My father used to rattle off an etymological little ditty about flatulence. Sinfully, I have forgotten how it went. It started out: "Fizz-fuzz, a fizz fuzz" and then it would happily go on to describe the various ways intestinal gas escape our bodies. It ended with, "...and a rattler don't count."
Since I am a educated man, or think I am, I try to tell my refined sophisticated self that I am not much into bathroom humor. But I have another side, less polished, childlike, that believes, firmly and fancifully, that farts are funny. Yep, squeeze one off in public and it is sure to be the highlight of the day.
I have mentioned before, perhaps many times, that Bill Seaton, a kid our age, and whose family always sat in front of ours in church made one of the most memorable memories of that dreaded almost weekly experience. Bill ripped one during a moment of silent prayer one Sunday, and his mother, Doris, tapped him on the shoulder in a scolding fashion. He ripped again, and she tapped his shoulder again. This went on quite a few times until Bill was spent and Doris forever shamed. It was, in my eyes, sitting behind them, while my shoulders were bobbing up and down in silent reverie, trying so hard not to laugh, one of the most perfect moments I have ever experienced.
History tells us that passing wind has started wars and ended nations.
At its most basic it is a physiological need to excrete digestive gasses. At its most playful it is "pull my finger". For the 1st century Jews in Jerusalem it led to 10,000 deaths. I know of such things clearing out rooms but 10,000 dead is more than just silent but deadly. According to the historian Josephus, a Roman soldier bent down in temple, lifted his skirt, and ripped one. It was shortly before Passover and it pissed off the people so much that it led to a riot. OK, maybe it wasn't the fart so much as the disrespect of the Temple.
Herodotos tells us that in 570 B.C. the Egyptian king, Apries, sent an army led by Partabemis to find a badass named Amasis who was stirring up shit out in the hinterlands. When Partabemis told him that the King wanted to see him, Amasis, who was on horseback, lifted up and let go one. When Partabemis returned and told the King of Amasis actions and refusal to come back with him, the King had Partabemis mutilated and killed. This pissed of the army of the King who liked the guy a lot and this, eventually, led to rebellion and the deaths of thousands of Egyptians.
St. Augustine believed flatulence was a type of music but, sadly, medieval folks, somber lot they, believed it to be a sign of decay and death. For the most part, Christians, except those hearty few who attended the Presbyterian church with Bill Seaton thought flatulence to be on the bad side, all things considered.
But like Bill, and most of us, in church or out, farts are funny. Purportedly, the greatest comic for the fart was a guy named Roland le Sarcere, court minstrel for King Henry II. Roland performed a dance that included a simultaneous execution of a whistle, a jump and a fart. For his efforts he was awarded a manor house and 100 acres of land. I'm going to see if I can work up some kind of act like Roland's next time I'm at Beer Bellies. Maybe I can get a free beer for my efforts.
As bodily sounds go, coughs are neither here nor there. Burps are acceptable, hiccups are cute. Sneezes are excused by a blessing by God, but the lowly fart is still irredeemable. And as long as a dog is around they can blamed, sometimes justly.
Farts are funny. That guy above, whose pained annoyance at what he created and suffered may be the funniest thing I have ever seen. Except, of course, for Bill Seaton's theological tooting everytime his mother tapped his shoulder. Pure comic joy.
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