No sniffs, ands, or butts
If you spend 40 kerjillion hours per week on the Internet like I do, you'll often see things that make you laugh out loud, gawk in wonderment, or smack your forehead.
Only rarely, however, will you find something that makes you do all three—like anatomically correct birthing dolls, or a bra that lets you breastfeed your dog, or anti-pervert hair leggings, for example.
Or flatulence filters.
Yes, I said flatulence filters.
Am I the last to hear about these booty cootie catchers? Maybe so, but in case you've led a blissfully sheltered life (like I had up until a few days ago), allow me to fill you in so that you, too, can bask in the pride for humanity I've been feeling in light of this wonderful achievement.
At long last, the human race has combined hundreds of years of technological advancement, an intricate knowledge of the workings of science, and a collective distaste for foul odors.
The result? An activated carbon pad, backed with adhesive. Beautiful to behold in its simplicity.
The purpose? To absorb and filter unseemly odors that might otherwise emanate from your undershorts.
That's right. Mankind, challenged to rise to its full potential, has answered the call for greatness with nothing less than stank stickers for your skivvies.
Okay, that's an obvious overstatement; no one was trying to win the Nobel Prize for Air Quality Improvement with this invention. In fact, all kidding aside, it's probably a real breath of fresh air for those suffering from gas leaks—not to mention the family and friends of said sufferers.
But I did detect one flaw in their design to de-funk our drawers.
A fanny filter only helps hide your fumes. Unless you have a muffler mounted under your trunk, the sound of your exhaust system backfiring is still going to embarrassingly alert people to your non-eco-friendly emissions.
Oh, wait. Did I say I only detected one flaw? I guess I forgot about their claim that these vapor barriers work as well in thongs as they do in briefs. (How would that even be possible? Never mind, don't tell me.) Or the fact that one company's rear-door refinery is scientifically tested on video by one "Dr. F. Latus."
Consider me skeptical. However, I certainly wish the inventors a windfall of success, from the bottom of my . . . bottom.
Robyn Welling is a freelance writer and humorist at Hollow Tree Ventures, where she isn't afraid to embarrass herself—and frequently does. She loves sarcasm, sleep, beer, other bottled items, long walks on the beach, and her husband. Oh, and her kids are okay, too. Her goals include becoming independently wealthy, followed by world domination and getting her children to clean their rooms. Until then, she'll just fold laundry and write about the shortcuts she takes on her journey to becoming a somewhat passable wife, mother, and human being. If history is any guide, she'll miss the mark entirely. Join her as she bumbles her way through life on Twitter (@RobynHTV), Facebook, and in the pages of our bestselling humor anthology, "You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth."