365 Ways With Words

In the Fart Zone (R-Z)

Raggamuffin's Stuffin': The after effects of a night out (or in) with one-too many Jamaican Bonnets, and maybe some Mary Jane. "Gwaan – me nose got too much bodderation wit ya rankin' raggamuffin' stuffin'!"

Silentius Quod Deadlius: A secret delivery known since the times of the Roman emperors. ANTONY: "Poo – silentius quod deadlius, citizens! The evil that men do lives after them." Act 3 Scene II Julius Caesar.

Trilobite Wake: Swimming pool bubbles from the depths of time and tide. "It is no longer a matter of debate that the noxious atmosphere produced by the trilobite wake let to the End-Botomian mass extinction event." *

U-boat Hell: The real reason they were called iron coffins. "Gott im himmel, Hans! Ich kann nicht diese stinkenden U-Boot-Hölle. Open ze hatches unt surrender!!"

Victoria Secret: Top supermodel's runway trade secret. "Let 'em rip, Cindy, Naomi! Slinky skimpies = express windies: that's the Victoria Secret, girls."

World of Waftcraft: On-line deadly bottomy action where Sylvanus Windrunner and Tyrande Whisperwind fight the Burning Crusade within the Mists of Pandaria and it all ends in a Stormwind Cataclysm. "All will know the eggy wrath of the Lich King, tonight. It will truly be a world of waftcraft."

X Factor: A Simon Bowel production. "I cannot believe you just sang with your mouth closed. That was the best Susan Boyle imitation ever – you win X-Factor!"

Ying Tong Iddle I Poo: An exclamation to cover a squeaker brought on by a bout of over-confident exercise. "Now for the right leg, reverend – stretch, stretch, stre... Ooh! Ying Tong, Ying Tong, Ying Tong Iddle I Poo!"

Zac Efron Awkward Moment: Formulaic and unfunny forced emission that results in embarrassed silence, much like the reception to the romantic comedy of the same name. "Let the nations know Justice has been served. The perpetrator's Zac Efron Awkward Moment was punishment enough."

*It really happened...

In the Fart Zone (M-Q)

Mouse: A sad diversionary tactic often employed by embarrassed flatulent parents. "Ooh look, children – there's a mouse!"

Night Boat to Cairo: The opening salvo of the Madness top-10 hit performed on the bass trouser saxophone. "By the sound of that, your honour, it's just gone noon half-past monsoon." "Indeed, counsel for the defence, that particular Night Boat to Cairo means we'll stop for a spot of lunch."

 

One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor: Words of doom and gloom when considering a immense task in the den of the Deceiver of Farts. ""One does not simply walk into mordor," said Boromir. "The great eye is ever-watchful.""

Popocatepetl: Immense explosive volcano near Mexico City that regularly emits red hot lava and volumous clouds of dangerous gases. Also, a bout of Montezuma's Revenge and the Aztec Two-Step. "Popocatepetl has blown again. Those chipotle chillis certainly took my ass to task!"

Quack: Sounds heard by members of the family anatidae, such as ducks and those humanids with flabby backsides. "Ooh, 'ark at 'im, Congressman! It's bin nowt but quack-quack-quack all through 'is Presidential address!"

In the Fart Zone (G-L)

Get Thee Hence, Satan: Evil sulphurous emanations from the deepest regions of Beelzebub's foul domain. "Time for a 'Get Thee Hence, Satan!' exorcism, Bishop, or did that emanate from Your Grace's backside?"

Hold the Line: Quotation from Gladiator used when desperate access to lavatorial release is impeded. "3 hours and the wife's still locked in there doing her make-up? Well, arse, it looks like you can let the odd one go, but I'll have to hold the line – or it's the neighbour's garden again."

In Loco Poorentis: Taking the flack for one's offspring's bean-fuelled shopping popping. "Sorry 'bout that: in my role in loco poorentis I must accept full responsibility."

Just Impediment: Reason two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony. "Yeah, like, I was gonna marry him and all, but the vicar said his deadly gassing at the altar was just impediment."

Karzy Kazoo: Tuneful blast on the bum trumpet. "Before I go in, any requests for the karzy kazoo?"

Longer Lingerer: Persistent pestilence of the peak pétomaine. "Jesus, Holy Mary and all the Blessed Saints! It's been more than six hours since he left, but the bastard dropped a longer lingerer and I'm still getting a lungful."

In the Fart Zone (A-F)

Ack-Ack: explosives delivered from below that are extremely dangerous to those flying within the vicinity. “Try to keep on course, Carstairs, looks like we’re heading for a spot of ack-ack.”

