Presto Pesto!

A comment lately posted on MichelleOnLongIsland's cancer blog:

The Astonishing FartMan said...

What a tough time you're going through. In my mind, my hand is smoothing your brow. Is it working? How I hope so!

And how sad it seems that sometimes we fragile and puny humans must resort to hopes and prayers. Well, I say hopes and prayers and love and good will are still the most powerful things. So I'm saying a prayer of thanksgiving that you have such a good husband.

I know what you mean about the knife fantasy--your fantasy that some mugger would do you the unintentional favor of stabbing you to cut out the tumor on your spine. I sometimes have a fantasy that I could take a hollow stick and poke it into my "hepatic subcapsular fluid collection" (AKA Cappy) and drain it away. When I poke in the stick, bilious green sauce squirts everywhere, and it totally blows everybody's mind, so they all think I'm possessed, and they want to call in a priest to do an exorcism. The priest comes, and he's Italian, so he says, "He's not possessed, but this green biloma sauce makes a very nice pesto."

I hope that makes you laugh!

I also know what you mean about doing "normal" stuff. I take great pleasure in my Wednesday evening routine of gathering up the trash from all the household cans and putting them out for collection in the morning. It's one of my silly "manly" chores, and I wonder who will do them when I'm gone. Of course, my wife can take out the trash, but can she change the A/C filters, negotiate with the auto mechanic, fix the the computer or TV when something gets out of whack? I suppose life will take care of itself just fine when I'm gone. But I do worry about my dear sweet wife. And I hope that when I'm gone she finds a good, gentle (and preferably, younger!) man to help her with the "manly" chores, but mostly to keep her company when she's an old lady.

(Yes, I know I'm not suposed to think about such things, but am supposed to accept the assurance, so often pressed upon me, that I'm cured. And, of course, that would be nice. But just in case I'm not cured, on the off chance, the very small chance, the infinitesimal possibility, that all the weird stuff going on inside my guts lately--and the undeniably high 5.4 of my last CEA--is the recurrence that everyone tells me will not happen, well I just don't want the shock of a surprise, so I gotta think about it now.)

How beautiful that you're so weak and so strong at the same time!

The Seven-Thousand-Six-Hundred-and-Forty-Second Woman.

From: W_____
Sent: Nov. 2, 2011 10:00 AM
To: T. A. FartMan <astonishing@att.net>
Subject: All the News That's Fit to Spit

Hey T.A.,

Didja see this one?

September 5, 2017, WASHINGTON -- A seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman has now alleged that President Herman Cain made her "feel uncomfortable" when he was president of the National Restaurant Association in the mid-1990s. Although the woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, concedes that her allegations are "not exactly of a sexual or sexual harassment nature," she said she believes she "has a duty as a citizen and as a federal employee" to speak up so the American people will know that Herman Cain is not as nice in person as he seems to be on TV.

In a written statement her lawyer read to reporters, the woman said, "It's just not right that Herman Cain has made me and seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-one other women feel uncomfortable, yet everybody still seems to think he's such a good guy. Well, I'm here to set the record straight." The woman's lawyer, who also wishes to remain anonymous, suggested that Cain's discomfiting behavior might have involved hand-gestures, insensitive remarks about female height and weight, hotel rooms, and "lots of other kinds of things you'd expect to hear about Herman Cain."

The lawyer for the seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman said his client had made a good faith effort to resolve the dispute privately to avoid publicity, but had not received a reply to any of the dozens of anonymous emails she had sent to President Cain. Many experts with experience investigating such claims say it is not unusual for a person guilty of sexual harassment to refuse to respond to an accuser's emails. According to Emily Knickerwad, an independent workplace claims investigator for the Women Victims Action Network, "It's all part of the abuser's sick power trip, to ignore his victims' pleas for help after he's emotionally injured them." 

When asked if his client's allegations would feature canned soda pop or curly unattached body hair, the lawyer for the seven-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-second woman said, "The answer to that question will have to wait until the facts we intend to allege have a chance to come out in dribs and drabs. Herman Cain's victims should not be expected to give away the details of their claims all at once, when he won't even answer their emails."

