The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 141: On Average 15 Times a Day

Episode Date: October 15, 2019

But for this woman... maybe a bit more.

This is the way I heard it. As Claire Daines shared her thoughts on the importance of counterintelligence in a post-9-11 world, Karen squirmed uncomfortably on the couch beside her and pretended to listen. Did Claire Daines know anything about espionage or counterintelligence? Probably not. But she did play a CIA analyst on a TV show called Homeland, a role that apparently qualified her to weigh in on matters of national security. But Karen's discomfort on that particular morning had nothing to do with the topic of conversation or the opinions expressed by Claire Daines.

Her discomfort was physical and brought about by a level of gastrointestinal restraint to which she was entirely unaccustomed. In other words, Karen was trying not to break wind on live television. Like Benjamin Franklin, who wrote extensively on this very topic in his seminal essay, Fart Proudly, Karen was strongly opposed to denying the gas in her bowels a speedy exodus, if that's what the gas desired. She had always believed that holding back that which was destined to vacate the premises was fundamentally unhealthy, a fact her friends and coworkers knew all too well. On the other hand, Karen respected Claire Daines and had no desire to interrupt her, especially while she was holding forth on the unpleasant realities of Islamic jihad. More to the point, the discomfort in her colon was ambiguous and shifting, making it difficult to anticipate the type of flatulence she was trying to suppress, or the sound it was liable to make.

It could be a fizz or a fazz, a poot or an anti-poot, none of which would have been terribly disruptive, but it could have just as easily been a classic, a taras, a squeeze-through, or God forbid, a murky, that unfortunate mix of air and fluid whose unpredictable emergence often required a visit to the restroom. True, it could also be a whisper, but hoping for a completely silent exit was risky, especially after the breakfast burrito she woofed down before the show. So, as Claire Daines transitioned from radical Islam to counter espionage and American hegemony, Karen focused on the important business of keeping her sphincter shut. Meanwhile, at the other end of her GI tract, another package. vapor left Karen's rumbling stomach and entered her small intestines, where it began its own march toward freedom. Sensing this new advance, Karen crossed her legs and hoped the fumes might find a cubbyhole in which to pause along the way, a nook in the duodenum, perhaps,

or a cranny in the sacrum. Maybe. Somewhere in the folds of her ilium, the unwelcome exhaust, would linger until the commercial break when she could blast it out with impede. punity. Alas, it was not to be. For in the midst of her increasing discomfort, Karen made a rookie mistake. She glanced down at the monitor between the cameras to see if she looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Damn, she thought, these new high-definition cameras really are a nightmare. She was right. Every flaw was highlighted. Every poor magnified. And there, on the giant monitor, she couldn't help but notice the sweat beating on her upper lip, along with the conspicuous absence of her eyebrows, which she had to admit suddenly appeared

more absent than ever. Hmm, she thought, maybe I should allow them to grow back. And that's when it happened. All it took was a momentary lapse of concentration for the gas to make its escape, a noisy blast that ripped through the studio at in. ABC, stopped Claire Dane's mid-sentence, entered Karen's microphone, and sent the unmistakable sound of a classic fart flying into millions of homes all over America. Thanks to YouTube, Karen's inconvenient wind is now preserved for posterity, along with her

sublime reaction, which really is the very personification of grace under fire. Watch it for yourself, and you'll see that Karen, doesn't pretend it didn't happen, nor does she pretend it wasn't her. She simply looks down at her own ass in something like bemusement, arches one of her non-existent eyebrows, and apologizes without a hint of embarrassment. In other words, she owns it. It's a courageous response, inspirational even. Why? Because Karen's reaction not only illustrates our collective reliance. on the modest O-ring upon which so much of our dignity depends. It reminds us that Americans fart on average no less than 15 times a day,

a shocking but verifiable statistics that should serve to unite us all in these divided times. Obviously, by her own admission, Karen Johnson has always farted a lot more than the average American. that's why she no longer goes by Karen. She changed her name long ago to honor the sound that she, like Ben Franklin before her, was never ashamed to make. I refer, of course,

to the sound that's synonymous with a certain cushion, the sound that prompted the co-host who famously farted on the view to change her name from Karen to Whooppy, how she got from Johnson to Goldberg, well, that's another story.

Anyway, that's the way I heard it.