good sense and thoughtfulness to basic human interactions except when it came to flatulence.

Encyclopaedia Britannica

A Thousand-Mile Journey

A stone sculpture of Lao Tzu, located north of Quanzhou at the foot of Mount Qingyuan in East China. Thanks to Creative Commons for use of this photo. The statue is about 1,000 years old.

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”



Lau Tzu

This simple teaching tells us any endeavor, adventure, plan or fulfillment of a dream, begins with a first step.

The saying is from Chapter 4 of the Tao Te Ching, a Chinese philosophical and religious text said to be written by 6th Century BC philosopher Lauzi, whom we identify today as the Lau Tzu.

A contemporary of Confucius, arguably the most famous of Eastern philosophers and widely regarded as the greatest wise man, it is said Lau Tzu and Confucius met several times. Lau Tzu was the elder.

We dream of doing great things but don’t commit to action because of risk, embarrassment or potential failure, so we continue to live our lives in a state of what could have beenism.

Take that first step, and suddenly, potentially, the dream becomes reality, the plan is realized, the problem solved.

Or not.

Sometimes we fail, and then we must learn to take the next first step on a new path.

David Madrid

Depiction of Lauzi, known popularly as Lau Tzu, in E. T. C. Werner’s “Myths and Legends of China.” LauTzu is said to be a 6th century BC philosopher. It is said he authored the Tao Te Ching, the foundation of Taoism.

David Madrid.

© 2024 FabulousFables.com

Contact: David Madrid

Superior People

‘Each man is my superior in that I may learn from him.’

I am paraphrasing Ralph Waldo Emerson, great American philosopher and poet, who actually said, “In my walks, every man I meet is my superior in some way, and in that I learn from him.”

I shortened the quote long ago just for myself to better remember it and its lesson.

If you are open to consider each person can teach you something, you are open to accept their humanity.

This way of thinking will check your ego, especially if you consider yourself all that.

This belief, put in practice, will make you feel better about people, and eventually, yourself.

Emerson was born in Boston on May 25, 1803 and died April 27, 1882.

© 2024 FabulousFables.com

Contact: David Madrid

My Shirt

There hangs in my closet a shirt so old, a thriving Aztec civilization was playing ball on its courts when the shirt was made.

That’s an old shirt.

It is said the shirt was made at the peak of the Mexica — which is what the Aztecs called themselves — civilization in 1520.

That is 503 years ago.

  • 183,595 days ago.
  • 4,406,280 hours ago.
  • 264,376,800 minutes ago.
  • 1.58 billion seconds ago.

More or less.

How time flies when you’re counting nanoseconds. I won’t go there.


I broke down the numbers so you understand how the Aztecs saw the world.

To the Mexica the universe is made of numbers, and math moves the numerals into equations that transform into matter and then action.

Everything — birth, life, death, the seasons with planting and harvests based on astronomy, architecture, human sacrifice and even love — in the end it is all encompassed in mathematics.

The Shirt

How is it possible that I own such a shirt?

The shirt is magic; it finds its host.

It found me in the Arizona desert where an old man lived in a small adobe home near the Sierra Estrella southwest of Phoenix.

The man, who looked as old as he claimed the shirt was, said the shirt brought me to him, and this article of clothing belonged to me now.

You probably think I’m a little loose in the head, and I understand.


This shirt, I won’t call it mine, because I feel I am his’ or hers’ or its’, whatever the heck it is?

This piece of clothing was made from reed fibers that grew on the shores of Lake Texcoco near the seat of power when the Aztecs were ascendent.

Strong fibers, reduced to smaller fibers of a specific number and braided, produced the strongest cloth ever made; then the shirt was infused with a brujo’s sorcery.


Brujos are male witches –call them warlocks, witchdoctors, whatever — who know the secrets of plants. They are properly called yerbedos, herbal healers.

They also know the secrets of the desert and its snakes and their venoms; so watch out.

Brujas are their female counterparts, and in Mexico, South America and the Southwestern United States, these witches still exist and are justifiably feared.


I don’t know how many fibers are needed to make this cloth; that is a lost science from another time, but some say it was in the billions, as absurd as that sounds.

The shirt is indestructible, and that’s some wicked magic, my friends.

The shirt doesn’t age, and it boasts a replica of the Sun Stone, a priceless Aztec calendar the Spanish buried because they considered it pagan.

It was rediscovered in Mexico City, Dec. 17, 1790.

My shirt is as old as the calendar, and its image, round and complex, is sewed into the cloth.

The original calendar was full of color, adding another dimension to the beauty and magic of the stone, but as the color faded on the stone, so it faded on the shirt.


My calendar tingles as I feel the rotation of the Earth and its relation to the cosmos and time, upon my chest.

I don’t understand the arithmetic, but this is it in a nutshell:

1The calendar consists of a 365-day calendar cycle called xiuhpōhualli (year count), and a 260-day ritual cycle called tōnalpōhualli (day count).

