#oneaday Day 841: The politics of farting

One of the most complex parts of human interactions that we all have to independently learn to navigate is the politics and etiquette of farting. We all do it — yes, even you — but everyone, eventually, comes to their own conclusions as to how, when and why they let the bum gas fly.

I grew up in a household where farting was considered very amusing. Both my Dad and my Mum could let out an absolute ripper of a trump in their prime, and the culture of our family was that you did it without shame. The implication was that you were in a safe place and could be yourself, as disgusting as you wanted, and you would be accepted for it.

Curiously, though, I was not allowed to say the word "fart" as a child. It was considered a swear word. To this day, I'm not entirely sure why, though I guess it occupies the same tier as "crap" where, in the appropriate circumstances, you can probably consider it a mild profanity. Instead, we would typically just use the word "flatulence", which, despite being the scientific, medical term for it, is a very funny word indeed. Occasionally, if we came across a particularly amusing euphemism for it either on television or in other media (such as in The Beano, which I read habitually as a child) and would make use of that, but "flatulence" is the one that stuck, and "fart" was verboten. (I am allowed to say "fart" these days, though I'm pretty sure my parents still don't use it much.)

School is a complicated time to determine your outlook on farting, because you are faced with a variety of mixed messages. Were you to let out a honking grunt in the middle of a quiet lesson, would everyone laugh, or would everyone consider it disgusting and shameworthy? At least part of it is down to the overall way that you are seen generally; if you're one of the cool kids, farting is hilarious, while if you're an unpopular person for one reason or another, farting is the height of shame — so much so that even the accusation of having farted, even if you hadn't done so, could earn you the ridicule and censure of your peers.

Such was the case within lessons, of course. At break and lunchtime, that was a different matter. I have strangely vivid memories of an occasion during my time at primary school where my best friend Matthew and I were trying out shoulderstands (which we'd recently learned for the first time in PE) and discovered that the contortions involved in performing a shoulderstand not only churn up your guts a bit, they also slacken your ringpiece in a way that is eminently suitable for ripping a chuffnut. Thus we spent quite some time attempting to discover the optimal position in which to achieve salty guffs almost on demand.

I'm primarily talking about farting here, but burps bear mentioning, too. Burps, to my recollection, never carried the same possibility of shame as farting, and instead they had a variety of social functions. Those who learned how to burp on command became comedy gods, and those who could summon up a thunderous belch from the very depths of Hell itself could make use of them in a strangely aggressive, dominant manner. Again, I think back to my schooldays, and a particularly vivid memory is standing waiting for the bus with the other people from my village, and my sometimes-friend Dale repeatedly letting out some of the most earth-shaking burps the world has ever heard, on at least one occasion causing the headmaster of our old primary school (who lived near where we waited for the bus) to come outside and ask him to please stop doing that.

Farts are a sign of acceptance in a friendship group, though. People you can fart in front of without shame are people you can call true friends. And, unsurprisingly, I have a lot of weirdly "special" memories of times spent farting with people who are important to me. Some of the most vivid involve my friend Woody, who I would often end up sharing a room with if we were sleeping over at our mutual friend Edd's house, since we both lived a fair distance away.

On various occasions, Woody summoned up "canned veg farts" (absolutely rancid-smelling guffs that were akin to opening a bin that hadn't been emptied for a month in terms of the poisonous atmosphere they created), "water farts" (repeated, loud parps that he swore could be attributed to the amount of water he had drunk that evening) and "Emperor farts" (honking trumps that were preceded by a quote from The Emperor in one of the original three Star Wars movies). There was also the evening of "Did You Hear What I Just Felt", where a particularly vigorous anal fanfare was followed up by the briefest, quietest sound, a little like what raw chicken sounds like if you pick it up. He had to go and check himself after that one.

In somewhat later years, one of my most memorable days working at the Apple Store was the day we had a detailed discussion in Back of House about what the absolute optimal conditions for farting were, and we collectively determined that it was sitting on a hard, wooden dining chair while naked and slightly damp. If you have never farted on a non-padded dining chair, I highly encourage you to try it. You might be surprised.

Of course, it's also an important moment in a relationship when one or the other of you decides that now is the time to start farting in front of each other. It goes back to family; being able to rip out a salty grunt in front of someone without embarrassment, shame or fear is a sign of trust. And the expression of this trust is often unspoken; you never, ever have a discussion about "well, I guess it's time we started guffing around each other". It just sort of happens. And that's lovely.

