Let’s face it, with so many historical attractions in our beautiful town, taking it all in can get a little overwhelming.
- Do you spend the afternoon hiking the trails of Mount Toot?
- Do you pull up a stool at the world famous StinkAss Pub for a pint and a bite?
- Or do you spend your time running away from the roaming packs of fifth graders that try to fart in your mouth?
One thing’s for certain when visiting, you’re going to want to set aside some time to discover the natural wonders of the many flowers native to Fart Town.
Take a stroll through the pungently pastoral Riverside section of Fart Town and you’re sure to stumble upon a whole slew of Turd-Tulips. The fifth graders that named them suggest that you take the time to stop and smell the flowers, which sounds cliche, but really, you oughta!
These fifth graders run Fart Town so you better take their advice.
If you’re following the river south, you’ll eventually cross what the fifth graders have named Crap Canyon. This section of our town is renowned for the beautiful recently-renamed Cherry Blossom Butt Flowers. I’m certainly not one to speak out against our 12-year-old rulers, but I think this is the weakest of their rebranding efforts. Even as I sit here typing copy for our town’s tourism brochure, I recoil at the thought of our town’s majestic Cherry Blossoms being renamed to include “Butt” in the title.
“Oh we’ll rebrand the city as a town that’s built around farts,” the fifth graders suggested. “Farts are funny and it’ll drive tourism.”
And when they stopped mercilessly bludgeoning our dearly-departed Mayor, the fifth graders all got their way.
It was a sad day to see the “Welcome to Cherry Hill” sign knocked down in favor of one that reads “Fart Town. Population: P.U.” It was an even sadder day when the fifth graders burned down the factories. Luckily, the embers and ash from the fire rejuvenated the soil, and in place of the factories there grew dozens of what are now called Pooptunias (I think that this portmanteau of “poop” and “petunia” is the most clever our fifth grade overlords have yet been, but hey, who am I?).
The office complex I’m typing this from is currently being refurbished into a Fart Museum. The fifth graders told me I could keep my job and my life, but only because, as they put it, my “mouth is good for fartin’ in.” I always knew that would come in handy some day.
Please, I beseech you, if you’re reading this, send help. The state and federal governments have ignored our pleas. At this point, it seems as though foreign aid might be our only hope. I’ve been desperately trying to reach the French and British embassies, but our only means of communication is the dreadfully outdated Smellogram.
If this brochure somehow reaches you on the wings of a powerful fart, I pray you’ll do the right thing.
Please enjoy our town’s foliage.