Last Christmas, while shopping at Powells bookstore in Portland, I stumbled across a children's book called "Good Families Don't" by Robert Munsch.

The story is about a little girl who climbs into bed one night and discovers something insidious hiding under her covers... a giant green fart! The sneaky stinker runs amok incapacitating her parents, several police officers, a fireman and the family dog.

It is, without a doubt, one of the funniest children's stories I've ever read. I had to buy it right then and there.

When I arrived at the register I found a rather stern-looking young woman wearing dreadlocks and a nose ring. I plopped the book down on the counter, chuckled and asked, "Have you ever read this book?"

Peering over the top of her rose colored glasses she wriggled her nose ring, sniffed, glanced at the cover and in a rather prim British accent said, "Ah yes, the flatulence book. A literary classic." At this point, my giggles turned into peals of laughter. Flatulence frequently has that affect.

(Of course, as a lady of good breeding and common sense, I have never actually... how shall I put it... tooted my own horn. But the dog certainly has! As a matter of fact, and this is one of life's great mysteries, he can do it when he's not even in the room!)

At any rate, on the way out of the store I dropped a few coins into a jingling Salvation Santa and started thinking about Kris Kringle and his elves.

Do you suppose that, after consuming gallons of milk and dozens of cookies, Santa ever suffers from spontaneous release of gaseous material? The poor little elves would be right at ground zero. I mean, it would explain so much... their genetically altered pointed ears, curled toes, pink cheeks and the high pitched nasal sound to their voices.

What if Santa's sleigh isn't powered by reindeer at all... but actually by methane gas?

Is it possible that the clattering sound they heard in the classic poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas" was actually Santa's own very special greeting?

It all just seems to come together for me now. As a matter of fact, I think I may have finally answered the question of how Santa gets up the chimney. He puts his finger to his nose (even he would need some protection) and launches himself up, up and away!

I was walking through the mall a few weeks ago and watched as a mother gently placed her three-year-old daughter on Santa's lap. The toddler was a little apprehensive at first, but was soon chatting away, naming off all of her Christmas wishes and promising that she wasn't on the naughty list when, all of a sudden, her lip started to quiver, her eyes began to water and she reached for her mom.

I think I know why.

Kate Taylor
Snickerdoodles
Weekly Syndicated Humor Columnist
Snickerdoodles -http://www.kathrynrosetaylor.com
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