Want to read my thoughts on various video games, visual novels and other popular culture things? Stop by MoeGamer.net, my site for all things fun where I am generally a lot more cheerful. And if you fancy watching some vids on classic games, drop by my YouTube channel.

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#oneaday Day 555: Silly things from around the Web

Yes, that's the NCSA Mosaic logo. I am that old.

I can't think of anything in particular to write about today, so I'm going to just talk about a few random things I happen to have seen around the Web recently, or perhaps not-so-recently in a few cases. Hopefully that will at least provide me with some inspiration to say something about each of them. So let's begin.

Lord Heath's farts

This is one of those things that I don't remember the specifics of how I stumbled across it, but I was thoroughly glad that I did. There's a chap on YouTube who goes by the name "Lord Heath", and his channel primarily consists of him doing short, light-hearted review videos of various soft drinks.

However, at various points in his past, he has also committed to video some of the most impressive flatulence ever emitted by a human being. I present to you exhibit A, which still makes me literally cry with laughter every time I watch it (and, more importantly, listen to it):

Everything about this is perfect. The earnest explanation. The explosive opening. The gradual howling of descending pitch. The crescendo towards the end as it comes in to land. The final thrust that accompanies the last burst. The fact that he's naked. Absolutely no notes whatsoever.

Five years I have been pissing myself laughing at that specific video. And I suspect I will continue to do so for many more years to come.

Jucika Daily

Jucika Daily originated on Twitter before migrating over to Bluesky when everyone realised that the place had become a Nazi bar. It's an account that posts Jucika strips, with Jucika being a mostly wordless Hungarian comic strip that ran from 1957 up until its creator's death in 1970.

Jucika centres on the life and times of an attractive young woman called Jucika and the various misadventures she has. She is depicted as being somewhat saucy, risqué and romantically forward, but the comic mostly parodies sexist attitudes rather than objectifying Jucika herself. Indeed, more often than not, Jucika is shown taking advantage of the sexist attitudes of the men around her in order to put herself at an advantage.

The Jucika Daily account posts comics from the 500 strip strong Jucika archive every day, and often includes helpful context in the alt text for each image. While the comics are almost always entirely free of dialogue, there are occasional Hungarian terms that appear on signs and suchlike, so the creator goes out of their way to explain these things where necessary.

At the time of writing, the account's creator is facing a large medical bill for an emergency kidney operation, but they are continuing to post strips while promoting their crowdfunding efforts. Even if you have no intention of handing over money to a complete stranger on the Internet, do at least go and check out the comic strips — they will make you smile.

CheapShow

The CheapShow podcast is ostensibly a show about going through the bargain bins and Poundlands of Great Britain and coming back with the treasure from amongst the trash, but really it's an excuse for best friends Paul Gannon and Eli Silverman to hang out and get very silly with one another — and to include us, the audience, in with their nonsense.

CheapShow has a number of regular features, including The Price of Shite, where Paul and Eli have to guess the prices of various pieces of tat purchased from charity shops; Off-Brand Brand-Off, where one or the other does a blind taste test of branded and unbranded variants of a particular product to determine which is best; and Eli's Country Urban Noodle Test-lab Kitchen, in which the pair taste-test different varieties of instant noodles. Alongside these, which tend to rotate in and out with each episode, the pair also often go on real-life "walkabout" episodes, where they decide to follow a walking tour on a route that falls outside of the usual "tourist" spots in London, and perhaps learn something along the way.

CheapShow works so well because Paul and Eli have magnificent chemistry with one another, and brilliant senses of humour that will resonate well with anyone around the age of 40 or so — particularly those who enjoy a good bit of old-fashioned British toilet humour. Paul and Eli are also both thoroughly lovely chaps outside of the podcast, and they deserve your support.

That'll do for today. I hope you find some enjoyment from these — I certainly have!

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#oneaday Day 341: Rabbit (ass)holes

A random bit of Internet rabbithole-diving this evening brought me into the realm of "King Assripper". The name pretty much says it all, but in case you were in any doubt: this was a man who, as far as I can make out, became famous for eating a lot and farting. Particularly farting.

His most well-known work is "King Assripper Farts On His Roommate's Door", which, in this age of clickbait, is refreshingly honest about what it offers. Sadly, the originally posted video of this spectacular display of flatulence no longer exists — good old link rot strikes again — but, as with most things on the Internet, it has been archived for posterity by other people who, I'm sure, are more than happy to get some YouTube ad revenue from the hundreds of thousands of people keen to see a fat man guff really loud.

