when is it ok to fart

When you are about to poo. When you are on your own. By mistake.

Do not ever fart in front of your significant other. Also, don't trust anyone who does not take his own advice.

i've been with my woman for over 8years and we still rarely do it

and i'm happy for this

naw, if you're cute you can get away with anything

That first time is a bit difficult alright.

Thereafter, it's a breeze.

My cat has a nasty habit of doing silent farts when he's sitting in my lap

Farting in front of each other is not conducive to the butt sex later.

It is never OK.

In a crowded noisy room.

God, you're all such prudes!

ihttp://tinypic.com/bepah

And you patently eat too many prunes.

It is best to wait until she is asleep, then fart in the bed and pull the covers over her head.

Of course, I don't do it, I'm just sayin'...

no butt sex for Dan!

One summer's day in the mid-1860's, a young French boy named Joseph Pujol
had a frightening experience at the seashore. Swimming out alone, he held
his breath and dove underwater. Suddenly an icy cold feeling penetrated his
gut. Frightened, he ran ashore, but then received a second shock when he
noticed seawater streaming from his anus. The experience so disturbed the
lad that his mother took him to a doctor to allay his fears. The doctor
complied.

The boy didn't know it at the time, but this unsettling rectal experience
at the beach not only indicated no illness, but it also foretold of a gift
that would later make him the toast of Paris and one of the most popular
and successful performers of his generation.

Joseph Pujol was born in Marseilles on June 1, 1857 to Francois Pujol and
Rose Demaury, a respected stonemason/sculptor and his wife, both of whom
had emigrated from Catalan. Young Joseph went to school until the age of
13, whereupon he apprenticed himself to a baker. Several years later, he
served in the French army.

While in the army, he mentioned his childhood sea-bathing experience to his
buddies. They immediately wanted to know if he could do it again, so on a
day's leave soon afterward he went out to the shore to swim and experiment.
He successfully reenacted the hydraulics of his childhood experience there
and even discovered that by contracting his abdomen muscles, he could
intentionally take up as much water as he liked and eject it in a powerful
stream. Demonstrating this ability back at the barracks later provided the
soldiers with no end of amusement, and soon Pujol started to practice with
air instead of water, giving him the ability to produce a variety of
sounds. This new development provided even more enjoyment for his buddies.
It was then and there, in the army, that Pujol invented a nickname for
himself that would later become a stage name synonymous throughout Europe
with helpless, hysterical laughter: "Le Petomane" (translation: "The
Fartiste").

After his stint in the army, Pujol returned to Marseille and to a bakeshop
his father set him up in, on a street that, today, proudly bears the name
"rue Pujol." At the age of 26 he married Elizabeth Henriette Oliver, the
20-year-old daughter of a local butcher. Pujol enjoyed performing, so in
the evenings he entertained at local music halls by singing, doing comedy
routines, and even playing his trombone backstage between numbers. He
continued amusing his friends privately with his "other" wind instrument,
but only at their suggestion and urging did he decide to turn this parlor
trick into a full-fledged act for public audiences.

Pujol worked up a Le Petomane routine, and with some friends he rented a
space in Marseille to perform it in. They promoted the show heavily
themselves through posters and handouts, but word-of-mouth soon took over
and they packed the house every night. Fin de siecle European audiences,
deeply repressed but newly prosperous and trying to be modern"-- the same
people Freud observed (Freud was one year older than Pujol)-- must have
found a man on stage building an entire act out of mock farting and other
forms of anal play considerably more shockingly funny than we would today.
Pujol's was a good act by any era's standards, but back then his scatology
hit a raw nerve, and hit it hard, at an especially vulnerable time. Like
Alfred Jarry, whose epoch-makingly scatological Ubu Roi actually post-dates
Pujol's Paris debut by several years, Pujol was a French Revolutionary of
the modern theater. Jarry gets the credit today because he was a "serious
playwright" and not a lowbrow cabaret performer, but Pujol clearly laid
some of the groundwork.

Word-of-mouth spread reports of the quality and uniqueness of Pujol's new
show, and soon people from all over Marseille were coming to see it.

