Dougie Brimson. Author, screenwriter, serial moaner.
Rather than blog this week, by way of a taster (and a bit of promotion!) I thought I’d post up the opening chapter of my ebook, The Art of Fart.
The Art Of Fart – introduction.
It is one of the most natural of bodily functions. Humans do it, animals do it, birds do it and there is even research to suggest that fish communicate with it.
For most men, it provides a ready sense of achievement and even self-worth whilst as a comedy tool it is almost unrivalled. Yet doing it in public is almost universally regarded as a social faux pax whilst in a few countries it is actually illegal.
It is of course, farting. And I am a huge fan. Well, truth to tell I am more than a simple fan. For having studied the act of breaking wind for most of my life I have come to think of myself as more of a fartsmith than a simple aficionado. I might even go so far as to say that I regard myself as something of a fartologist.
Now I realise that is an arrogant claim so it is only fair that I provide a quick resume of my rectal related record to prove that I have the knowledge and experience to back up the fact that I am a leading authority in the anal art department.
My love affair with farting began at an early age. In fact one of my earliest and fondest childhood memories involves an enforced overnight stop at my grandparents house in Tottenham where thanks to a particularly impenetrable pea-souper settling over North London, myself and my four brothers were forced to top and tail in a double bed overnight.
As you can imagine, the inevitable emissions soon created a pea-souper of our own but they also provided us with a great deal of quality entertainment. It also proved conclusively that a fart cannot render you unconscious. Quite the opposite.
However, it is fair to say that the greatest influence on my life as a fartologist has been my father. Not simply for his own proficiency in this area, but for his ability to extract as much enjoyment from the process as is humanly possible.
Initially, this involved relating tales from his own youth and in particular, his period of National Service when whilst undergoing his basic training, he met a fellow conscript who was able to fart at will.
This was the kind of thing legends are made of. For example, whenever they would go on parade, which back then was often, this chap would station himself in the row either behind or in front of my old man who, knowing what was going to happen, would invariably be forced to try and suppress giggling as the inspecting officers approached.
Of course the anticipation coupled with the odd hissed comment from his tormentor would make his struggle even harder and by the time the
inevitable trouser roar arrived, my dad would be almost beetroot with pain. Occasionally he wouldn’t be able to help himself and would simply collapse in a heap of laughter which would result in him receiving a major league bollocking. Indeed, given that my dad went on to become a comic, I have often thought that this was where he developed his comic timing.
In later years, as his tribe of kids grew older and the tales of his youth became increasingly boring to us, he was forced to find other ways of amusing himself, usually at our expense. I certainly can’t recall him letting one go and not apportioning blame to me or one of my brothers but as time passed and we became more used to the old mans tactics, his anal activities became limited to a witty post-gruff comment.
Yet even though we were growing increasingly proficient ourselves and were frequently using our gruff grenades on each other both for fun and in competition, my four brothers and I always knew that he was the master. We were also well aware that if we were ever going to extract the long-overdue revenge we sought, we would need to find a new delivery method. It finally arrived when we discovered the art of fart-capture.
Initially, we would fart into our hands and imprison the smell between our palms before pushing our hands into the faces of our victims. However, the problem with this method is that the gas is able to seep through the fingers quite quickly and shoving your non-smelly hands under the nose of an angry sibling was hardly worth the punch it inevitably attracted. As a consequence we moved first on to the use of tea cups -although we were forced to stop this by an extremely unhappy mother- and then screw top jars. The latter proving extremely effective as they not only allowed us to store the farts until required but provided an excellent delivery vehicle. Place under dads’ nose and unscrew lid as he inhales. Simple.
This was fine when he was asleep but things were very different when he was awake because given that he once held a black belt in Judo and had boxed for the Army, only a Kamikaze pilot would contemplate such an attack when he was conscious. As a result we eventually developed what would prove to be our best and most efficient delivery method; the crisp packet.
Fart into bag, twist neck and then approach target from behind. Leap onto back, stuff bag over nose and cling on for dear life.
It was crude but effective and had the added bonus of providing an exciting ‘Bucking Bronco’ style ride for a minute or so. However, it is fair to say that any success was more to do with the actual delivery process as opposed to the forcing of any actual odour ingestion. After all, a Salt & Vinegar flavoured fart is hardly much of a weapon.
Yet the fact that we were not only becoming more proficient but increasingly on the offensive clearly unsettled the old man and as the level and quantity of attacks grew, my increasingly nervous father came up with a new idea. Rather than utilise the fart as a weapon he decided that we would do something together as a family and employ our collective guffs as a form of family entertainment. We began recording them.