I figured you'd enjoy reading my little spoof, seeing as how you, and me, and Herman Cain share so much in common, the three of us having been through Stage IV Colon Cancer with Liver Mets, and the three of us having made several women feel uncomfortable at some point during the last fifty years. (But please don't tell anyone I wrote this "story" 'cause I'd like to hang on to my day job. People will forgive me a certain quantity of political incorrectness, me with the semi-terminal CC and all, but there is a limit.)

BTW: When I was chatting with Mr. Cain at the Clear Lake TEA Party rally last week , he asked me to tell you how disappointed everyone was that you weren't able to make it back to Houston in time to perform a ceremonial flyover for the opening festivities. Don't worry. I covered for ya and told him you were busy handling crowd control ops for CIA in Libya. (That is where you've been, right?)

Sorry to have been so incommunicado lately. Been going through a kinda rough patch--the daily battle with Cappy (who just won't stay dead) and a year of CIPN have worn me down. Meanwhile my CEA has been creeping up, to just barely above normal. But I'm still here, dammit. After having been onc-less since Dr. Brain-Must fired me at the end of June, I finally got an appointment with a new onc in a couple of weeks. Prolly not great to have been onc-less for four months right after finishing chemo. On the other hand if I'm gonna have a quick recurrence, it might as well be real quick and be done with it. Hey, it could be worse--we could be sleeping on a cardboard sign in Zuccotti Park.

In case you're wondering, all is forgiven. It always is.

And I remain . . . .

Your Loyal Alter Ego,

W_____

If You Have to Explain It, How Funny Can It Be?

From: T. A. FartMan
Sent: September 19, 2011 4:03 AM
To: W_____
Subject: Of Coyotes and Road Runners

Dear W_____,

When I read this piece by Christopher Hitchens, I thought of you and me and S____.

It seems that humor is a formidably serious subject, so much so that Hitchens must write 1500 words to explain an old joke, the oldest, cruelest, stalest, most unfunny joke ever, which is the eternal battle of the sexes.

It is often said that anger interferes with the ability to think. To the contrary, anger concentrates thinking intensely . . . toward revenge! It's laughter that hinders thinking. Laughter disarms precisely because one cannot remain angry while laughing, but more precisely because one cannot think (about revenge!) while laughing.

Wit is always cruel. A joke, unlike you white people, always has a butt. Hobbes, not wrongly, defined laughter as the involuntary expression of a feeling of "sudden glory" upon the observation of someone else's misery, humiliation, or deformity. Even supposedly self-deprecating humor is cruel, the cruelest, because the table-turning martyr tricks his audience into playing the role of a laughing sadist. The cruelest thing, and the funniest, is to make someone else appear haplessly cruel. Thus, the philosopher's irony, the highest form of humor, is the form of humor most cruel toward one's fellow human beings--a substitute for the physical injury the philosopher is too lazy, too cowardly, or too uncaring to inflict. (Every law student, if they weren't all such 5FUing idiots, would identify the professor's purportedly ironic purportedly Socratic method neither as a teaching tool, nor as a rhetorical strategy, but as revenge extracted in advance.)

Because humor both disarms and wounds, nothing can be more frustratingly infuriating than to be made the butt of a joke. We all know this truth--learned from the playground mob--although the wiser among us pretend otherwise. With ears on fire, we laugh along, so that we might plot revenge without exciting suspicion. Nothing infuriates more than to see oneself made the butt of a joke, unless it is one's own joke, i.e., a joke about a martyred saint or a philosopher, in which cases one pretends to be the victim.

Humor is always duplicitous: deceptive, even deceitful, yet revelatory. It makes unspeakable truth speakable, civilizing the cruelty of truth within the dubious poetry and perfume of the absurd: the sound of cannon and the whiff of powder and a loud, smelly, perfectly synchronized fart. Humor absolutely requires a confusion of the cruel and the ridiculous. To sense the confusion is to "get" the joke. Of those who can't quickly sort out that confusion, we say they don't get the joke.