After the hometown success, Pujol's friends urged him to take the act to
Paris. Pujol hoped to, but cautiously decided to play several other
provincial cities first to refine the act and test the breadth of its
appeal before taking it to the capital. He performed in Toulon, Bordeaux,
and Clermont-Ferrand with great success, and in 1892 was finally ready to
try his act at Paris's Moulin Rouge. It was then that Pujol reputedly
uttered a line oft-repeated in cabaret lore; looking up at the windmill
sails of the landmark Moulin Rouge ("Red Mill") building, he exclaimed,
"The sails of the Moulin Rouge-- what a marvelous fan for my act!"

In getting booked at the Moulin Rouge, Pujol wasted no time. He walked in
and demanded to see the director with such confidence that the secretary
showed him in immediately. He then told the director, a man named either
Zidler or Oller depending on whose account you follow (I'll use "Oller"),
"I am Le Petomane, and I want an engagement in your establishment." He said
that he was a phenomenon and that his gift would be the talk of Paris. When
Oller asked for an explanation, he calmly replied, "You see, sir, my anus
is of such elasticity that I can open and shut it at will. . . . I can
absorb any quantity of liquid I may be given. . .[and] I can expel an
almost infinite quantity of odorless gas." After this, he gave Oller a
quick demonstration.

Oller put Pujol on stage that very night.

Pujol dressed formally for his act, wearing a coat, red breeches, white
stockings, gloves, and patent leather shoes-- a stuffy, old-fashioned
outfit that, coupled with his unrelentingly deadpan delivery, must have set
up an abrasive comedic dissonance against the actual content of his
performance. To begin his act he introduced himself and explained that he
was about to demonstrate the art of "petomanie." He further explained that
he could break wind at will, but assured his audience not to worry because
his parents had "ruined themselves" in scenting his rectum.

Then Le Petomane performed some imitations, using the simple, honest format
of announcing and then demonstrating. He displayed his wide sonic range
with tenor, baritone, and bass fart sounds. He imitated the farts of a
little girl, a mother-in-law, a bride on her wedding night (tiny), the same
bride the day after (loud), and a mason (dry-- "no cement"). He imitated
thunder, cannons ("Gunners stand by your guns! Ready-- fire!!"), and even
the sound of a dressmaker tearing two yards of calico (a full 10-second
rip). After the imitations, Le Petomane popped backstage to put one end of
a yard-long rubber tube into his anus. He returned and smoked a cigarette
from this tube, after which he used it to play a couple of tunes on a song
flute. For his finale he removed the rubber tube, blew out some of the
gas-jet footlights from a safe distance away, and then led the audience in
a rousing sing- along.

This first night, a few tightly-corseted women in the audience literally
fainted from laughing so hard. Oller immediately gave Pujol a contract to
perform at the Moulin Rouge, elsewhere in France, and abroad. Turning
audience-fainting into a great gimmick, Oller later conspicuously stationed
white-uniformed nurses in the hall at each Le Petomane show and instructed
them to carry out any audience members rendered particularly helpless by
the hilarity. Meanwhile, to quash any rumors that his performance was
faked, Pujol occasionally gave private men-only performances clad in a
bathing suit with a large hole in the seat rather than his concealing
regular costume.

It was after one of these private performances that a distinguished-
looking man put a 20 franc gold coin in the collection plate. When Pujol
questioned him, he turned out to be the King of Belgium, who had come
incognito just to see his act.

After signing up with the Moulin Rouge in 1892, Pujol moved his growing
family (starting in 1885, Pujol and his wife had a child every two years
for eighteen years) into a chalet staffed by servants who soon became
family friends. As he predicted, he became the talk of Paris, and admirers
saluted him affectionately as he rode by in his carriage. Paris doctors
examined him and published an article in La Semaine Medicale that described
his health but offered no new explanation for his ability. It did however
record that he could rectally project a jet of water 4 to 5 yards. Box
office receipts alone attest to Le Petomane's popularity. One Sunday the
Moulin Rouge took in 20,000 francs for a Le Petomane performance, an amount
which dwarfs the 8000 francs typically grossed by Sarah Bernhardt at the
peak of her career there.

