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The other day my two-year-old daughter and I made a trip to the bank. It was late at night (I say that as if that comment has anything to do with this post). I had some money to deposit, and my daughter had a date with the sandman and she was having a hard time getting motivated to meet up with him, so I brought her with me in hopes that she’d be visiting dreamland by the time we got home. Driving usually gets her snoozing much faster. Especially when she hasn’t had a nap earlier in the day.

Unfortunately, the drive wasn’t helping her this time, much to my chagrin. This just meant that I was going to have to work that much harder to get her to settle down when we got home. We were sitting at a traffic light and I was thinking this exact thought when a little white import cruised by us on the cross street. It had a modified tailpipe which made it sound like the vehicle had been filled with pinto beans instead of gas, if you get my meaning.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought this. Out of no where, from the back of the darkened van, like a siren’s song drifting across a foggy sea, came the sound of my daughter’s sleepy voice with one simple expression that summed up what we were both thinking; “Poop!”

When a two-year-old would thinks of this when your car drives by making the sound of a flatulating pig, you know you’ve got problems.

Why would you want to put something on your vehicle that makes it sound like it’s got a serious gastro-intestinal problem going on? It doesn’t sound cool or powerful. It sounds like your car is farting! All the time!

Male Teen Number 1: Hey, dude! I just put some new reverberators in my car. It sounds awesome!

Male Teen Number 2: Dude, fire it up, let’s hear it!

Male Teen Number 1: Okay. Listen to this!

TTHTTPTPTHTPHPHTHPHT!!!

Male Teen Number 2: Dude! Man, you let one rip!

Male Teen Number 1: What are you talking about? That was the car.

Male Teen Number 2: Oh. Cool!

You know, when I was a teenager, the way you made your car sound powerful and awesome was to actually put a bigger engine in it. In my day, I think if you were caught with your car flatulating in the high school parking lot, you’d have been dragged out and flogged. Not only that, but Flatulating Pig would be a great name for a rock band.

I suppose the good news is that now that gas prices have hit a million dollars per gallon, we won’t be hearing these little butt burpers much, anymore.