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, December 04, 2013
Bare cheek
Does anyone know what happened to the Russian performance artist who nailed his scrotum to Red Square? I only became interested in his fate when the Russian authorities charged him with “hooliganism”. The injury to his nutsack is of no interest to me. When a man self-harms his genitalia, one has to assume that he’s weighed up the pros and cons. He’s no different, in principle, from Captain Dan, the circus dwarf who attached household appliances to his appendage.
I don’t know why the Russian government keeps over-reacting to these publicity stunts. I can’t think of a protest that would be easier to laugh off. Nor can I think of a crime that’s more obviously its own punishment. They should have hired a workman to extract the nail and sent the fellow a bill for labour and materials. No further action was required.
Some protests are no laughing matter, of course. I would never snigger at a woman who registered a complaint by taking off her clothes. Women are sensitive about their bodies and often have issues about being the wrong shape or size. If they choose to disrobe, for whatever reason, they should be ogled in respectful, sombre-faced silence. It is the height of bad manners to smirk at a naked woman.
An Egyptian maiden has caused a stir in her native land by baring her body in support of women’s rights. Alia al-Mahdi has mocked religious rituals by parodying them in the nude. The local turbans aren’t used to that sort of cheek and have reacted to her lampoons with outrage:
“This is pure heresy!” exclaimed Sheikh Nasser Radwan. “She should be tried for defaming religion and insulting the Divine Being!” he added.
Alia has wisely decamped to Stockholm, where she will be safe from the Divine Being and his vengeful minions. The colder climate has not discouraged her from further activism with her fellow feminudists in FEMEN. According to actress Amanda Banoub, she displays "genuine purity and modesty without a single layer of clothing". Having watched the video, I can almost see what she means.
The problem with stripping off, however, is that people might confuse your philosophy with exhibitionism. It’s an easy mistake for the unsophisticated to make. This explains why many humans prefer to blow a raspberry as a gesture of defiance. The aim is to imitate the noise of a fart, which can be highly unsettling if it catches you unawares. Oddly enough, a genuine fart is not considered to be an insult. However much it annoys the bystander, the farter is usually ashamed of the deed.
The good news for the flatulent is that a new type of underwear has been invented which filters out the pungent fart gases, so the discharge is completely odourless. It ought to be standard kit for humans of all races and creeds. I suppose a few sleazy types might miss smelling their own farts, but to hell with them. “Let them sniff cake,” as the Queen of France might have said.
Labels: fart deodorising underpants, fart noises, FEMEN, nudity, protest, raspberries, Russia
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
