It’s been said a person expresses the entirety of themselves in every moment, and under no circumstance is this more true than when someone farts. It’s an organic expression more unique than a fingerprint. Most people aren’t entrepreneurs, but everyone has their own brand.
There are only three transcendent languages; music, math, and fart. Imagine the following scenario; a tightly packed elevator, and everyone inside speaks a different language. If someone passes gas audibly, everyone will laugh. Age, skin color, gender, race, social standing, none of it matters when faced with a proper blast.
Music carries the title of humanity’s universal language, but music is only sound. Fart has that too, but music doesn’t have smell. Only fart can claim that wonderful combination.
Farting illustrates well the spectrum of life as man. Joy is a high point of the human experience, and a sought after commodity. Farts give it in spades. There’s also pain, like the burning of a rectum after binging on a massive plate of overly spicy chicken wings. Or even embarrassment, like when you push out your flatulence too hard in an attempt to get a laugh, and end up with hershey squirts in your underpants instead.
My mission in life is an ode to the fart, and to all of the beauty contained within. For the harmonious and varied sounds of intestinal wind, to the pungent odors they omit. And to all the great farters, fartists, and flatulists who came before me, and to all of the stinky pooters who will someday come to be.