The best humor is that of which the ones laughing think they have sorted out the confusion, but have not, while the ones not laughing think there's nothing worth sorting out. The best humor inspires no false laughter. Either they get the joke, or they think they get the joke, or they don't get the joke and don't care, or they don't think there's a joke to be got, but no one pretends to get it. No one chuckles politely, and no one chuckles nervously from feeling left out. No one feels indignant, unless that's what's wanted.  The best humor is that of which only a very sad few can get the joke.

The best humor commonly arouses indignation or boredom, because one or the other of two necessary elements, either truth or ridiculousness, although present, appears to be absent: indignation, if truth appears to have been neglected, because false ridicule seems malicious to good people, especially when aimed at themselves; boredom, if ridicule appears to have been left out, because truth unadorned with ridicule seems tiresome to most people, especially when aimed at themselves.

(Even truth adorned with beauty seems tiresome to almost everyone. Of course, most of us deny this accusation as to ourselves, as I do. We deny the accusation because we don't realize that what we perceive as beautiful is not beautiful but ridiculous, if not in itself, then in our perception of it. Unfortunately, even the absurdity of our perception of beauty will not always be sufficient to prevent our frequently becoming bored by it, probably because there is so much of it around. That we are not all of us permanently irredeemably bored by beauty is the Astonishing thing . . .  one of the great mysterious unaccountable blessings. So worry not! There are many, many, many failings much, much, much worse than having no sense of beauty, so long as you have a sense of humor about it . . . and so long as you keep up a longing for it, even if you haven't the faintest idea what it is you're longing for.)

The very best humor is that of which only the jokester himself gets the joke, the cut so sharp that the wound is painless or seems insignificant, and heals instantly, but leaves its victim unsettled and forever altered in ways he will not easily perceive, similar to the experience of having been abducted by aliens. The very best humor manifests the philosopher's irony as his highest practical virtue, which is his utter uselessness.

The very best humor is at least doubly duplicitous . . .  just like we are,  you and me,  W___ and The Astonishing One, the Loyal Long-Suffering Alter Ego and his One and Only Cape & Tights Super Hero, you and me.

And I remain . . .

Your Melodious and Malodorous,
T.A. FartMan

PS. Along the same lines, here's a "beautiful piece of heartache," to encourge a "healthy apathy":

Latter Days *

What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be.
Lord knows we've learned the hard way all about healthy apathy.
And I use these words pretty loosely.
There's so much more to life than words.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k. They've taken their toll these latter days.

Nothin' like sleepin' on a bed of nails. Nothin' much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails, nothin' is ever quite what it seems.
And I'm dyin' inside to leave you with more than just cliches.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k. They've taken their toll these latter days.

But tell them it's real. Tell them it's really real.
I just don't have much left to say.
They've taken their toll these latter days.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

* Lyrics by Linford Detweiler from Over the Rhine's song "Latter Days" on the album Good Dog Bad Dog. You should buy it, either the original 1996 release or the live 2010 version.

Delayed Report from Comic-Con

From: T. A. FartMan
Sent: Aug 2, 2011 11:25 PM
To: W_____
Subject: Maybe or Maybe Not

Dear W_____,

Seeing the other Cape & Tights Super Heroes strutting around in their best underwear at Comic-Con last week got me thinking:

Maybe my last email was a little offhand and dismissive, maybe on purpose, mabye because offhand and dismissive seemed better than fiery and furious--how I felt reading your email giving me grief about the haboob. I've been catching enough flack lately from everybody else, so it didn't help for you, my Very Own Alter Ego, to join in the potshots.

Doncha think I was listening when our Very Own Wife said to you the other day, "My Very Own Husband, sometimes I think I don't even know you at all any more"? She called it "the FartMan Nonsense." She asked you, "Why, of all the online personae you could have come up with, why FartMan? Why the FartMan Nonsense?"

You didn't answer, you didn't stick up for me, you only shrugged . . . .

