Growing up with 6 older brothers, I learned L'art du Fart at an early age. When I was about six or seven years old, my brother Scott tickled me (tickle≠love; tickle=warfare) until I hyperventilated. He then proceeded to throw me on the floor and suffocate me with the pillow he had at the ready. Right before I died, he removed the pillow, and as I sucked in what I assumed would be sweet, life-giving air, he farted, the kind of fart that only he could fart, right in my face. Then he stood over me and laughed his ass off before he walked away in triumph.
You'd think I would have developed some kind of fart phobia after an incident like this. But even in the moment I had some kind of deep, sick appreciation for his development of such an intricately calculated plan, and the flawless timing of his execution. He was damn funny.
Perhaps I am actually stuck in the 7th grade, but farts are funny. Period. A few years ago my coworkers, knowing that farts, especially the fake kind you make with your mouth, always take me to the verge of peeing in my pants, purchased a remote controlled fart machine and surreptitiously taped it underneath my chair. Anytime someone would walk by my desk, they would set it off. That made for good times.
Since Christmas was just around the corner, I purchased one to entertain my family with during our annual gift-giving extravaganza, and strangely enough, my brother Scott's 7 year old daughter took to the joke like a duck to water. She stole the remote from me, and every time someone would bend over to pick up a gift, she'd set it off. With 5 separate and hilarious sounds, the fart machine, especially in this child prodigy's hands, made our Christmas one of the jolliest in recent memory.
Sidebars:
You'd think I would have developed some kind of fart phobia after an incident like this. But even in the moment I had some kind of deep, sick appreciation for his development of such an intricately calculated plan, and the flawless timing of his execution. He was damn funny.
Perhaps I am actually stuck in the 7th grade, but farts are funny. Period. A few years ago my coworkers, knowing that farts, especially the fake kind you make with your mouth, always take me to the verge of peeing in my pants, purchased a remote controlled fart machine and surreptitiously taped it underneath my chair. Anytime someone would walk by my desk, they would set it off. That made for good times.
Since Christmas was just around the corner, I purchased one to entertain my family with during our annual gift-giving extravaganza, and strangely enough, my brother Scott's 7 year old daughter took to the joke like a duck to water. She stole the remote from me, and every time someone would bend over to pick up a gift, she'd set it off. With 5 separate and hilarious sounds, the fart machine, especially in this child prodigy's hands, made our Christmas one of the jolliest in recent memory.
Sidebars: Le Pétomane, the original Fartiste, is worth studying. Here's a clip from a really bad mini-movie made about him.
And my friend Emily sent me this video yesterday.
And my friend Emily sent me this video yesterday.
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