Friday, May 10, 2013

Funny Friday


Did anyone see the news item last week about the snooker player interrupted as he lined up a shot? For those who are not aficionados of snooker, let me make the point that it is considered on a par with cricket as regards tradition, reverence and the gentlemanly pursuit of the game. Silence during play is de rigueur. Regular watchers of the BBC show Pot Black may recall “Whispering Ted” Lowe’s softly spoken commentaries (He died in 2011 aged 90). It was therefore with some amusement that I read and viewed the news items about a member of the audience audibly breaking wind, not just once but twice, during a televised game as a competitor lined up a shot. On the second occasion the commentator offered the suggestion that a member of the audience may have been unwell. 

See it by clicking on: 

One other significant point wasn’t mentioned in any of the reports that I saw about the incident. The game was between Judd Trump and Ronnie O’Sullivan, with Trump being the player interrupted. The word “trump” is English slang for “fart”. 


Which brings me to today’s Funny Friday contribution: A Fart From The Heart. 

A previous post on fart jokes made the point that my good wife Kate was unable to appreciate the fine humour in them. 

That post is at: 

Kate is not a wowser, far from it, but her attitude is (to my experience) typical of the female of the species, that women in general do not like fart jokes whereas men do. 

A number of persons, male of course, contacted me after that posting to support my comments.

Byter Philip expressed his disagreement with my wife but did so graciously, at the same time indicating that his wife likewise is not of his opinion. The sisterhood sticks together. Here is his email: 

Hi Otto,  
At the risk of offending Kate before I have met her … in the 1960’s my father and brother and I used to roll around the floor laughing every single time he played a record featuring the “farting post”. (I think that was also the name of the record but I could be wrong.) Dad is now 90 years old and I have told him I can hardly wait to get my hands on his pile of 78’s when he kicks off, so I can find the “farting post” and play it over and over again … but only when Enid is not there of course.  
All the best.  
Philip 

Byter Kieran even sent me another fart joke: 

Hi Otto,  
I like the double entendre for Leslie Nielsen’s modest headstone with “RIP” in it.  
As for farting jokes, one of my favourites is similar to the lady requiring a new battery for her hearing aid:  
A little old lady goes to the doctor and says "Doctor, I have this problem with gas, but it really doesn't bother me too much. My farts never smell and are always silent. As a matter of fact, I've farted at least 20 times since I've been here in your office. You didn't know I was farting because they don't smell and are silent."  
The doctor says "I see, take these pills and come back to see me next week."  
The next week the lady comes back. "Doctor," she says, "I don't know what the hell you gave me, but now my farts...although still silent...stink terribly."  
The doctor says "Good!!! Now that we've cleared up your sinuses, let's work on your hearing." 


Which is a perfect opportunity to add another to the pile, a favourite that I couldn’t post last time because of space: 


In a small Egyptian village one Mohamad El Caribe sits down one night to a large plate of ful, the dish made of fava beans. The next day when he is at his stall in the marketplace he feels an urge to pass gas but he stifles it. The more he suppresses the urge, the more the pressure builds until, eventually, the pressure is released. The noise is so loud and so sustained that everyone stops, all activity ceases as the trumpet continues sounding. At end not a word is spoken. Instead stunned people in the marketplace stare at Mohamad. He slinks away to his humble residence, ashamed and humiliated. That night, under cover of darkness, he steals away and becomes a desert nomad. 

As he grows old he would like again to see the place of his birth and childhood for one last time. He reasons that after this time everyone will have forgotten him and what he did. 

Eventually he makes it back to the village and enters the marketplace where he finds that a large supermarket has replaced the stallholders. He stops someone and asks when the supermarket had been built. The man does some calculations in his head and replies “I will tell you. It was twenty years, 2 months and 11 days from when Mohamad El Caribe farted in the marketplace.”
 

This next one is more an audio joke so use your imagination: 

Three Eskimo were talking about how cold it was when one mentioned that his igloo was as cold as he could remember. The Eskimo said, “Come to my igloo and I’ll show you how cold it is.” So the three men trodded off to the igloo and there they found a can of beer frozen solid. 

The second Eskimo said, “My igloo is much colder than this; come over and see what I mean.” So they took off for the second Eskimo’s igloo to find that a fresh pot of hot coffee froze as it was poured into a cup. 

The third Eskimo said, “That’s not cold, my igloo is so much colder than both of yours. Come over and see.” So they tracked through the snow to the third igloo where the Eskimo pulled down the furs on his bed. The other two Eskimo stared in amazement at 3 frozen balls that lay on the bed. The Eskimo lit a match and held it under the three frozen balls and they burst with a ‘fart,’ ‘fart,’ ‘fart.’ 


"Whoever smells it first, out of him it crept."
-          Martin Luther


 Some of you will know the common response to “Who farted?”, namely that it must have been the person who asked in that "He who smelt it, dealt it."

Here is a collection of responses, (“she” can be substituted for “he”):

He who observed it, served it. 

He who detected it, ejected it. 

He who said the rhyme, did the crime. 

Whoever spoke last, made the blast. 

Whoever smelt it, dealt it. 

Whoever denied it, supplied it. 

The person who speaks, is the person who reeks. 

The smeller's the feller. 

He who inculpated, promulgated. 

The one who said the verse made the atmosphere worse. 

Whoever's poking fun is the smoking gun 

He who accuses, blew the fuses. 

He who refuted it, tooted it. 

He who pointed the finger, pulled the finger. 

He who articulated it, particulated it. 

He who deduced it, produced it. 

He who is a smart-ass, has a fart-ass 

He who sniffed it, biffed it. 

The slanderer made the gland error. 

He who eulogised it, aerosolized it. 

Whoever made the joke, made the arse smoke. 

He who rapped it, crapped it. 

Whoever rebuts, it cuts it. 

Whoever spoke it, broke it. 

Whoever started, farted. 

Whoever explained it, ordained it. 

Whoever described it, applied it. 


LIMERICK CORNER

Some flatulence limericks . . . 

There was a young man from Sparta 
Who was an incredible farter 
On the strength of one bean 
He’d fart 'God Save the Queen' 
and Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' 

A flatulent actor named Barton
Led a life exceedingly spartan.
Til a playwright one day
Wrote a well-received play
With a part in for Barton to fart in. 

Bruce practised on cabbage and fruit,
And would often remark “What a beaut!”
Till his wife barked out “Strewth!
Must you be so uncouth?
Can’t you just switch your arsehole to ‘mute’? 

With the service only just started,
It couldn’t be the poor dear departed,
Who cleared half the aisle,
With an odour quite vile,
It must be the vicar who farted! 


Bonus item: 

If anyone would like to read an amusing, if somewhat gross, exchange amongst NASA’s Apollo 10 astronauts when they encountered floating human waste in their capsule, click on the following link: 


It has been described as “Close Encounters of the Turd Kind.”



1 comment:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    ReplyDelete