In the later half of the 19th century a Frenchman named Joseph Pujol discovered he had a very bizarre talent. When he contracted and constricted his abdominal muscles he discovered he could intentionally suck air into his rectum. He could them expel the air resulting in a comical fart. While today many may look down upon such talent, Pujol’s special ability would make him one of the most famous superstars in Europe.
Pujol first began his act entertaining his fellow soldiers while in the army. After his military career he began performing in small clubs and saloons while operating a bakery in Mersailles. In 1887, at the age of 30 Pujol was invited to his first major performance. At first his talents were met with skepticism and scorn, the performance of a man farting might be seen as bit lowbrow among certain circles, but his fame quickly caught on and he began performing all over France. By 1892 he became a household name all over France, and was invited to perform regularly at the famous Moulin Rouge music hall were he took the stage name “Le Petomane, The Fartiste”. At the height of his career he was performing for kings, and made a very handsome 20,000 Francs a week.
A typical performance of Le Petomane would usually start with impersonations, where he would reproduce the fart of a newlywed woman, a large workingman, a timid young girl, a powerful emperor, as well as everyday sound effects. He would also blow out stage lights, smoke a cigarette through a tube inserted into his rectum, or blow wind so hard it would rustle stage curtains. For his grand finale would insert a flute or ocarina into his bum and play famous songs, such a “O Sole Mio”. One might ask, wouldn’t Le Petomane be an especially smelly performance? Mr. Pujol was an expert professional who irrigated his colon daily to prevent such an occurrence.
After performing at the Moulin Rouge for four years, Pujol fell into dispute with the owners and quit. He founded his own theater company and continued to perform until World War I. Unfortunately the story of “The Fartiste” ends on a sour note. During the war his two sons were badly injured in combat and left disabled. Pujol fell into a deep depression, so much so that he could never perform again. He retired to the life of baker, passing away in 1945 at the age of 88.
So the other fart thing is when I was a kid and we went on vacations, my brother and I used to have ‘farties’ – 'fart parties’. Which basically consisted of trying to synchronize our farts and then stick our heads under the blanket. Don’t ask why we thought this was a good idea.
John snores like a chainsaw being started by the incredible gripping power of the ass cheeks of a giant with chronic flatulence. Imagine that directly in your ear all night. I can't even start on the drool--
Wait, Dirk, are you two sleeping together?
*flashback to dirk and john screwin around in their dorm after getting stoned off janes pot brownies*
I found one of Rose's spellbooks and I bet we could summon a ghost with it.
dude, i love ghosts! let's do it, i really want to see a ghost up close and personal.
This is the best idea we've ever done.
*cut to a writhing mass of darkness on dirks bed, screeching at the horror of being birthed into a new world in a tone that can only be heard to the summoners*
MAYBE THIS WAS A BAD IDEA?
NO, I'VE GOT THIS, HELP ME PICK IT UP WE'LL THROW IT OUTSIDE AND BURN IT.
I THINK THAT'S A GOOD IDEA BUT I ALSO THINK I SAID THAT LAST TIME.
S'GOOD, BRO, LET'S JUST DO THIS.
*cut to them resting on the edge of johns bed, tired and coming way the hell down*
you can sleep with me in my bed, dude.
dirk, a Gay:
i know its kind of tight, but it's cool with me if you snuggle--i mean, um--it's okay if we're really close?
*john is facing him while they lie in bed and doesnt seem to have any intention of turning around, leaving them face to face, close enough to feel each others breath*