There is an expression in writing, “You have to kill your darlings.” This means when you revise your work, kill everything you love before sending it out to agents.
So it follows that I had to cut the following darling from my novel. May you live on, my little fart darling, in my faucet humor blog that plumbers keep opening by accident.
My Fart Darling
Brian woofed down another spoonful. “Uncle John farts a lot,” he said, chewing. He inhaled quickly, lifted his leg and with vibrating lips motored off a long fart that resembled a well-tuned lawnmower. Barbara leaned away. Like a singer he sucked in more air and squeezed one side of his mouth, the motor humming an octave higher. Then he twisted his mouth, abruptly slowing the humming engine sound and giving it a juicy quality. He pulled air up his nostrils and released it in a halting sputter, ending with one final gust that died a slow, rattling death. On its deathbed, with the whole family aghast, Brian pushed one last poooooooffff through his wired teeth.
“Really Brian, was that really necessary?” his mother said.