This is absurd. I am standing at the top of Calton Hill in Edinburgh in the middle of a rainstorm with a man in a green Lycra bodysuit and purple Crimplene shorts, and we are arguing about bad puns. Creative tension, I suppose you would call it. We are here to publicise the show that the two of us are doing together on the Edinburgh Fringe festival in August.
He calls himself Mr Methane, and his singular skill is to augment a series of well-known musical pieces by breaking wind in the style of the famous 19th-century French vaudevillian Le Pétomane. Mine is to write a weekly column in the sports section of the Guardian. Not what you would describe as a marriage made in heaven, but I have somehow been persuaded to be the genial host of a showcase for his unique talent.
Unique, I know, is a tiresomely overused word in the context of light entertainment (as, indeed, is talent), but in Mr Methane's case it comes close to being justified. He is the world's only full-time professional performing flatulist. His only possible rivals in this somewhat specialised field are a chap called Gaseous Gary - a milkman who had a bash at it a few years back for the entertainment of holidaymakers in various Mediterranean resorts, but appears to have disappeared now - and an American called Willy the Farter who occasionally appears on US radio shows. "Ah, but there's no depth to his act, no context," says Mr Methane, "He just pretends to be Tarzan and farts Tarzan's jungle call." Source
See also: WTF! A fart tax on cattle!!!
And this: Cow farts collected in plastic tank for global warming study!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment