Teapot Murders

Before we begin, it has been brought to my attention that one might need a small vocabulary lesson in order to fully understand this story:
Main Entry:

fart machine

Pronunciation:

\fah-ert mosh-een\

Function:

noun

Date:

2007 (?)

Definition: A fart machine is a small, black circle with a speaker on it. Out of the speaker comes all varieties of flatulence. There is a remote with it, so that the person holding the remote can put the speaker under someone or something (a chair, perhaps?) and then go to another room to push the remote. It creates all kinds of surprise for the person sitting on or near the machine and hilarity for the person holding the remote.

Okay then, on with the story...

How many movies can you count where the lonely, relaxed woman sports a thin robe, warms up the stove for a cup of tea, and goes to relax in the other room? The tea kettle whistles, the music gets more and more dark and animated, and we know her end is imminent.

I felt like that woman today. I had the tea kettle experience.
K took the kids out, so I could get some homework done. All was quiet...

Except for a man's voice. One that was hardly audible. But still, a man's voice. If we lived in the city. No problem. Probably a neighbor or something. Out here? We don't have neighbors. At least not neighbors that we'd be able to hear...

My mind whirred with all of the men that K might have pissed off in his sermons and with all of the ways that they might want to get back at him.

They'd want to hurt his loved ones, of course...

His wife.

I got up slowly from the couch, and then thought, "It isn't really a man. It has got to be the radio."

I tiptoed to the radio.

Nope. (gulp)

K's computer?

Off. (hmmm)

The basement?

Possibly, but did I want to check?

No. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen anyway.

And then, just like the teapot scenario, B's (ahem) fart machine started going off. I knew I had just seen the remote to that thing in the bathroom.

On the counter.

I raced to the hallway to see if it was still there. It wasn't. At least, I couldn't see it from where I was.

Again, I tiptoed.

This time down the hallway. To B's room. Where the farting persisted.

Was my death about to come to me by way of an animated human fart? I didn't know, but my homework wasn't getting done. I was being distracted, and I was annoyed. I would possibly kill the murderer just out of sheer annoyance.

I opened the bedroom door.

Nothing, except the loudly farting (and hiding) machine.

I searched through countless toys until I found the thing and quickly flipped the off switch.

But still...when would my killer come? I knew I had heard him somewhere in the house. He now had baited me into position. I had to get out of this room. Quickly. (I was seriously scared!)

All espionage-like, I made myself one with the walls, and slid silently down the hall, to the kitchen again. The male voice was louder, closer....

And it was coming from K's ipod. On the kitchen counter.

There is absolutely no good ending, (I mean, I'm not dead, and that is good) but if I was an author (and I'm clearly not), this ending would suck, because the conclusion is this:

For some freak reason, the frequency in our house went wacky (or something), causing the fart machine and K's ipod to start going off simultaneously. I still don't understand it. K said that happens sometimes. (?)

All I know is that I am happy to not have been wooed to death by a fart machine. That would have just been embarrassing.