Fact: 2/21 - AoF's 2 Year Anniversary...Almost Made It...

I would be remiss not to point out that February 21st marked the two year anniversary since I found myself bored, either in class or at work...possibly both, and set up this blog. Since then there have been 160 posts, 4 contributors, and 1 mook put on notice. We set up a sister site (the Upper Decker) and are loosely affiliated with the hysterically funny in the abstract, but kind of disgusting when actually faced with it, PooPics. We had one centralized HQ in south central CT, and have opened and closed satellite offices in eastern CT, Brooklyn, and Westchester.

In the title I say "almost made it" primarly because for all intents and purposes, AoF closed down pre 2/21. I'm sure I'll post from time to time, and continue to implore former editors to contribute when the mood strikes, but the sad truth is, we're done. It's only fitting that I'm writing this while at work, going out in the same way we entered. Bored. To be perfectly honest, I'm just killing time until I can duck out early and head to the Mets new digs for their first, albeit exhibition, game at Citi Field. Even the prospect of rain isn't deterring me. Everything has fallen into place, we'll see how it plays out from here.

I leave you, for the time being, with this recommendation. While spending much time in Arizona, I started listening to the Adam Corolla show (yes, of The Man Show, and Loveline fame). Because the corporate pigs decided it was cheaper to run a top 40 piece of shit station in LA, Corolla and all the talk radio hosts were canned. What I subsequently discovered is that Adam Corolla is running his own podcast, free, downloadable online and on ITunes. I think it's better than Stern, and a nice break from the morning sports talk (particuarly during the 'dead' sports season). His guests have included Bill Simmons, Bryan Cranston, Kimmel, Tom Arnold, and Seth McFarlane, to name a few. I try not to steer you wrong. Throw it on your Ipod and give it a whirl, you'll either thank me or be offended (or both).

In the news:

"Pirates II: Stagnetti's Revenge?" screened at UC Davis. Yes it's porn and not surprisingly less gay than any of the actual Pirates of the Carribean films.

This is great. I wonder who the pilot/skydiver/hot-air ballonist was who tipped off his parents.

Lastly, "Student Kicked Off Bus Over Passed Gas". I didn't think it was possible. In fact, I grew up with a couple of kids who would have been banned from the Long Island Rail Road for this very offense. The best part is, even with that smug look on his face (probably from smelling his own farts), the kid goes with the timeless defense - it was the other guy. Clearly a fartist.

Everyone can think of someone like this.

It had a name and we didn't even know it. Nor did we know that there was a quasi subculture with crop dusting at it's root. It may be purely a phenomenon, but exist it does, and the internet has become a vehicle for unifying the movement. I'm talking about fartists. The Urban Dictionary defines "Fartist" as "One who elevates the act of passing gas(flatulence) to an art form." Coined by "Loveline" host Adam Carolla. "When I pass gas at the writing table at 'Jimmy Kimmell Live', I'm expressing myself--I'm a fartist."

An art form indeed.

But what about when you go beyond the fArt and use your gas for less noble means? The Urban Dictionary defines such a person as a "Martial Fartist". Someone who purposely uses their farts to annoy someone else.
JT likes to let his Don Fee build up lots of pressure, then he comes over to my cubicle and squeezes out his bean bomb real hard and fast, making a super loud & stinky fart. JT's a real martial fartist!

There is both the art and the offense, here's an example of the art. This French "Fartiste" elevated his special skills to professional flatulism.

The example of a martial fartist comes from an anonymous vigilante on Craigslist. Farting for the good of man. Passing gas on the wicked. I'll post his entire Craigslist statement for your enjoyment.

If V is for Vendetta, F is for Fartist.
The first part of the word is “fart” for the act of firing bacteria created air and poo particles at an incredible speed. Everyone one does it, and it has been proven that farts bring joy, yet they are taboo in public. The second part of the word is “artist” because that is what I am. Much like Picasso wielded a paint and easel, I have the ability to practically fart on command and have perfected the ventriloquist and ricochet methods which allow me to strike with devastating accuracy from cover much like a highly trained sniper.
My main hunting grounds are the mean streets of BART, which I am forced to endure twice a day for half an hour at a time. Many people from other places tell me that BART is great or some similar shit, but anyone who rides it daily like me knows that it sucks. To pay $10 a day for the right to park and ride to and from work is excruciating, especially on the way home when I think about paying to stand on a packed train with a bunch of self absorbed aholes. But I must give BART some credit, for they launched my career as the most lethal vigilante in history.
Here is a list of some of the victims and the methods with which they were punished:

Mr. Read the newspaper to his wife on speaker phone guy: You are on the top of the list for one reason and one reason only; you are without a doubt the biggest asshole in history. Who sits there and yells on speaker phone and reads stories about an axe murderer to his wife during rush hour (in the elderly and handicapped seat no less)? You do. I fought for almost two minutes, desperately pumping the volume up button on my iPod trying to block out your transgressions. My career as a fartist started then, my ignorant self absorbed friend, and you were treated to turkey chili con queso. Oooooh it was hot and wet when I crop dusted you, how did it smell? Call your wife and tell her about it.

Ms. Lower her shoulder and cram her way on to a way too packed train lady: I could not believe you were actually going to try to cram your way on to our way too packed train, but you sealed the deal when you lowered your shoulder and repeatedly rammed your way into the crowded mass of frustrated passengers. It took me a stop or two, but slowly I was able to back my tight buttocks right up to within 2 feet of your short ugly face. I used the silencer once again but you bathed in it. When you cried, “Oh god, who farted?” I was crying I was laughing so hard.

Two teenage girls talking about sex and two teenage guys talking about taking drugs and driving: You have no idea how stupid you sound talking about subjects like that on a silent BART train during the afternoon commute. I saw one lady actually get up and move away because your conversation was so inane and ignorant. Bonus points for the one girl saying she prefers wine and salmon to a beer and burger now, I can’t tell you how impressed we all were with you. The woman behind you who rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat wanted more of your tips on living the high life for sure. And guys, I’m not sure what drug exactly you were talking about taking and then driving on the freeway but I just hope you don’t take anyone with you when you earn your Darwin Awards. I approached smiling, appearing to be heading for the exit, utterly forgettable in my everyday Dockers with polar fleece pullover. You were all sitting together in the “quad” chairs that face each other and no one else was around you for obvious reasons. The ambient noise from the tunnel meant I was able to really make you shiver when I delivered, I am actually shocked that a burnt hole wasn’t left in the back of my pants. It was one of my fall specials, a preseason pumpkin fart that smells for five minutes. By the time you realized what was happening I was doubled over laughing on the escalator in the station, I hope my gas taught you something valuable. Silence is golden.

Next time, more victims and a discussion over which came first – the need to fart or the elevator.

We all look forward to next time good sir.

Here's a couple of YouTube clips to stink up your day.




The Anonymous Fartist




Enjoy!