Except it goes deeper than that. I decided to look into whether there was any more information online about King Assripper, or if the above masterpiece was his one and only work. Besides a KnowYourMeme page on the "Farting On Roomate's [sic] Door", I also discovered what appears to be a complete archive of everything King Assripper has ever contributed to Internet culture, where else? The Internet Archive, of course.

The Internet Archive is a curious organisation, and I'm thoroughly grateful for its existence. It plays host to so much stuff, and it's fascinating to see what has been recorded in there. Looking for old magazines? Chances are you can find them in the Internet Archive. But, at the same time, you can also find the entire video output of a guy who liked to stuff his face and then fart thunderously.

In a sense, I guess it's important to archive stuff like King Assripper, because whatever you may think of his, uh, content, he has nonetheless had an impact on popular culture. This whole little adventure this evening was mostly set in motion by Arin from GameGrumps happening to mention "Farting On Roomate's Door" during an episode. My thought process ran something like "oh, I vaguely remember that", closely followed by a nigh-uncontrollable desire to see someone farting on their roommate's door.

From another perspective, I guess one could look at it as a little worrying. Consider the cultural output of previous centuries, and how much of it has been painstakingly archived, reproduced and, on occasion, updated to make it more palatable or understandable to a modern audience. Then consider someone in 200 years' time (assuming we haven't boiled the planet by then) looking back on the culture from today that we've preserved, and stumbling across the complete archive of King Assripper's videos.

Now there's one thing you never see in sci-fi, eh? You never see them looking back at galactic history in Star Trek and Worf going "I learned that in the 21st century, humans communicated by farting on one another's doors", and Picard having to explain that no, that was only something that happened under particular circumstances, and should by no means be taken as representative of the entire cultural output of the 21st century.

I bet Riker farted on a few doors in his younger days, though.

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I let out a gigantic, unmistakable, uncontrollable fart at the self-checkout in Marks & Spencers.

This is the stock image I got for searching "fart", so this is what you get. Photo by Julissa Helmuth on Pexels.com

It really wasn't a subtle one, either. It was the kind of sphincter-rippling, slack-anused report where you know that every inch, every ounce of buttock fat was involved in producing that triumphant fanfare, and where the moment after it has occurred, you know that there is absolutely no way you're going to be able to pass it off as you knocking something over or scraping something along a floor.

There are two practical ways you can really handle a situation like this: either take ownership of the situation and have a good giggle about it with everyone around you, or simply pretend that it didn't happen, implying that anyone who did happen to hear your eruption was somehow hallucinating. I chose the latter option; I don't have nearly enough social confidence, particularly around strangers, to pull off some sort of "Good LORD! Did you hear that?!" routine around strangers, though I'm more than happy to parp thunderously in front of close friends and family.

Both responses place anyone near you in something of an awkward position, of course. If you take the former approach, then there's the unspoken expectation that those nearby will participate in your routine, congratulating you on your impersonation of a baritone brass instrument and generally agreeing that having a good old guff is the peak of humorous funtimes. This, of course, does not take into account those who find bodily functions objectionable, particularly in public, and is likely to make those people feel uncomfortable.

If you take the latter approach, meanwhile, you place the responsibility on the people around you to either comment on the situation or remain quiet. And if you heard the noise that I emitted while swinging my carrier bag full of groceries around from the self-checkout into the trolley, I suspect some people would find it quite difficult not to comment.

Thankfully, the situation resolved itself with probably the optimal outcome. The only person nearby when the incident occurred was someone else who was packing their shopping, and they either chose to remain quiet or simply didn't notice. There certainly wasn't any sort of reaction, so if it's the former I applaud them for their self-control; by the time I was out in the car park I was already in fits of giggles. I hope that when they meet up with their friends later, they enjoy telling the story about the fat man next to them in Marks & Spencer who let rip with a humdinger of a bottom burp without shame while finishing their shopping trip.

I mean it when I say it was uncontrollable, though; it was the sort of guff that doesn't so much sneak up on you as it is suddenly present, without warning. There was no noticeable brewing time, no bubbling in the gut, no time to prepare — it was simply a case of me apparently moving in the wrong direction and releasing the explosion that had clearly been biding its time in my arse, trapped in a sweaty, fleshy prison, for quite a while.

