Well, one thing’s for damn sure: 2011 will not be the year the internet swings toward a return to innocence. Bill Cosby, if you’re reading this, please go no farther. Alt+Tab. For the love of god, Alt+Tab.
Granted, as a child there were few things that could so reliably deliver me to giggles as dessert and a well timed poot, but there is nothing endearing about a modern day combination of the two.
If you’re interested in discovering what “pudding farts” refers to (or are intent on pretending that you don’t already know), I don’t think you need me to suggest that you wait til you’re off your work computer to find out. You could also probably figure it out on your own; or at least get a ballpark idea. If you guessed that it involves whipped chocolate and flatulence and that it borders on porn, but without the sexy, you’re on the right track.
That “pudding farts” is the #1 return in a search for a quintessentially wholesome treat makes me sad — and more than a little squeamish. I have indigestion. In my soul. What ought I take away from this horrid (albeit hilarious) smear on the fabric of American food culture? Maybe the national palette (if not the national mindset) has risen in sophistication and pudding is no longer de rigueur; a time-old tabletop tradition losing traction in a Pinkberry world. Perhaps this is a queer reminder that the internet, while a key resource for answers to quick, prosaic questions, is most powerful as a recipe for depravity.
‘Course I reckon it’s less about fetish than a virtual worldwide game of “smell this, it stinks.” I take comfort that at least some of our favorite things from childhood have yet endured unmarred.
[Thanks, JS & MW]
No Happy Medium 
only my sister could write something so eloquent about pudding farts