You don't seem to understand:  Just like you didn't ask for colon cancer, they didn't let me pick and choose my super powers either. It's not my fault mine happen to be what they are. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a perfectly normal human function . . . intensified to an Astonishing degree, a provenance that gives my super powers a heckuvalot more credibility than the mutant, beastly, or alien powers certain other Cape & Tights Super Heroes claim to possess.

So doncha think ordinary folks, if they weren't all such 5FUing idiots, would be able to identify more close and intimate with an everyday Super Hero like me, whose every super power derives from that basic necessary bodily function cosmically and comically symbolic of an essential quality of our shared humanity, viz, that we are . . .

. . . for now . . . at least . . . in part . . . stuck . . .

. . . in that portion of reality where everything, ourselves included, is always coming into existence and passing out of existence, while we yearn for something more permanent and, awaiting something more permanent, yearn in this life to be understood well by at least one somebody? (I suppose it's the yearning that makes us human. And I suppose that same universal yearning is also kinda selfish, with its willingness to sacrifice almost anything, including itself, for its own satisfaction.) So we say, "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust," which is merely a yearningly poetic way of saying, sighing, "Manure is a fundamental building block of life on earth, and our bodies are as ephemeral as a tiny little silent fart." Don't blame me. I didn't design things that way. If it were left up to me, maybe we'd all live forever, and maybe no one would ever get constipated. Maybe. Or maybe not.

So a lot of people say, "FartMan is such an egoist, calling himself Astonishing and trumpeting his superiority all over town." Well, let me ask you, if I'm so arrogant, how many other people have the humility to acknowledge their own FartManHood? That's not bragging, because I don't claim any special ability that everybody else doesn't have, just that mine has been extended (some would say "dragged out") to its furthest human limits, with an unexpected twist or punch at the end.

Unlike the SuperMan and SpiderMan types, who purport themselves to exercise powers that would belong more properly to a god or to an animal than to a fellow human being, I'm really just a very regular guy. (No pun intended.) Take flying for example. Didncha ever wonder how it is that SuperMan can fly? He has no discernable means of propulsion! His aerial locomotion violates the laws of physics! What? Like some god, he wills himself along through the air? But when I, The Astonishing One, take flight, the way I get where I'm going is as obvious as the nose on your face. (Again, no pun intended.)

When I chatted with SuperMan at Comic-Con, he wasn't hovering or levitating or floating in mid-air. He wasn't even suspended in a basket a few feet off the ground. Nope. He was walking around on his own two feet like the rest of us. And his outfit needed dry-cleaning. So that's all I'm going to say about it, except that, if you were wanting an apology, this will have to do.

I remain . . .

Your Melodious and Malodorous Super Hero,
T.A. FartMan

P.S. Some news you're not going to like, even though it's not entirely unexpected: Cappy has reappeared, back from the dead, so it seems. He was there at Comic-Con, lurking off to the side the way he always does. He's still looking sickly and greenish, and still trying to pass himself off as a seroma, when I'm betting he's of a deadlier species. He pretends to be innocuous, but then when you let your guard down, he puts a shiv through your kidney. We're working on finding a way to get rid of him permanently . . . again.

All the Perfect Drugs and Super Heroes

From: T. A. FartMan
Sent: July 18, 2011 10:03 AM
To: W_____
Subject: Our Theme Song

Hey W___,

Sorry 'bout the dustup over Phoenix the other day. I've explained to Bowel Boy that he can't just let loose like that near a populated area.

Even though the AZ Haboob wasn't exactly my fault, I wanna make amends with you. So here's a little goodwill gesture. If you haven't heard of Aimee Mann, then introducing you to her music is one of the best favors I could do for you, or for anybody.

Click here to listen to a clip from the Official T. A. FartMan Theme Song, Humpty Dumpty, from Aimee Mann's album Lost in Space.

An excerpt of the first lines of lyrics:

Say you were split, you were split in fragments
And none of the pieces would talk to you,
Wouldn't you want to be who you had been?
Well baby I want that too.

