Society says you’re really immature if you talk about farts. And comedy says you’re lazy if you talk about farts. I’ve been torn for the last few days because the infamous Crowd Farter has brought to my attention an intense desire to talk about farts. So, let’s all join hands and wear turtlenecks and be mature for a minute. Let’s forget that farts come from our butts and sometimes sound like sirens, and let’s just concentrate on the Crowd Farter himself.
I felt a call to action when I went to Disneyland on New Year’s Eve. My man friend and I took a delightful jaunt to the happiest place on Earth for an afternoon of casual roller coaster riding and a few hugs from Mickey and friends. We weren’t aware that New Year’s Eve is the busiest day of the entire year.
Oh.
When you arrive, they hand you a little paper that explains all the good things about the neighboring park, pretty much begging you to please go there instead. But did we? Nope. As soon as we handed our tickets to the grimacing Disney attendant, we knew we should have heeded the advice of the little paper. It was like walking through peanut butter. People and more people everywhere. And this special eve is one of those occasions that calls the fanatics out. Not one but many grown men dressed as Jack Sparrow pranced as much as grown men dressed as Jack Sparrow* can prance. Hidden among the men with eyeliner, the families wearing Mickey ears and the college kids dressed as princesses lurked several Crowd Farters.
Crowd Farters are aware of the noise level of crowds. They know there’s movement in a group so they feel safe, finding no need to walk away briskly or defensively joke about smelling it and dealing it. They wouldn’t do this at a business meeting or on a date. But as soon as big numbers ensure their anonymity, they delight in ruining firework displays, church, concerts, the theater, subway rides, elevators, mall food courts, outdoor festivals, ride lines at Disneyland, and worst of all: airplanes. They’re farting professionals.
And they need to be stopped.
But can they be? There’s no proof in the pudding, my friends. And I don’t understand that phrase because is there ever proof in pudding? I’m not sure there’s ever even fingerprints on pudding. I’ve contemplated this, and I’m thinking anyone would be hard-pressed to brush for prints on either bread pudding or chocolate pudding. And many crowds don’t even have pudding in them. Therefore, Crowd Farters cannot be identified. We all like to guess the culprit just by the expressions of our fellow crowd members, but there’s never any pudding. You know who you are, Crowd farter. Yes, you do. And I beg you to please… hold off. Do it for humanity. Do it for the pudding.
I inhaled at least thirty farts on New Year’s Eve, appropriately encapsulating the stinky year that was 2010. It wasn’t the Happiest Place on Earth for me that day. Because it was filled with Crowd Farters but also because I paid $15 for two pretzels and because Mickey was very rude when I poked him with needles.
You might say that I know so much about the psyche of the Crowd Farter because I’ve been one myself. And to that, my friends, I must guffaw. My farts are like that of this video. In fact, there are so many butterflies flittering around my apartment, I’m actually scared to sleep.
*Jack Sparrow is from some movie called Pirates of the Carribean. I never saw it, but I guess Johnny Depp wears eyeliner and long black dreads in it. Based on the costumed men at Disneyland, I will never see it.
*If you’re from a literary journal, hello. No, I did not just spend six hours writing about farts. What gave you that idea? Here, look! A very mature Funny Human: The Ghayter
*Yes, I do think there is a connection between Crowd Farters and Ed Hardy shirts.