When introducing my mother to others, I usually start with “she’s from Baltimore, and her idol is John Waters.” This typically sets the stage for the inevitable ‘pull my finger’ that’s to come (she taught her first grandchild this trick before he was even eight months out of the womb).  With my mother as muse and collaborator, her canned farts and year’s worth of flatulent recordings use laughter as a weapon and icebreaker.