Ma and Pa were two old hillbillies living a simple life on their farm up in the hills. One hot summer day, Pa trudged back from the outhouse looking mighty troubled.

He thanked the young man, drove straight to the hardware store, and came back with two sticks of dynamite. Just like he was told, he placed them under the outhouse, lit the fuses, and dove behind a tree for cover.
KABOOM! The first blast shot the outhouse into the sky like a rocket. The second went off right after, showering poop across the farm like a stinky rainstorm.
But just then—horror struck. Ma came tearing out of the kitchen, apron flapping, and dashed straight into the outhouse mid-flight.
“MA, NO!” Pa hollered, but it was too late.
WHAM! The outhouse came crashing back down, settling perfectly over the hole again.
Pa bolted from behind the tree, yanked the door open, and gasped, “Ma! Are you all right?!”
Ma, red-faced and pulling up her bloomers, snapped back, “I’m fine… but I’ll tell you one thing, Pa—I’m sure glad I didn’t fart in the kitchen!”