The Breath of Satan
I come from a long line of farters. My dad is one of those people who finds anal serenades the funniest thing on earth, much to mum's great annoyance.

But without fail, it is always her own trumps which have been the source of the greatest amusement, of which the greatest was one summer many years ago when both her sisters and our cousins were all over for a Sunday of food, booze, playing games and family bonding.

Picture, if you will, a group of 12 of us in the garden doing nothing more exciting than standing in a big circle simply throwing a ball randomly to each other (yes, the family get-togethers were quite, quite shit). Mum wasn't the best of catchers, and was regularly dropping the ball, and had to scuttle off to pick it up with the grace and co-ordination only a post-menopausal lady appears to be able to attain.

One time, she bent over a bit quickly, and inadvertantly let off a fart of such power and tonal quality that it must have been close to tearing the fabric of space and time.

This destroyed everyone - uncles and aunts were bent over double in pain from laughing. There didn't seem to be a dry eye in the garden. The game was half-heartedly continued but eventually was given up as a lost cause.

This in itself was amusing enough, but from my own point of view it was funnier watching our neighbours the following weekend, standing in a circle, attempting to play the same game and work out what the hell made it quite so amusing for us to play.

I reckon at its current velocity that fart must be close approaching the edge of the known universe.

---

I think my own most ignoble moment was being on holiday in Prague with some friends staying in a dorm room. I dropped a fart which was silent and evil enough to rouse my friend Ali from his drunken slumber.

I almost wept with joy.
(Glis, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:41, Reply)