My fascination with modern grammar and spelling abuse took an ugly turn this morning as I scanned through the Huff Post and ran across the story of the unfortunate Mr. Lee Kroll, who several years ago legally changed his name to Dez Nuts. It seems that, by happen chance, Mr. Nuts encountered one of his white friends who convinced him that an extra E would more accurately accomplish the goal of highlighting his, uh, personal assets. Dez showed up at the local courthouse recently and departed as the newly minted “Deez” Nuts.

We only know about Deez’s name journey because of his domestic abuse charges. It seems he pointed a gun at his daughter and punched her. Mr. Nuts was reported to be “highly intoxicated” at the time of his arrest. We can only surmise that his angst over wasting six years as “Dez” may have failed to garner him the intended focus on his package, causing him to drown his sorrows with ethanol. Perhaps a flash course in phonics while serving his jail sentence would be time well spent.

I wonder about chickens. Do they have feelings, emotions, lust, lament, ambition? Do they have any idea that “crispy fried” or baked or rotisserie will someday be in the same sentence with their name? When I see them in the cages on the big trucks on interstate, looking around, bobbin their heads like teenagers at a concert I wonder, are they suspicious? When I was a kid I had chickens. My favorite was a black giant rooster we named Big Boy. I loved that old rooster. When I found him dead in the chicken house he was still warm. So we ate him crispy fried

I must admit that this story is little more than just hot air, butt:

I’ve been reading about this little trollop, Stephanie Matto, on the TLC channel who has been selling her own jarred farts for $1000/jar.  Subsisting on a diet of yogurt, eggs and well, beans, of course, she set about devising a system for capturing her own flatulence.  Just when I thought her escapades had reached a low point, it was reported that, for an extra fee, a video of her actual gas trapping process could be made available.  It seems this purveyor of her own methane has earned $200,000 over a two month period.  Is “fartepreneur” a word? Who in the civilized world could have dreamed up such  a farce or should I say, farts?  My understanding is that her project “blew up”, so to speak, after she made a visit to emergency room complaining of severe upper abdominal pain and fearing that a possible heart attack was the cause.  Could this mean that there is an untapped market for adolescent and colleges age boys?  

I had the Fleet—ing thought that Ms. Matto may well be a genius!  In fact, she said so herself! 

“I kind of feel sort of like I’m the Einstein of fart jars at this point.” 

I wonder if she should be paying a tax on her carbon footprint, since she has made it easy for the Fed to track her jarring activities.  If me and my dormitory full of lunatics at Oklahoma University had figured this out back in the seventies we might be billionaires today.  Hats off to Ms. Matto for converting ALL of her, uh, resources, into income.