So better take the keys
And drive forever.
Staying won't put these
Futures back together.
All the perfect drugs
And Super Heroes
Wouldn't be enough
To bring me up to zero.

Baby, you're great. You've been more than patient,
Saying it's not a catastrophe.
But I'm not the boy you once put your faith in,
Just someone who looks like me.

Fits you and me just about perfect, doncha think?

Now you owe me one!

Later,
T. A. FartMan

P.S. Here's a link to a fun video of Aimee performing the song live, with a little help from the audience: Fans Help on Humpty Dumpty.

"Haboob" Does Not Mean "Oops" in Arabic

From: W_____
Sent: July 9, 2011 11:05 AM
To: T. A. FartMan
Subject: You and BB Flying Out of the Haboob

Dammit all, FartMan, this time you might have finally blown it.

Have you seen the photos they got of you and your new sidekick, Bowel Boy, flying side-by-side out of that haboob over Phoenix last week? (Here's a link to the news story with the pictures.)

Yes, I know, just like always you'll come up with some half-ass excuse to avoid responsibility. You'll say you were just taking Bowel Boy out over the desert for his first training flight. You'll say nobody could have anticipated how powerful the little fella's poots would turn out to be.

Well, don't try to blame this dust up on BB. I've been around you long enough to know exactly what happened: You had to start showing off for your new sidekick. You just couldn't help yourself, could you? So it all started innocently enough, with you demonstrating the Astonishing Subtlety and Variety of your poots and bragging about how many thousands of feet high you can soar on a single blast.

Two and half beers later, whoooosh!!!!!, there's a 100-mile wide fart storm engulfing half the population of Arizona.

That's pretty much how it went down, right? That's the way it always goes with you. It always starts with you talkin' smack, and it always ends with some kind of previously unheard of unnatural disaster.

And now you act like it's no big deal, like "haboob" just means "Oops, excuse me, I farted," in Arabic.

(I don't wanna know, so please don't tell me, if you've already been teaching Bowel Boy the "flatulentio ignitio." How could we live with ourselves if your carelessness set off all those wildfires out west last month!?!?)

Lucky for you, the authorities at Roswell and Area 51 are so fixated on the aliens that they haven't been able to pinpoint you and The Cutest Little Thing as the obvious culprits. Good thing your haboob wasn't a very smelly one, or the feds would already be knocking on our door. The lawsuits would have put TAF Enterprises out of business, and you'd personally be looking at jail time for reckless endangerment, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, unathorized emission of a noxious substance, and who knows what all else.

Don't get me wrong. I'm So Happy You Ditched Cappy as your sidekick that I could write a song about it. Yes, I had warned you that hiring Cappy was huge mistake in the first place, but that's all done and over, so there's no point rehashing. I'm also thrilled you chose Bowel Boy to replace Cappy. BB is such a big step up for you. All the other Cape & Tights Super Heroes keep telling me how they can't help loving the little fella, 'cause he's just so dern cute and sweet. But could you please try to be more careful the next time you take him out farting around?

One last thing. Forgive me if I'm stepping over the line by saying this: I think it would do us both good if you would sleep more and drink less, as I remain  . . . .

Your Loyal Alter Ego,

W______

Introducing: "The Cutest Little Thing"

TAF Enterprises, Inc.

in conjunction with

Bubbles Toy Company

introduces

T. A. FartMan's
All New Sidekick

BOWEL BOY


(AKA "The Cutest Little Thing")

Pricing: $25,000 ea. (volume discounts available)

Wholesale inquiries only, to:

TAF Enterprises, Inc.
One FartMan Plaza
10001 Main St.
Houston, TX 77002

The Astonishing FartMan Action Figure

TAF Enterprises, Inc.

in conjunction with

Bubbles Toy Company

introduces

The Astonishing FartMan
Action Figure

Pricing: $25,000 ea. (volume discounts available)

Wholesale inquiries only, to:

TAF Enterprises, Inc.
One FartMan Plaza
10001 Main St.
Houston, TX 77002

Cappy Was Bilious! And Other Shocking News!

