Featured Article in Flatulence Quarterly, courtesy of Fred Rancid

It was with great excitement when I accepted the Al Franken assignment. Franken has roots to the original Not Ready For Prime Time Players and therefore, kinship with a long line of flatulence connoisseurs. Enjoyment of quality flatulence may have gotten its start in 1978, When Dan Ackroyd, John Belushi and Bill Murray sequestered themselves in Ackroyd's apartment with several cases of dark beer, bratwurst and pickled eggs (and some said some excellent hashish to encourage the supplementation process). These sessions are legendary for the volume--both quantity and auditory explosions, and more importantly the development of the feortan standards.

Ackroyd and Belushi realized that there were undertones, peaks and palate profiles that like a fine vintage were unique to certain combinations of the "grape" and certain "seasons" to create the vintage. As many can believe, Belushi was the driving force behind the session, but while Ackroyd was a close friend it was actually Murray that gave Belushi a run for the money. While Belushi and Murray had roots to Chicago, they had a good understanding of beer and bratz. More importantly they had the Chicago attitude, much like Chicago blues, that exalted in unabashed expulsion of the vintage that was coming of age in their intestinal breweries. Many believe Ackroyd's Canadian heritage kept him from attaining the level of the Chicagoans from simple politeness and perhaps to much hashish intake.

One can see why this writer would be excited about the Al Franken review. He has a bloodline. He goes back to the beginning of SNL and may have even participated in many of the quality feortan sessions that were regularly held. Another sometimes visitor of the Belushi sessions was an occasional visit from Garrett Morris who added pickled pigs feet, stuffed pork chops, and an oft forgotten component of competitive farting--boiled cabbage. In fact, Jim Belushi was present at one of these sessions and related to me that his brother was at the top of his game when ingesting the pork chops and cabbage but decided to forgo the pickled pigs feet. That night Garret Morris was the clear artist of the night. Garret's audio phonic volume was impressive but the layers of essence is what separated him from Belushi and Murray, who was a far third (Ackroyd had passed out from ingesting a high content of Guinness in hopes of "priming the pump").

This preamble would not be complete without discussing Chris Farley. Farley may have been the most talented farter in the history of SNL. It was said that his essence nearly always had the proper scent profiles of sulpher, distance skunkiness, mild fruitiness and the smoky undertones of a freshly lit Cohiba (with some say a nice contrast of vanilla). Unfortunately, Farley was not as controlled as his SNL forefathers and so many say his best work was never accomplished. It was said that Farley was a Kamikaze Farter (kamikaze translates to Divine Wind), but Farley's sheer volume of continuous expulsions made it hard for many to analyse, evaluate and enjoy his work. Farley is worth mentioning simply for the similarity between he and Belushi, quality farters that passed before they reached their pinnacle.

My theory was that SNL, especially in the early years of the 1970's, fostered an attitude of unabashed indulgence and spirit--a nice combination for quality flatulence. Therefore, I was confident that Franken would have great stories of the early years of SNL aromatic explosions and be able to demonstrate a nice sampling of his own work. The disappointment was as pungent as a Rosie O'Donell blast after a corned-beef and cabbage binge in a sleeping bag. Franken may have lost his Feortan muscle after all years of grueling live TV, or perhaps, he never had it.

We met at a German restaurant in Manhattan, which I believed would lead to very promising work. However, once Franken arrived I started to have my doubts. He ordered a club soda--did not consider a beer; asked about a vegetarian plate and requested all broccoli and cabbage be cut from his order. Broccoli can contribute a certain sulpherness to some farters' work, but a small amount does start ones "mojo" and is considered one of the finest primers for intestinal rumbling.

Once the meal was complete, we retired to patio to get down to the task at hand. Firstly, it took Franken for a better part of an hour to produce an initial, pathetic hummingbird squeak that produced no essence, not even a hint of things to come. In fairness to Franken, after two hours he did start to produce many expulsions, but most with little quality and those that tickled the palette were very, sweet and fruity. Likewise, there was an overriding essence of charcoal, something I have never experienced. There was no bottom, no peaks, no skunkiness, no essence of garlic and none of the mild fecal flavor needed to produce even and average vintage.

As time went on Franken's quantity reduced and there was not even a hint of evidence of flatulence. To my dismay, Franken continued his consumption of club soda, so there was never a hope of the hoppy skunkiness that a quality German brew could contribute. Finally, after three hours the action was over. Franken bid farewell and I had three Poulaners and the sausage sampler. In 20 minutes my warm-up work had out distanced Franken's most pungent run of the evening.

I do not regret my meeting with Franken, even with the olfactory disappointments. It is not often that one has the chance to have a face to face with one of the original SNLer's--even if they were a minor player in the beginning. The bar was set high by the legendary SNL farters. I never expected Franken to produce at their level, but my disappointment was not even once did Franken give us a reason to offer a boisterous, " Well excuuuuuse me!'.