I am pleased to report, however, that I did not "follow through", as the vernacular has it. It was simply an extremely loud, explosive trump that was gone almost as soon as it arrived. And now I am home I can have a good laugh about it without worrying about funny looks from strangers. Except for all the strangers I've told about it on the Internet with this post.

Oh well. I can't see your faces.

1703: Beans, Beans, Beans

I've never really felt like all those pieces of conventional wisdom regarding certain foods and drinks actually have the intended effect on me — at least not until the last few years or so. I'm not sure if they're actually having more of an effect on me as I get older, or if I'm simply more conscious of the effect they're having on me. Either way, I'm starting to notice that some of the things regarding food and drink I've long had a certain degree of doubt over are perhaps a little more true than I thought.

Take coffee, for example. Now, my past resilience to caffeine — I've long been able to drink a cup of joe in the evening and not have it affect my sleep patterns, though this is perhaps due to the fact that my sleep patterns are already somewhat questionable — can perhaps be attributed to the sheer amount of the stuff I've put into my body on a regular basis ever since I was quite young. Coffee is seen by some as a "grown-up drink" — perhaps because of its bitterness, and the fact that, without milk, it's an acquired taste — but I've been drinking it in various forms for as long as I can remember. Okay, for the first few years of my life it was milky Nescafé, but as soon as the world discovered fancy, expensive coffees I was right there with everyone — though I must confess I don't go as far as some people, largely because I have no idea what a "wet latte" is.

Anyway. The fact is, I've always drunk a lot of coffee — and buying a nice coffee machine a while back certainly didn't help me cut back, not that I particularly wanted to. As such, my body has apparently grown somewhat accustomed to caffeine, and thus a simple coffee never felt like it had a huge amount of effect on me. Sure, if I drank too many coffees and Red Bulls in a day, I'd get the shakes and feel a bit sick — as bad a feeling as any hangover, that, let me tell you — but for the most part, I never felt like caffeine made me any more "alert" or gave me a buzz as legend had it that it was supposed to.

Recently, however, I've cut back on coffee somewhat, largely due to the fact that it costs money to go and get a decent coffee at work (I could take instant, but, frankly, I'm a snob about coffee now and find that most instant — with the possible exception of Nescafé Azera, which is actually pretty good — tastes like crap) and thus I drink far less on any given day. And, as a result, I feel like caffeine is having more of an effect on me. I know a morning coffee certainly feels like it helps — and if I need to pep up a bit in the afternoon, another cup feels like it helps too. It's possibly psychosomatic, of course — which is what I've long suspected when it comes to caffeine — but, well, it's working for me.

An area where I have less doubt is in the matter of baked beans. Now, those of you with fond memories of the schoolyard will doubtless remember the short piece of juvenile poetry that taught everyone that while beans were indeed good for one's heart, they had a habit of also afflicting one with a certain degree of flatulence.

I've never really actually considered this to be true, despite the popular perception of eating beans being akin to allowing a Northern mining town free rein to hold brass band rehearsals somewhere within the cavernous expanse of your rectum. However, once again, just recently I have discovered that there may, in fact, be a degree more truth in this piece of popular wisdom than I had initially anticipated.

I had a jacket potato for lunch the other day, you see. My workplace canteen boasts some of the largest baked potatoes I've ever seen, and they're cooked nicely so that there's a bit of crispiness to the skin while they remain fluffy and not dried out within. There are few fillings available for said baked potatoes, but one of them is the old staple baked beans, optionally with the addition of cheese. I indulged in this classic combination, then went back to work in the afternoon. Upon reaching the end of the day, I found myself feeling a little bloated, but thought little of it and walked the 15-minute walk back to my car.

Upon reaching my car and sitting down inside, it happened: an attack of flatulence that bore an uncanny resemblance to distant — but rapidly approaching — rolling thunder. Starting subtly but quickly building in a crescendo of gaseous overtones, the entire affair lasted a good ten seconds or so, after which the feeling of being somewhat bloated had magically passed. It took another ten minutes for me to stop laughing enough to be able to drive off safely.

Naturally, upon discovering that the canteen's particular brand of baked beans had such a dramatic impact on me, I had to try again. And so it was that today I indulged in another gigantic jacket potato with beans and cheese — and a jelly for afters, because who can resist a jelly? — and so it was that once again, upon returning to my vehicle after a long day staring at my computer screen, I erupted in a cacophony of full-bodied guffs that I can hardly deny were extremely satisfying to release. I was even a bit sorry that no-one was around to hear them.

So yeah. Beans, beans, good for your heart; beans, beans really do… you know.