Tiger Nuts

The other day I was surfing the internet, secure in my delusion that there aren’t too many things left that can surprise me.

You see where this is going, right?  Yep, I got a surprise.

At first I thought it was only another instance of my self-diagnosed attention-deficit sexlexia, but on second glance I realized that I had actually read this label correctly:  “Tiger nuts”.  Skinned tiger nuts, no less.  (Because I guess otherwise the fur would stick in your teeth…?)

I couldn’t believe it either.

I’ve seen and tasted a lot of nuts in my lifetime… (stop snickerin’, youse guys) but I’ve never encountered tiger nuts (other than the zoological variety; which I have no desire to examine closely, much less taste).

But apparently tiger nuts (the correct spelling is actually two words, not the self-consciously concatenated version on the label above) are a type of tuber, like potatoes and peanuts.  Who knew?  The same label also included a banner to cheerily remind us it’s “Not a nut!”

I want a T-shirt that says this.

If only I could get somebody to say that about me.

But there’s no hope of that, because very soon after the tiger nuts, I ran across this product and my attention-deficit dyslexia kicked in hard:

You have to admit, that font is hard to read when it’s vertical.

I glanced at the side panel and thought it said “GoodFarts”.  Standing there in the grocery lineup, I nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to giggle.  The rest of the patrons eyed me suspiciously when I snapped a photo and turned away with my lips twitching, but fortunately nobody called the guys in the white suits.

My childish mind was part of the problem, but the urge to laugh came from another source, too.  My mind immediately seized on the idea of a ‘good fart’ and began manufacturing scenarios in which a fart might be desirable… which led me to a fond memory of my ex-father-in-law (may his delightful soul rest in peace).

One day he went to Emergency with chest pain, so they got him onto a stretcher and attached the usual monitors and devices.  No danger signs showed up, but the terrible pain persisted… until he finally belched and farted in quick succession.  With an engineer’s inborn panache, he sat up on the stretcher and announced, “All systems:  Go!”  Everybody cracked up.

Now that’s a good fart.  And he didn’t even need a ‘plant-based keto-friendly food bar’.

That product label makes me wonder, though:  How many animal-based food bars are out there?  Maybe they just heard about tiger nuts, too…

21 thoughts on “Tiger Nuts

  1. Pingback: Tiger Nuts — Diane Henders | Skin Tickler

  2. I recall reading somewhere that, “women who smell their husbands farts , live longer than those who don’t “ . It cracked me up and I laughed for days.
    BTW I don’t have the same control mechanism as you, if I find it funny I laugh. I once spent a 40 minute train ride to work reading a book. I wish I could remember which one it was.
    Love your posts ❤️💋


    • Bahahaha! I dunno about that statistic — it seems to me that if you’re smelling your husband’s farts you won’t live longer; it’ll just seem like it. Love your comments! 😀


  3. With my 18 year old maturity level…I lost it with the title….had a hard time getting back into the post when I visualized (since I am a visual thinker) the skinned nuts and the fur issue……and yes the box read the way you first read it to me also….don’t you just think great minds think alike???????


  4. You keep cracking me up, Diane. Now, I have no idea why I just used the word “cracking”. Might have to do with nuts. Real ones. I mean, plant-based ones. Whatever. I agree, when that package is stacked with the label sideways, I read it as GoodFarts as well! Maybe we would stick to the French labels?


  5. A question Dianne. Where would one find these Tiger Nuts? In the nut section, vegetable sections, health food store, pet store, veterinary’s office, zoo? I suppose its anyone’s gas, er guess.
    Dave 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I think I just had my best laughing, eye watering day in a long time. my dogs look at me like our mama is nuts.
    you really haven’t lived till you have your stomach blown full of air so they can find what’s causing you to bleed out. After they find and repair it, you get told you will burp and fart till all the air is gone. Yeah, right. My gut still looks like I may have a baby any day now. on a 84 year old that is not a nice look.


    • Oh, ouch! I’m glad they fixed the problem, though — I hope you’re back to normal soon.

      When I had my colonoscopy they told me the same thing, and the nurse confided that they call the recovery room ‘the farting room’. My biggest disappointment was that they gave me so much happy-juice during the procedure that I don’t remember the farting room at all. And I must have used it like a champ, because I was completely deflated by the time my memory returned. Missed opportunities. Sigh. 😉


  7. I feel like the lolcat kitten who says “Ai don’t know what Ai fink about dat” . . .

    Wait, yes, I have one relevant thought after all . . . We grew up not using the word “fart” (we called it a “stink”, the rare times anything was said at all!) but then in middle age my dad’s lady friend gave me the perfect word for it: faaht (just imagine the Queen saying “fart” and you’ve got the pronunciation). It’s a good compromise for easily embarrassed people like me 🙂

    I never heard of tiger nuts before, so thank you for adding to my vocabulary!


    • I really want to try tiger nuts now – I’m a huge fan of all types and flavours of nuts. (And I just can’t write that without snickering — I’m so puerile!) But peanuts are pretty much a staple food for me, so maybe tiger nuts are equally delish.

      We rarely called them farts, either, when I was growing up. The ‘in’ girls of my Grade 3 class used to say, “Oops, I fluffed”, but ‘fluff’ was a bit too precious for me, even then. I seem to recall that the word of choice in our family was ‘toot’… at least until my younger sister coined a new word entirely. Even when she was tiny we were constantly amazed by the sheer volume of her butt trumpet. When she got old enough to realize what we were giggling about, she called them ‘blortles’. It was (and is) a perfect onomatopoeia!


  8. Are you sure you’re not a junior high school boy? Sometimes it’s like reading my own thoughts, but being able to write them down in a much better way. Next thing you know we’ll be talking about boogers and poop! I suspect our combined knowledge of these subjects might put us in the range of “consultant.”


    • Ooh, I like that! It’s so nice to be an expert in at least one thing. And it’s a worrisome thought that some teenage boy is walking around with a 55-year-old woman’s brain in his skull. I’m pretty sure there must have been a cosmic mix-up somewhere…


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