The Art of Fart

I face farting as a lost art rather than a normal biological function. I’m constantly trying to improve myself in this field, and my husband is my biggest supporter.

Sometimes I lean over and stare deep within his eyes, and he obviously thinks I’m about to kiss him, but he’s so wrong, because yeah, I’m farting. It’s super romantic. Usually he farts back with triple the power and we laugh and laugh. It never gets old. This is how I know I married the right guy.

(Though one time his fart was so powerful that I tasted it, and it was disgusting as fuck, like a mix of rotten eggs and whatever comes out of Kim Kardashian’s plastic surgeries.)

I threw up a little back then, but at the same time, I was really proud of him.

During my fart trainings, I often focus on swiftness, though I’ll also work on the smell over noise ratio. It really depends on the social situation and how badly concentrated the gas is.

I can also echo-fart, which is a fart so ninja that people will hear it from the opposite side of the room and blame it on the fat guy standing there, when the truth is, the fart came from where they’d least expect.

I did that to my husband once, and his mother was all like, “Ferdinand, I did not raise you so badly!” It was awesome.

(PS: His name is not Ferdinand. I changed it for anonymity reasons, Keith Lemon style.)

Anyway, husband has been trying to get me back for that to this day. Whether he succeeds remains to be seen.

Have you ever tried echo-farting?