Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Childhood innocence
A school in Sweden is planning to install a musical toilet for its students. On glancing at the relevant news report, I assumed they were doing it to help constipated children evacuate their bowels. My old circus buddy, Smacker Ramrod, told me how listening to Mozart or Perry Como would relax his sphincter and loosen the granite-like dung clogging up his innards. Given that human kiddies are notorious for not eating their veggies and detesting fibre-rich food, it’s highly plausible that many of them face a life-or-death struggle when attempting to eject their faecal waste. If music can help them poop it out, so much the better.
Yet on studying the news report more carefully, it soon became apparent that constipation was not the problem that inspired this innovation. The purpose of the music, in fact, is to drown out any noises made by the toilet-user. It seems that Swedish children are incredibly embarrassed about the sounds they make and don’t want anyone outside the toilet to hear them. I must say I find this quite astonishing. The human children I encountered in my circus days loved making lavatory noises, which they frequently imitated by sticking out their tongues and blowing. The sound of an authentic fart invariably produced great merriment among them. I have no doubt they would have despised the musical toilet as device for weaklings and cry-babies.
Have human children really changed so much since the days I used to associate with them? Or is there a particular problem with Swedish children, who may have been taught that farting is shameful? There’s a big difference, of course, between getting laughs for an imitation fart and getting laughed at for a real one. But I don’t believe children are born with an embarrassment about breaking wind. This can only be a complex giving to them by adults. I should imagine politically correct Swedish parents are giving their children hard stares and forcing them to apologise for their flatulence. This will be very damaging in the long run. A nation that is ashamed of its farts is a nation of sissies.
If I were a schoolteacher in Sweden, I would tell the children that big animals don’t care about the noises they make when they go to the bathroom. I’ve laughed at elephants shitting, I’ve laughed at hippos shitting, and d’ya know what? They never even looked in my direction. That’s what it means to be a big beast. You do whatever you want and don’t worry about the audience reaction. No amount of cackling and hooting is going to make an elephant feel embarrassed.
Anyone who stands outside a toilet hoping to hear amusing noises is an idiot and a buffoon. That’s really scraping the barrel for cheap laughs. Why go to the trouble of making a musical toilet to thwart such people? You may as well make a toilet that makes continuous fart noises to drown out the sound of fart noises. That, I admit, would be pretty funny.
Labels: farting, Farts, flatulence, human kiddies, mockery, musical toilet
Wednesday, September 09, 2015
Quo fartis?
Taylor Swift has denied breaking wind during a live performance on MTV, even though the sound that tooted out as she bent over on stage was suspiciously fart-like. The TV station has supported her claim that a microphone malfunction was to blame, so I suppose that settles the issue. What reason would they have to invent an alibi for a megastar who earns them millions in advertising revenue?
As a jungle-dwelling ape, I know all too well how the ears can be fooled by deceptive sound effects. I remember once laughing at a squatting baboon who seemed to be passing gas like a punctured tyre, only to realise that the noise was being made by a serpent hissing in the nearby bushes. I felt like an utter ass on realising my error, as snakes are no laughing matter in the jungle.
Whether or not Taylor broke wind, I’m disappointed that she went to the trouble of denying it. The idea that pretty girls shouldn’t fart is one of the great humbugs of human society. Not only is farting a normal bodily function, it’s essential for good health. As well as releasing excess pressure, it removes pungent gases that would do no good if left to bubble and froth inside the intestines. Miss Swift could have made it socially acceptable for young ladies to discharge their flatulence openly and politely, instead of clenching their butt cheeks until an opportunity to sneak it out slyly arises.
Now some of you are probably thinking that I’ve overlooked a crucial question on the subject of farting. What about those in the vicinity of the perpetrator who must endure the obnoxious smell? This is hardly an issue in the animal kingdom because the odours are speedily dissipated in the open air. Not even a herd of flatulent wildebeest can stink up the entire savannah in all its vastness. It’s only the human fad for living in confined spaces that has made the innocent bystander a potential victim of malodorous emissions.
I’m not suggesting that modern humans should return to outdoor living, of course. Even a macho poseur like Bear Grylls, who conned President Obama into smooching his overrated arse, would find it impossible to endure in the long run. The solution, it seems to me, is good ventilation combined with a clear warning from the emitter of the gas to those within sniffing range. Nothing is achieved by the current practice of non-disclosure and denial. It only makes the problem worse.
What can never be tolerated is deliberately using the fart as a weapon. Fans of South Park will remember an episode in which Eric Cartman repeatedly farts on some innocent Muslims to make them confess to terrorist activities. There are also shocking You Tube videos of college boys farting in the faces of their sleeping room mates. It goes without saying that such abuses must be stamped out, but how will that be possible while farting and farting etiquette remain taboo subjects?
Labels: Bear Grylls, fart noises, farting, Farts, Taylor Swift
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Bum news
Victoria Spice has admitted to being a “pain in the bottom” without revealing whose rump she has troubled. That shouldn’t stop us from making an educated guess. I’d wager a ripe bunch of bananas that the bum in question belongs to Mr Becks, her devoted spouse. As a former footballer, his buttocks should be able to bear plenty of punishment before beads of sweat start appearing on his forehead and his groin. It’s a small price to pay for keeping the spark in your marriage alive.