Bum Burner: the warming precursor, and after-effect, of curry slurry. “After that ruby last night, my innards, Lady Marchbank, are fit for a bum burner.”

Cushion Creeper: stealthy silent leakage of trouser gas. “Blushing bright red, and without letting on, the archbishop’s effort to hold the crown aloft forced out a cushion creeper.”

Dragon’s Fire: burns the (k)night away. Double effect of the bum burner (see above). “Sir Gallahad limped out of the cave, his armour all the worst from the effects of a touch of dragon’s fire.”

Elephant’s Footsteps: large vacuous thumpings – accompanies walking motions. “Bejasus, Paddy, what was that? Sure I heard the owd elephant footsteps a-followin’ us!”

Fidgeter: lingering indoor escapee that accompanies ‘bums-on-floor’ classroom activities, such as PE, story time, music and movement. “Miss Smith was not amused: almost as soon as class had begun Sally, Jim and Peter promptly produced a salvo of noisy fidgeters.

Arse/Ass

Oscar Wilde, that fount of profound witticisms and of the scathing rebuke, held that the British have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language. His acerbic commentary on linguistic differences was correct, but, perhaps, one should not delve into such territory for fear of argument escalating to nonsensical spelling and grammatical feuds – a narrow path beside a precipice more sheer than any paltry fiscal cliff.

I am not sure exactly what Wilde would have made of the word 'arse', but I think it is fair to say he would have had a good opinion of its use, one way or another. Having just spent the morning in English conversation lessons discussing the terms 'arse' and 'ass' (don't ask why – things just went that way), I think it only fair to share the fruits of such probing.

'Arse': a vulgar English term for bottom, rear, buttocks, rump, etc. Actually, this is is not merely English, but also a widely-used British and Irish term heard anywhere across the land from John o'Groats to Lands Derrière. It extends even further to Australia, New Zealand and South Africa and is therefore, to borrow a French term, un grand universaliser. British people from all walks of life know how to identify their arses from their elbows, feel unhappy about living in the arse end of the country like _______ (insert name of town), and know the horror of waking up next to someone with a face like a slapped one. 'Arse', in this context, is a fairly straightforward word for all things bum-like. It is not the same as 'arsehole', which is fairly well understood to be the fundament within which one's opinions should be speedily inserted should they prove to be contrary to expected opinion. And actually doing such a thing, quite literally, at a christening party, say, or in the presence of visiting royal dignitary, would magically transform the individual into the very object being described.

But the British, arguably the greatest inventors of the world, turned their linguistic acuity towards the simple arse and decided it should also have another more pejorative use – that of an insult: "You, Lady Beaufort, are a complete arse!" It describes ill-advised actions whereby one arses around, or the act of obduracy or sassiness when one is arsey, is an expression of indolence when one simply cannot be arsed to perform a menial task and may simply be used for honest cussing pleasure – Arse! For some reason it is also often been confused with Arsenal Football Club. To be referred to as a complete arse means that one has become a foolish, bumbling, fumbling fool, the kind that would confuse the word 'arse' with 'ass'. And so on to the next word...

'Ass': a common-or-garden reference to a jackass, donkey or domesticated member of the Equidae family. An ejaculate standard across the pond, ass is a allusion to perceived stubborn stupidity on the part of the recipient of such restrained terminology. Asses are also associated with the Democrat Party, an insulting reference from the times of Andrew Jackson.

'Ass' also means 'arse', in that it refers to the posterior. The genius of it: if one so desires one can admire an ass, shake an ass and even hit on an ass without involving the SPCA or the American Donkey and Mule Sanctuary. But Americans have extended the use to include... well... pretty much all of a person. So, should the need arise, asses can be moved, whipped and even broken, all without the removal of trousers.

 

To conclude, those of the Western Hemispheric regions might not exactly understand the nuanced arse in quite the same way as British appreciate arseness and all its assets, but at least they don't have Father Jack.

 

The Fart

An early-afternoon calm settled on the hot classroom. The heat of the clear-blue day radiated through the windows to counter the effects of the air conditioning from the glowering May sun. The uninspiring view of the square box mid-Kowloon syline served only to focus the minds of the students – there was simply nothing else to do.

Whilst they settled into the task, the teacher sat down on his soft chair and used the silent opportunity to send vital emails, put the finishing touches to a worksheet and glance at Facebook. Another 15 minutes of worktime stretched ahead. But something else was pressing – wind.

Breaking wind in class is a perennial problem. Mild-mannered teachers exercise strict control of all bodily functions, saving it up until a visit to the lavatory enables a full discharge. Bravo! Ladies produce perfumed farts reminiscent of a walk through an English Country Garden. The gods of teaching kind have no such problems: they simply do not fart – ever – not even by mistake. Others, however, the human-sort – flesh and blood – are not quite so lucky. For them, even a sneaky one could spell disaster; social ostracism at best and a possible career exit as worst.

