Speaking of old farts
16 November—Over a half-century ago, for my 25th birthday, a friend gave me a recently published paperback that he inscribed: “To Paul, who preserved this tradition in an oral form. Lionel.” It must be said that Lionel, a brilliant mathematician, had earlier in 1967 adjured me, “Rosenberg, why don’t you grow a chin to hide a weak beard!?” But he had never seen my chin.
Lionel’s paperback gift was an English translation of “Le Pétomane, 1857-1945, A tribute to the unique act which shook and shattered the Moulin Rouge.” Readers will probably remember Mel Brooks’s Gov. Le Petomane in the memorable 1974 flick “Blazing Saddles.” And some may even remember Lepetomane University in a less memorable flick, “Up the Creek,” from 1984.
To get to the point—finally!—Joseph Pujol, known professionally as Le Pétomane, was a flatulist, a professional farter or fartiste. I’d simply go for fartist or f-artist. The French word literally means farting maniac.
M. Pujol was a baker by profession, until he realized his unique talent and entered showbiz. It was that or politics. He was a star attraction at the Moulin Rouge, performing for royalty and Sigmund Freud and probably Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, among others, till he had a disagreement with the management and established his own popular show. He retired to his bakery in Marseilles at the outbreak of La Grande Guerre and later opened a biscuit factory in Toulon.
M. Pujol’s magnificent farts could imitate sound effects, animals, and musical instruments; he could play “O sole mio” and “La Marseillaise,” among other tunes, on an ocarina through a rubber tube in his anus; and he could blow out a candle from several yards away.
And his stage farts didn’t stink. That’s because M. Pujol wasn’t a conventional farter. Rather, he had the unique ability to suck in and discharge air and water through his rectum. So he wasn’t encumbered by conventional intestinal gas. Not for performances, anyway. One wonders about his gut’s reaction to overrated French cuisine.
In all events, Joseph Pujol should be the patron saint of climate alarmists, since his professional, methane-free farts did absolutely nothing to increase the threat of global warming . . .