From: T. A. FartMan
Sent: Saturday, July 02, 2011 7:59 PM
To: Benedict A. Brain-Must
Cc: M______
Subject: Cappy Was Bilious!

Dear Dr. Brain-Must,

A couple (2) of things:

One (1):
My “hepatic subcapsular fluid collection,” also known as "Cappy," was successfully aspirated by Dr. K_____ at the L____ S____ Interventional Radiology Department on Thursday. You might remember that when we talked on the phone a couple (2) of weeks ago, I had asked what that fluid might be. You said you were pretty sure the fluid was lymph fluid. When I had asked if it might be bile you insisted, "no way it’s bile."

Turns out, the goop they sucked outta my liver capsule was indeed a fascinating grass green color. Nothing official yet as to whether that grass green fluid actually was bile, but based on the color, that seems like a pretty good guess.

Yup, sloshing around inside my liver capsule were two hundred and ninety (290) cc of grass green slush, about a coke can’s worth, which for the last several months had felt like a piece of stiff leather luggage poking me under the edge of my ribs and making me mix my metaphors every time I moved my upper body or tried to sit upright for more than a few minutes. I don’t know whether it’s necessarily a bad thing to have the surface of the liver marinated in a digestive fluid like bile juice for several months on end, but can tell you that in addition to the pain going away immediately after Cappy was drained, for the last two (2) days I’ve felt about a thousand (1,000) percent better than I have in the last four (4) or five (5) months. The everyday fatigue that I’d been telling you about for so long now seems to be gone. I feel so much more energetic with that yucky green stuff outta my liver capsule.

Hopefully, Cappy the "subcapsular fluid collection" will not come back, although it seems possible, if not likely, that some bile duct plumbing might still be leaking. It would probably be a good idea to have a follow-up ultrasound or some such diagnostic procedure done in two (2) or three (3) weeks to see whether there is something still leaking in there and whether the fluid collection is reappearing. I’ll be in touch with Dr. J_____’s office about that, but thought you might want to know these details since you are still officially my onc (but not my uncle). They are going to do cytology and infection tests on the fluid, so I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes from those tests. Even though you won’t be my onc much longer (and never were my uncle, thank heavens!), perhaps all this info might be useful for you to know and have in mind when caring for other patients who might have symptoms like mine.

And I do need very much to get my port flushed in the next couple (2) weeks, so I hope that can still be taken care of there at the MBC Clinic.

Two (2):
Regarding the letter you sent informing me you would be terminating our doctor-patient relationship, it’s way beyond hilarious that, here I am the one (1) who’s s'posed to be the fussy attorney, but it’s you who’s sent out the certifried letter, return receipt requested, full of inane lawyer talk. Probably MBC's lawyers composed the letter for you, because only someone (some1) as silly as a lawyer could believe it to be a necessary redundancy to put a number in parentheses after spelling out the whole word, the way your letter does, like this: “Effective thirty (30) days from the receipt of this letter . . . , ” as if, without the number 30 in parentheses, a reader might get confused about what the word “thirty” actually means. How embarrassing for you, a physician, to be made to put your signature on such lawyer nonsense!

And the line in your eloquent form letter expressing your sincere “concern” about my “continued good health” was a hoot, too, since no emotionally sentient human being would speak to someone (some1) who was ten (10) months into fighting Stage IV (4) cancer as being in a state of “continued good health.” Again, only a dense lawyer at a big overpriced law firm (speaking of redundancies) would have the training to remain oblivious to the ridiculousness of that phrase applied to my circumstances. When I have been in indisputably bad health for the last ten (10) months, for you to be so inattentive as to express concern for my continued good health would suggest that you don't give a spit about my continued health, whether it be good, bad, or indifferent. However, since one (1) knows that the disingenuous language was penned by some anonymous lawyer (at great expense to MBC, no doubt), you are not to be blamed for it.

Yes, your certifried letter, return receipt requested, was good for several big belly laughs and numberless (∞) chuckles--comic relief for which one (1) is always thankful.