But another thing happened in 1892 that provoked a series of battles
between Pujol and Moulin Rouge management, the litigious nature of which
makes it sound more like 1992. Pujol visited a friend of his who sold
gingerbread, and to attract customers to his friend's stall, he did some
Petomane tricks right there in the marketplace. Word of this "unauthorized
performance" got back to Oller, who took it up with Pujol and threatened to
sue. Over the next couple of years, Pujol, who dreamed of opening up his
own travelling theater, had more rows with Oller. In 1894, Oller brought
suit against Pujol over the gingerbread stall incident and won. Pujol was
fined 3000 Francs. The next year, Pujol left the Moulin Rouge to start his
own venture, the Theatre Pompadour. Soon after Pujol left, the Moulin Rouge
put up a new act, billed as a "Woman Petomane" (they concealed a bellows
under her skirt). Pujol then brought a lawsuit against the Moulin Rouge for
plagiarizing his idea. At about the same time, however, a newspaper panned
the "Woman Petomane" act, and the actress, Angele Thiebeau, sued the paper
for libel. The judgement against Thiebeau was so harshly worded and
humilating that Pujol, satisfied at the harm done to the Moulin Rouge's
reputation, withdrew his own lawsuit against them.

Pujol's new Theatre Pompadour included mime and magic and other acts
performed by Pujol's family and performer friends. He changed his own act
into a woodland tale told in doggerel punctuated at the end of each couplet
by Le Petomane sound effects and imitations of the animal and bird
characters in the story. Paris audiences liked the winning charm of this
home-grown variety show and still yucked it up at Pujol's fart noises, so
the Theater Pompadour prospered for many years.

Le Petomane continued to be an enormous draw in his new venue until around
1900, when the interest of the show-going public began to wane. The
Pompadour continued to do pretty well, however, until World War I, when
four of Pujol's sons went off to fight and the theater had to close down.
One son was taken prisoner and two of the others became invalids, and Pujol
was so shattered that after the war he had no interest in returning to his
performing career. The family moved back to Marseille and Pujol ran
bakeries with his sons and unmarried daughters. In 1922, he and his family
moved to Toulon and he set up a biscuit factory which he gave to his
children to manage. He lived the rest of his life there, surrounded by his
many dearly loved children and grandchildren. His wife died in 1930 and he
died in 1945. One medical school offered the family 25,000 francs to be
allowed to examine his body, but out of respect, reverence and love for
this warm, funny, and caring man, not one of his children agreed to let
them.

...when a fart is farted in the middle of a(n otherwise) desolate forest where there is noone else around to sense it, except for the one farterer themselves, can we actually claim that the fart really took place at all??

If it's a good enough fart, someone else will find out about it.

The forest would just convert it to oxygen anyway.

It's ok to fart when someone's trying to light them. BLUE FLAME CLUB 4-EVER!!!

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his ass to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I had ever heard.

"This ass talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell.

"This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first. He had a number he called "The Better 'Ole' that was a scream, I tell you. I forget most of it but it was clever. Like, "Oh I say, are you still down there, old thing?'

"'Nah! I had to go relieve myself.'

"After a while the ass start talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

"Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in- curving hooks and start eating. He thought this was cute at first and built and act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him: 'It's you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we don't need you around here any more. I can talk and eat AND shit.'

"After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneous- except for the EYES you dig. That's one thing the asshole COULDN'T do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn't give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes WENT OUT, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eyes on the end of a stalk.

(I'm quite sure there's a Naked Lunch excerpt for every occasion)

Ack! I didn't type that one out myself, and there's some errors in there:
fr'instance, it should be:

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his assHOLE to talk?

etc.

I can fart and belch like a sailor. I'm a pig :D

I usually only guff around people who I know will find it funny tho - the boi, and my brothers who think that kind of thing is hilarious.

I never fart, only if it's by accident. I don't like people doing it, I rather hear them burp. I don't know why I hate it so much.

You can fart amongst loved ones. I come from a family of farters, a perfectly timed/particularly tuneful trump still causes hilarity amongst us (supposedly) grown-ups.

I've never read any bit of Naked Lunch before, that's bloody marvellous. I must buy a cheap copy off ebay.

Success! (I've been pimping NL to ILX like crazy the past few days)

The trick is to get the comedic timing down tight. Wait for that really dramatical moment in whatever movie it is you're watching, when the weepy piano music gets low and the tears drib off the leading lady's chin, and right then...PFFFFFFTTT.

in my house farting is always allowed. my wife does not do it in front of me. me, i let them rip anywhere anyplace anytime.

x-post nick

Followed of course by the mandatory "Aaaahhhh"

i mean really whats the big deal. everyone farts it ain't a secret. its even better when you snuggling in a warm bed and you let one go on your wifes leg or something.

Even warmer!

Le Petomaine's real name was Pujol?? What are the odds!

during sex

whilst the SO is eating