I also enjoy farting near strangers, at a bus stop, or train station, and then slinking away, trying not to giggle and give the game away.
I have an Uncle who is highly skilled in the art of the silent but violent (flatal and fatal?). His finest hour was when he was sitting on his own in a pub, noiselessly dropped his guts, and then some young lads at a nearby table began arguing over who had done it – they actually came to blows in the car park as he drank up and toddled off on his merry way.
I once listed a jar of farts on ebay, for a joke. And, yes, somebody bought them. 99p. Hahaha.
Was it Christina Perri?
Some of you are going to get a shock when you get older.
Stand up - fart escapes.
If anything, when the aches and pains of senescence begin to take their toll, you’re just grateful of any little turbo boost to help you get up from your chair.
I once walked the entire length of the conservatory/sun lounge in a large hotel in Blackpool, rhythmically pumping away and crop-dusting a huge throng of unsuspecting people. It spanned the entire front of the hotel (the Norbreck, if anybody cares) – must have been a couple of hundred feet long. No idea where I got such a long-lasting stream of ‘fuel’ from.
Sadly, I don’t have a great many memories of one of my Grandmothers, but I will always remember her favourite joke, that she never tired of telling and I never tired of laughing at:
A young girl was overjoyed to be given two fantastic presents for her birthday – a new bell for her bicycle and a bottle of perfume – so much so that she excitedly ran around, telling anybody who would listen “If you hear a little noise and you smell a little smell – you’ll know it’s me!”