Unfortunately for Mr Becks, Victoria is the type of woman who can dish it out but can’t take it. There’s not nearly enough meat on her tush to satisfy a man’s healthy appetite for butt bongo. If I were her husband, I’d be looking at Miley Cyrus with envious eyes. Miley is petite, but her rump is fleshy enough to be slapped around like pizza dough. Unfortunately for those who dream of pummelling her posterior, she has recently started dating one Patrick Schwarzenegger, son of the former Governator.
I’d like to know why this Schwarzenegger sprog is qualified to be Miley’s beau. Being the son of a famous pair of pecs shouldn’t give you the right to romance the cheekiest nymphette of our age. I hope Miley won’t consider marrying him until he proves himself worthy of the honour. Let him show the world what he’s made of by twerking with Madonna and kicking Bieber’s ass. An alpha male should acquire a reputation of his own rather than basking in the fame of his more illustrious mistress.
Whoopi Goldberg has recently reminded us that not everything associated with the bottom is good. She farted loudly on a TV chat show and had the class to accept responsibility for the deed. This would never have happened back in my circus days, when it was standard practice for humans to blame their farts on someone else. The clowns were constantly doing it and often accused me of creating their flatulence. I was generally content to give the accuser a scornful stare without issuing a formal denial, which would have compromised my dignity.
On one occasion I was forced to respond. After emitting a horrible little guff that sounded like a party horn and smelled like poison gas, a clown feigned to look at me with sad, reproachful eyes:
“Oh GB!” he whined. “Whatever have you been eating?”
“What?!” I thundered. “You accuse me of producing that pathetic little squeak?” “This is what a real gorilla fart sounds like!”
And rising to my feet, I turned my back and gave him a blast of wind resembling the base note of a trombone.
This is why I hope more humans will follow Whoopi’s example and be upfront about breaking wind. If your bowels are feeling turgid, make an announcement to the effect that you need to blow some gas out of your butthole and run to the nearest window. If you're going to fart, do it with dignity and concern for the innocent bystander.
Labels: butt cheeks, buttocks, fart noises, farting, Farts, Miley Cyrus, Mr Becks, Victoria Spice
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Eproctophilia
A correspondent asks me why I haven’t commented on the strange case of a young man who is attracted to girls who break wind:
“I can’t think of anyone better qualified to offer an expert opinion,” he wrote. “You gorillas are constantly farting.”
This peculiar mixture of flattery and exaggeration deserved a curt response. We gorillas discharge gas from our bowels regularly, not continuously, and these emissions do not in themselves make us an authority on the subject. There are many things in life which are done reflexively with the minimum of philosophising.
“I have no interest in human fart fetishes,” I wrote in reply. “My flatulence is released into the open air, preferably when a stiff wind is blowing.”
He left me this link, which I ignored for a good twenty minutes until curiosity got the better of me. It makes fascinating reading. The young man in question is a 22-year-old from Illinois called ‘Brad’, who has a degree in fine arts. He became aware of his unusual fancy in high school, when a girl he had a crush on broke wind in class:
“This blew my mind,” he said. “Prior to that, I’d never really considered it. I knew by simple biology that girls farted, but hearing that the girl I had been fawning over was capable of such a thing sparked a strange interest in me.”
A British psychologist has written a paper about Brad in an academic journal:
“Eproctophiles are said to spend an abnormal amount of time thinking about farting and flatulence and have recurring intense sexual urges and fantasies involving farting and flatulence,” explained Professor Mark Griffiths of Nottingham University.
I’m sure most of my readers will find the idea of being turned on by farts repulsive, but look at it from another point of view. How liberating for a girl to go on a date where she doesn’t have worry about her effusions and could happily order a side dish of re-fried beans. She'd just relax her colon and let the conversation flow, with the occasional interruption from a ladylike ‘parp’. Let’s hope Brad finds a flatulent young female who will fart in his face until the cows come home. A match made in heaven it would certainly be.
I’d be interested to know what Lady Gaga thinks about eproctophilia. The young diva recently starred in a spooky promotional video for a campaign to build a new art institute. It is full of arcane rituals, such as wearing a blindfold with horns sprouting from the eyes, bending over naked in a forest, and hugging a block of ice (or is it quartz crystal?) while naked. I don’t know what it means, but I’m sure the new art institute is as a good as built. No one messes with the occult if they want a quiet life.
The question I’d like you to consider is whether a woman who performs such outlandish deeds could possibly be ashamed (or even coy) about breaking wind? If anyone could make farting fashionable, it’s got to be Lady Gaga.
Labels: eproctophilia, fart fetish, farting, Farts, Lady Gaga
Friday, April 20, 2012
Sound effects
The manager of the safari camp is pestering me to enter the farting competition announced by the De Wolfe Music Company.