Such was the case that afternoon. It had been a curry night and late start. All was ship-shape until the mild diuretic and laxative effects of a large lunch-time cup of tea. Then the gurgling began, unnoticed by all sat more than five feet away. Once the corner had been turned there was simply no-where else for it to go. A smelly emination of gargantuan proportions was imminent.

What to do? The teacher looked up at the class – heads were bowed and eyes down, their task taking up attention. It was now or never and if worst came to the worst then a blank face would be proof alone of innocence – teachers don't fart, do they?

Up on one cheek, the urgent pressure on the emergency valve was released one turn – sufficient to allow egress in a controlled manner. But the combined nature of the gases was such that once out of the bag, so to speak, the release became a gaseous flood, and a noisy one at that: "Paaaaarppp!!!" A rattly rasp redolent of the plastic chair variety filled every ear with its shocking, defiant tone.

All heads looked up, shocked at the sudden and unabashed retort from a base bodily function. Protesting disgust, their glances instantly fell upon the teacher, but as arbiter of classroom etiquette and politeness, not as instigator. His reflected face protested shock and with outrage enquired, "Who did that?"

Some swung glances towards Freddy, whose head was still lowered in attention to work. "Freddy!" arose a synchronous chorus. The usual suspect protested innocence. But then the earthy, rotten smell flooded across the desks. Hands rushed to noses and nostrils were plugged with whatever came to hand. "Poo! Freddy!" Even the teacher joined in. "Freddy, can you please go to the toilet?" He protested louder than normal, but it felt to all-but-one of the assembled inhalers as a weak misdirecting ruse. He remained firmly in his plastic chair.

Finally, Freddy sat red-faced, an admission of guilt: he appeared to enjoy another occasion for notoriety. The class settled again as the Brownian Motion equally distributed the gases to all four corners of the room. By rights the teacher should have been outed, and re-Christened in a manner that would mean future generations would forever remember the incident, but against all likelihood he got away scot-free. The school day ended the lesson and another reminder was issued to the poor Freddy to ensure his bodily functions were firmly under control, a humourous last-minute classroom finale that failed to detonate the desired camaraderie – "It wasn't me! It wasn't!" he frowned. The teacher felt pity and not a little shame for the poor fall guy, but there was no alternative: protest or no, he had to take the hit.

When You Shit Yourself

You know it's happened to you – at least once: hopefully not at work or on the bus/train/plane, in a lift, in the doctor's waiting room or at the front of the queue at the post office... If it hasn't, then prepare to be bumscared!

Let's face it, each of us is born into the world with the capacity to cack, the tendency to number two, the potential to poo, not to say the desire to doo-doo. Most of us graduate from filling our pants in the arms of a parent to the taking of a necessary and perfunctory dump in the nearest bog as soon as we're able. It's a bit of a fait accomplis: after all, no one likes to be in the presence of King Tut-Chincloth for a second too long, especially if a pyrocastic flow is due. It's simple: barbarians at the gate  – crapper can't wait.

Unfortunately round these parts some citizens, for one reason or another, are unable to make the grade and regularly free the chocolate hostages in the bushes of public parks, or set down brown lilos in the rivers that presumably make their eventual way to the seaside. Also unfortunately, we have canines that now go a-huntin' for such curry slurry, returning with what can only be described as a doggy smile sporting a new shade of brown lipstick – filthy beasts!

Most of the time we are able to conduct our operations with minimum fuss. Sometimes, however, we are caught short with the bum gravy. In the much celebrated 90s show Absolutely John Sparks brilliantly describes such moments with a tear-jerking exactitude bordering on poetry.

 

Here he again waxes lyrical on the after effects of dinner at the Café Cackapoopoo.

 

There are other poor souls out there for whom a spot of underpant pebble dashing will begin regardless of the planned date of commensure. Such was the lot in our local Aldis where a local of advanced age in something of a hurry tried unsuccessfully to pass back through the entrance gates – too late! His situation became urgent not thirty seconds before entering the shop, and not a minute afterwards, but right on cue as he took his first tentative steps down the biscuit aisle. His chocolate lazer set for stun, he picked up the pace and fled hot-foot, leaving on the entrance floor what can only be described as the regrettable remnants from a intense pantballing skirmish. He obviously lost – badly. Poor old sod, I don't think his squelchy walk home was without regret for the many pints he'd had the night before.

 

But remember, like the lottery, one day it could be you!