We all do it! Eructate, that is – and flatulate, come to that!
If we didn’t, we’d explode – like a child’s balloon blown up too full and under terminal, in short-lived, pressure…
Many of us, however, do almost anything – short of Morris Dancing and Ocelot-Tossing – to prove, to the rest of the world, that we are without the Scourge of Inner Tempests; that we are a Wind-Free Zone!
And yet, if truth be known – and regardless of its occasional Social Pariah Status – having a damn good emission of the old bowel gases can be hilarious, a stonking relief and, dare I say it, great fun! The Trouser Trumpet, or Passing of Musical Vegetables, comes in many keys. You get the sorrowful minor key efforts – a bleat of depressing paucity, as if escaping through a thin blade of grass upon the loneliness of Wuthering Heights; you get the Beethoven-esque, full-bodied chords which leave a ringing in your ears for several hours afterwards (more than they did for dear old Ludwig, him being as deaf as a convocation of adders!); you get the falsetto tremble; the counter tenor renaissance warble – and the full orchestra tuning up (usually unsuccessfully!).
Some people even train themselves, a La Petomane, to play the National Anthem with their botty burps!
When you can guff gloriously, slip one out under the duvet (It’s called a Duvet Lifter in the trade!), rattle windows in your abode with out-rushing intestinal tornadoes – and all in front of your Significant Other – you know you are half way home on the relationship front. When said SO responds with a volley of noisy, and noisome, gas propelled from their own sphincter, you can clasp your own bosom and cry out, in ecstasy, ‘My Soul Mate!’
When it comes to burping, the sheer variety of sounds produced is equally wondrous: From calico-ripping to car-tyre-screeching, from modest little burplets right through to eructational booms of such majesty that those listening look out to see if Armageddon is nigh, and animals the length and breadth of the street give birth backwards, the human capacity for wind is truly extraordinary and should, in my view, be celebrated not shunned!
Of course there are dangers to this free and easy Wind Ensemble of the Human Body. Regular exercising of either Wind Tunnel can cause one to be ostracised (can’t imagine why!). Allowing wind to escape when one is smoking, or near a naked flame, can be colourful, if lethal, as one’s internal bits and bobs become laminated over the nearest wall/tree/passer-by. But most dangerous of all is the wilful holding in of mega doses of methane. The resulting sonic boom and nuclear-strength explosion has been known to plunge the entire region into an immediate Methane Winter, with Fall Out you really don’t want to know about and foetal abnormalities too dreadful to contemplate!
Remember, my friends: A Fart a Day keeps Apocalypse Away!