It’s two calendars in one.

I see the numbers the Mexica saw only when I wear the shirt, which I do sparingly, because it takes a physical toll when you are overwhelmed by an ocean of numerals.

I do not know what the numbers mean, but I feel them in my soul, and sometimes, with much effort, I can see the numbers as a whole.

I am fascinated to see our universe from the Aztec perspective, numbers never looked so beautiful.

This is my shirt below; you are looking at an eternally enchanted artifact.

The Aztec “Calendar Stone”. Museo Nacional de Antropología, Mexico City. With permission of Wikimedia Commons

The Sun Stone presides over the Mexica Hall of the National Museum of Anthropology. The stone is 12 feet in diameter, 39 inches thick and 54,210 pounds.

© 2024 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

  1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aztec_calendar ↩︎

Rastas Boodrow, cool kid

There are Christmas stories, and then there are Christmas stories.

How do you tell them apart?

A true Christmas story hugs your heart, and you recognize its truth.

The story sinks into your soul.

The truth reveals itself.

I give you a Christmas story that will touch your soul.

Read: Rastas Boodrow: A Christmas Story

Not your typical Christmas story.

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Contact: David Madrid

Read “Rastas Boodrow: Mathematical Mastermind“, a blog in which you learn more about a little boy genius.

Rufus the Warrior Reindeer 2023

In the first book of the Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer duology, we find the warrior reindeer preparing to wrestle his famous red-nosed cousin Rudy,

The sequel begins like this:

       The day of reckoning had finally arrived. It was time Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer was taught a lesson and removed as head of the herd.

        Since he took over the Reindeer Corps, slovenliness had set in, and a certain red-nosed reindeer was going to put a stop to that.

        All Rudy needed to do was defeat his smug cousin Rufus in a wrestling match. Rufus was actually a  humble reindeer, except when it came to wrestling.

To read this story, go to “Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer: The Reckoning.”

The End

© 2010 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

Illustrations by Vincent Rogers

Also read Rufus the Snot-Nosed Reindeer

Thanksgiving 2023

Thanksgiving is a day of giving thanks for our many blessings.

Be thankful you are alive, for life is the most precious of gifts.

Sometimes it may seem unfortunate to be alive, but put those misgivings aside this holiday and thank someone who deserves your gratitude.

The thing about thankfulness is it can release the self doubt within you and make the soul cleaner somehow.

I am not going to lecture you about giving thanks, which you can do face-to-face or by simply acknowledging it in your heart.

This blog is to reintroduce you to a Thanksgiving story: Gilbert the Dancing Hummingbird.

It is a different kind of Thanksgiving story.

Read it here: Gilbert the Dancing Hummingbird

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

The Spider and the Fly

Mary Howitt, (1799–1888) published The Spider and the Fly in 1829. It is a cautionary tale about the use of flattery and charm to mask evil and unsavory intentions. Although written so long ago, the poem is as relevant today as the day it was written. That is why I have included the poem here in FabulousFables.com. The poem’s lesson is timeless.

Moral: Beware the honey-tongued charlatan.

Read “The Spider and the Fly.”

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

The Dreamcatcher: A Horror Story

The dreamcatcher was a gift a grandfather gave to his grandsons to protect them from bloody nightmares.

Though not technically a Halloween story, “The Dreamcatcher” is a horror story, which makes it a good story for Halloween.

The relic, though, held power beyond the capture of the dreams of little boys.

Fed by the nightmares of brothers Charles and Victor, it had the power to protect.

And protect it did.

Read “The Dreamcatcher.”

You will be happy you did, as you find that there are forces out there unseen, unknown and supernatural, forces the modern eye cannot see.

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid

Halloween Cometh

Werewolves are scary.

You’ve seen the movies.

A person growing into a wolf with bones stretching and cracking, with face lengthening outward into a werewolf mug.

Hands and feet turn into long sharp claws.

Growing twice the size of human dimensions.

Hair everywhere, top to bottom, coarse.

Humanity disappears as the wolf asserts itself.

The werewolf lives to kill and eat; he has the heart of a wolf after all.

And Halloween is prime werewolf night, in case you didn’t know.

So many humans just walking around disguised.

Werewolf delight.

What if werewolves are real?

Would you walk a bit more carefully in the full moonlight?

Your body tingling with the feeling that a vicious beast may tear into you at any moment?

Where the snap of a twig, you are sure, will bring instant death?

Scary stuff for sure.

Which brings me to this: I have a story for you.

It’s about a werewolf family on a Halloween night.

It is called “The Lonesome Werewolf,” and names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Is the story true?

Read it and decide for yourself.



Willie Werewolf, the main character in this story, was drawn by artist Vincent Rogers — better known as Owsley — in Owsley’s younger days.

© 2023 FabulousFables.com

Email: David Madrid