It was a genius idea and with a cassette recorder kept on permanent pause and a microphone ready to go, it was not unknown for a C60 tape to fill within two to three days. I cannot tell you the fun we had playing these tapes back much to the utter disgust of my mother and sister. Some years later my brother even put together a ‘Best Of…’ CD complete with titles. It was quite simply awesome.
But by this time the family had started to drift away from the home and I soon joined the exodus by enlisting in the Royal Air Force. However, if anything my interest in flatulence actually increased from that point on. You try living in a 22 man room and not having farts impact on you!
Ironically, it was the area of Chemical, Biological and Nuclear warfare which most often served to provide me with the best fart related entertainment whilst in the military. The gas mask in particular proved to be an important tool in my education as when you are forced to wear one for up to ten days at a stretch, the absence of odour soon teaches you to appreciate and develop other elements of the anal art.
That is not to say that we did not have any aroma related fun whilst masked up. Indeed, on a number of occasions I actually utilised a needle and syringe to deliver a small amount of self-generated nerve gas through the canister of a sleeping colleagues respirator.
That takes nerves of steel let me tell you. Not to mention a great deal of quick thinking and/or speed when your victim wakes up mid-injection!
Indeed it is fair to say that my time in the military was instrumental in my development as a budding fartologist. For not only did my various duties provide me with long periods of time during which I would ponder and plot but it also afforded me access to all kinds of wonderful machinery and chemicals.
At one point, whilst working on a plant which produced liquid nitrogen which as you will know freezes on contact with air, I even experimented with the creation of fart-cubes. Through the simple act of fart-capturing into jars half full of water, shaking to aerate and pouring the contents into condoms before freezing I soon had a ready supply of arse-cubes which I would sneakily take with me whenever I went out.
Sadly, even though I would place them in all kinds of drinks –mostly to be fair, belonging to people who had pissed me off- the results were questionable to say the least and what satisfaction obtained derived simply through the pleasure of ‘knowing’ what I had done. Nothing wrong with that of course. It is after all what stealth-farting is all about.
Post military, I have continued to hone my skills primarily on my own children and it is fair to say that I am rapidly turning into my own father. Yet the humour derived from farting has never tailed off and if anything, as the years have passed I have become even more interested in other aspects of the anal art.
That in essence, is why I finally took the decision to write this book. It was I felt, the perfect way for me as an experienced fartologist to not only impart some of the knowledge I have accrued over the years but to extend the fun. My fun.
Because it is fair to say that I love farting. After all, what’s not to love? With the obvious exception of sex there is surely no other activity that can provide as much amusement, entertainment and self-satisfaction as letting one go. Just as importantly, you can do it on your own or in company and you can do it anywhere. In fact location often provides an additional source of humour! That’s not just a double or triple whammy, it’s quadruple!
To that end, I have put together a book which I hope not only explores pretty much every single facet of flatulence from why we do it through to the delights of fart porn, but which I hope will encourage you to follow in my footsteps and develop some of the skills and knowledge associated with colon cologne.
Equally, I have tried to explain just what it is about the cry of the colon which holds such an appeal for we males whilst at the same time generating such angst in females. Although in many ways, the fact that women don’t ‘get’ farting is one of the major attractions of tootery for me because farting provides a link with childhood and being told to grow up whenever I do it reinforces the fact that I haven’t.
I don’t know about you, but I’m actually quite happy with that. Long may it continue.
Thanks to everyone who have kept The Crew and Top Dog at or near the top of the amazon charts for the last 2 years! I am both humbled and proud. Indeed, so successful have they been that I plan to write the third book in the series later this year.
In the meantime, if you have read either book, please take the time to leave a review on Amazon or iTunes. They really do mean a lot and are extremely important when it comes to ranking.
And don’t forget, the movie version of Top Dog (starring Leo Gregory and directed by Martin Kemp) will hit the screens in a matter of weeks!
My name is Dougie Brimson; author, screenwriter and lover of all things blokey. This is my blog.
In the main, it will feature my opinions, provide the odd bit of advice or possibly be nothing more than a good rant just to get something off my chest but it might occasionally contain words and thoughts that are best described as provocative. As a consequence, please be aware that what you might read may not necessarily reflect the true opinions of the author but are instead, designed purely to illicit a response of some kind.
However, if you take offence to something you read or is inferred, too bad. If you know me, you should know better anyway and if you don't, please feel free to go elsewhere or better still, either email me to voice your concerns or simply leave a comment! I will always respond.
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