But really, Dr. Brain-Must, a certifried lawyer letter officially announcing the end of our doctor-patient relationship was quite unnecessary. I promise once again that, although I’m a Certifried Half-Wild (1/2-Wild) Native American Injun Lawyer, y’all can stop circling your wagons because I would never sue you or anyone (any1) else on my own behalf. That’s not my style or my morals. (However, you could expect, deservedly, to be teased about your latest screw-up for an appropriate period of time, or until you gathered the nerve to ‘fess up to it.)

Rather than wasting your limited attention span sending out legalese letters, if you had been as carefully attentive to the important medical details of my care, maybe you would not have forgotten about the reduced dexamethasone dose we had settled on that time, would not have forgotten that other time to change your written orders when we had agreed to discontinue the Avastin after I developed a blood clot, and most recently would have given prompt and proper attention to the fluid collection reported on my CT scan result, instead of overlooking what that report said about Cappy and telling me just to make an appointment to see you in August. (If these are facts you dispute, I invite you to contest them in any suitable non-legal forum, perhaps before some sort of medical review board there at MBC Clinic.)

So, yes, you are right that a certain lack of trust has developed in our relationship, but that lack of trust, at least on my side, concerns the “human” aspect of your doctoring more than it does your purely medical errors. If you had expressed the least slight regret about initially overlooking my fluid collection problem, I would have accepted any half-hearted (1/2-hearted) apology and been thrilled to have you continue as my doctor.

But because you reacted to my complaint by treating me shabbily, you are certainly right that you cannot be my doctor for long: Sometimes a doctor needs to be able look his patient in the eye.

I’ll let your assistant, M______, know as soon as I find a new oncologist.

T. A. FartMan

P.S. I have just this very moment learned from my deep sources that you, Dr. Brain-Must, were serving as Cappy's secret alter ego identity right up until his recent demise.

What a shocker! Dr. Brain-Must, my very own oncologist, was Cappy's alter ego all this time!

Lord knows, I hated having to appoint Cappy as my Super Hero Sidekick, but had no real choice in the matter, since he was right there kicking me in my side. So one can hardly imagine the confused self-loathing that must have tormented your surreptitious life as the alter ego of a bilious subcapsular fluid collection like Cappy. It almost makes me feel sorry for you. Nonetheless, your intimate personal, financial, and professional relationship with Cappy clearly constituted a conflict of interest, which you should have disclosed the moment you learned that Cappy's pernicious influence had somehow leaked into my life. Your undisclosed conflict of interest does explain why you were so hesitant to acknowledge Cappy's existence in the first place and then refused to help me find a particular person competent to get rid of him.

TAF Enterprises, Inc., Names S.C. "Cappy" Fluid as Special Lateral Assistant to CEO T. A. FartMan

From: T. A. FartMan
Sent: 6/16/2011 08:43:00 AM
To: W____
Subject: Press Release Announcing Cappy Is Joining the Team

Dear W_____,

Reproduced below my signature line is a copy of the press release we just sent out this morning.

I realize you're having some trouble adjusting to having Cappy always hanging around, but eventually you'll start to get used to him. He keeps telling me how much he admires how you do what you do and insists he's always going to be on your side. So if he's gonna be here anyway, you might as well try to get along with him.

Yes, I know that's all just "nicey-nice talk," but, honestly, with an ambitious young thing like Cappy, it wouldn't be surprising if he decided to ditch us two worn out old fart-makers, to move on to bigger and better things before too long. So instead of getting all freaked out about Cappy being named as my new sidekick, just try to go with the flow for a while and see how things develop.

How many times do I have to tell you? Don't worry about Cappy pushing you aside. Your job as my alter ego is safe. You and I got into this thing together, and unless you decide you've had enough and want to get rid of me, we will always be together. You'll always be my One and Only Alter Ego Secret Identity. I'll forever be your One and Only Cape & Tights Super Ego Hero.