“You can record them on my MP3 player!” he exclaimed. “I’ll do the editing myself and send them your finest 21-gun salute! How could anyone match a gorilla’s heavy artillery? The competition would be blown away!”
I knew better than to fall for such bogus flattery. He obviously wanted to use my bowel sounds for his own nefarious ends.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” I replied. “Recording the rumblings from my stormy interior would violate our sacred jungle taboos. A gorilla does not give away the sacred music of his intestines. I thank you, nevertheless, for praising my wind-making abilities. It’s always nice to have one’s talents recognised.”
The competition is sure to have many worthy entrants without my participation, but I do not give it my unqualified blessing. Although recording lavatory noises for posterity is obviously a worthwhile endeavour and a source of wonder for future generations, the rules of the competition permit simulated farts to be entered. I don’t know about you, but I have no respect for people who manufacture phoney flatulence by squelching their underarms or blowing raspberries. Allowing such fake noises to compete with authentic anal blasts will make a mockery of the whole thing as far as I’m concerned.
It also troubles me that De Wolfe are planning to sell the winning farts to the entertainment industry. I deplore their connivance in such acoustic deception. When I hear a fart in a movie or pop video, I want it to be a real one rather than a noise dubbed in from a sounds-effects library. Would Humphrey Bogart or Dame Vera Lynn have used a fart double? Of course not! Those old-school pros performed from the gut.
So what should be done with the winning farts? In my view, the welfare of the common folk should take precedence over the commercial interests of the show-business community. I would make them freely available for public use. Imagine the delight they would bring to birthday parties, weddings and christenings! People listening to a pompous speech or boring sermon could register their lack of interest with a crisp “parp”, rather than by yawning or picking their noses. What better way to release the pent-up frustrations of the masses and unburden their downtrodden souls?
When all is said and done, I disapprove of fart noises being traded like commodities or sold to the highest bidder. Farts are part of Nature’s bounty, like the rivers and mountains and herds of roaming buffalo. One can no more claim ownership of them than the geysers in Yellowstone Park, which spurt freely and proudly in front of admiring spectators. The next time you hear good one, treat it as a natural wonder to rival ‘Old Faithful’ and give it a hearty round of applause. If you don’t savour the good things in life, you may as well watch frogs mate.
Labels: fart noises, farting, Farts, Old Faithful
Friday, September 25, 2009
Natural gas
A geologist at the safari guesthouse tells me that the Earth’s atmosphere once consisted of noxious gases such as methane and ammonia. In effect, our planet was engulfed in a gigantic fart cloud.
“It’s a good thing no one lit a match,” I remark.
“There was no one around to light a match,” he says. “The only living creatures were micro-organisms in the ocean.”
“Just how long ago was this?” I ask through narrowed eyes.
“A billion years or so,” he answers. “And the gases wouldn’t have been combustible, you’ve got your chemistry wrong.”
I wonder silently how the hell he knows what happened a billion years ago. Even someone who had lived that long would have forgotten about it by now. There are very few humans who can remember the Chimpanzees’ Tea Party at London Zoo, which was discontinued in 1972. And his assertion that farty gases are not ignitable is certainly wrong – I have evidence which proves that they are.
A correspondent recently alerted me to a home video made by some college students. The opening scenes, in which a number of malicious hoodlums fart on the faces of their sleeping roommates, are not germane. I apologise for drawing attention to the behaviour of these humanoid skunks, whose lowly character is manifested in the hideous squeaky noises of their emissions. Farts like that are suggestive of a cowardly, sneaky nature. An honest, gorilla-like fart makes a low, rumbling noise.
Towards the end of the video, a couple of young ladies make an appearance and fart rather sweetly. After that, we get to the evidence. In a spirit of scientific inquiry, several fellows apply the naked flame to their flatulence. In each case, the fart burns with hues familiar to anyone who owns a gas cooker. It is the characteristic flame of the combustion of methane, which progresses according to the following chemical reaction:
CH4 + 2O2 = CO2 + 2H2O
Yes, Gorilla Bananas knows his chemistry. Apologies for showing off like this, but after mentioning the geologist’s ill-informed remark I needed to set the record straight. If he is reading this, I hope he is feeling sheepish.
Now the fascinating thing about methane is that it has no smell – the poo-ish odour of the fart is caused by hydrogen sulphide, which is useless as a fuel (although very effective in stink bombs). If someone could find a simple method of separating the flatus into its component gases, college boys and other enthusiasts could develop a thriving cottage industry. As the saying goes, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.
The last thing I want to say about farts concerns a pathetic incident involving the Austrian police. It began when a 19-year-old lad called Hansi Sporer broke wind audibly at a music festival. Unfortunately for him, a pair of passing police officers heard the fart and took umbrage, apparently believing it had been discharged specifically to greet their arrival. They then slapped a fine of 50 euros on the boy, complaining that they had been “humiliated”. Did you ever hear of such a pair of sissies? Heaven help the Austrian police if all it takes to break their spirit is a fart. If Hitler were in a grave (rather than scattered in various pieces around Russia), he would surely be turning over in it.
Labels: Farts, flatulence, flatus, Hitler