Off the record, about this Alter Id, the Sidekick, this Cappy guy, the Interloper, remember what they say: Keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer. We gotta handle this with circumspection. I'm hearing through my sources that Cappy's alter ego's father is a major big shot with BCM Parking, and we've got contracts for a crapload of boring but lucrative security work at their garages. That's easy money we would probably have to kiss goodbye if Cappy, or whoever happens to be his flimsy twit of an alter ego, ever ran pouting to their daddy about us. So let's just try to be patient. Cappy might go away on his own. If he doesn't, I know someone who--for a reasonable and proper professional services fee--will drain the piss juice right outa him, and do it so quietly, so discreetly, so permanently, that people will hardly remember Cappy ever even existed, much less the circumstances of his disappearance. But let me, The Astonishing One, work out all that stuff. You don't wanna to know the details. Just chill and play along, okay?

So what do you say about you and me, just us two, getting together at Lucio's (my treat!) to see if any of those '04 brunelli we've been hoarding is ready for drinking? You pick the date, you pick the bottle, I'll clear my calendar.

Your old buddy,
T.A.

TAF Enterprises, Inc., Names S.C. "Cappy" Fluid

as Special Lateral Assistant to CEO T. A. FartMan

HOUSTON, TX -- (MarketwireBS - Jun 16, 2011) TAF Enterprises, Inc., (NASDEQ: TFRT) announced today that the company has retained S.C. "Cappy" Fluid as Special Lateral Assistant to TAF Founder and CEO T. A. FartMan.

"Cappy Fluid has been functioning as my Special Lateral Assistant in an unofficial capacity for several months," Mr. FartMan said, "and during that time has amply demonstrated the persistence essential to that role. Therefore, we are pleased to announce that Cappy has officially joined the TAF Team and now will be publicly recognized for his contributions. Having Cappy at my side enhances TAF Enterprises' industry-leading capacity for reliable, timely, precision delivery of methane/hydrogen-sulfide gas services for our growing client base."

According to Mr. FartMan, the function of his Special Lateral Assistant (known in the Super Hero sector as a "sidekick,") will be a "fluid and dynamic one, which we do not want to define rigidly." He said that in addition to pursuing a sidekick's traditional career path as an emerging top-level manager "without portfolio," Cappy Fluid will direct the company's anthropologically-derived hydrogen sulfide and methane gas delivery services in the medical setting, a workspace in which Mr. Fluid has substantial experience, having previously specialized in Post-Surgical Hepatic Collections. His responsibilities as Special Assistant will also include activities in the Company's educational/entertainment services for children and community relations in the U.S. and Canada. T. A. FartMan will continue personally to direct the growing Crowd Control and Humane Mass Dispersal segment of TAF's business as well as the company's successful Elite Transportation Services.

(More information about the background of Mr. S. C. "Cappy" Fluid is available by clicking here.)

About TAF Enterprises, Inc. ( NASDEQ: TFRT)

TAF specializes in producing complex highly-concentrated anthropologically-derived methane and hydrogen-sulfide enriched compounds for use in a variety of contexts, including humane sub-lethal mass dispersal, crowd control, military, personal self-defense, education, and entertainment applications. TAF also operates the highly successfully Elite Transportation Services, providing worldwide transport to departing heads of state; rock, pop, rap, and hip-hop stars; executives of major international corporations; A-list celebrities; heiresses and/or sluts famous mostly for being famous, and other clients, who may require individualized, discreet, immediate, supersonic mobility.

For more information, contact 1-808-FartMan (1-808-327-8626) or visit

http://theastonishingfartman.blogspot.com/

Forward-Looking Information

This press release contains certain statements that should be construed as "forward-looking information" within the meaning of applicable securities legislation, which statements may, but do not necessarily, contain words such as "estimate," "might," "may," "would," "could," "will," "intend," "plan," "anticipate," "believe," "expect," "growing," "emerging," "successful," and similar expressions. This forward-looking information includes, but is not limited to, information regarding the anticipated growth of TAF's Crowd Control and Humane Mass Dispersal business.