Fart Rape

Who hasn’t experienced the situation where somebody in your vicinity thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to slyly break wind? They know the anonymity of being in a group of people is protecting them, and I’m convinced that they also take great pleasure in their malodorous and anti-social hobby. Fart rape is a passtime for the risk taker, a bitter and nasty practice, maybe even a power game. There’s no type to avoid, no character profile, these people straddle class and creed like serial killers. They are the type of twisted, anti-social fiend who get a buzz out of secretly offending people. It’s the equivalent of an obscene phone call, or ripping pages out of library books, and they are everywhere.

I was recently attacked by two unknown arse-ogres in the space of a few hours. Firstly at the Royal Festival Hall, and you’d think that you get a better class of chuffer there, yet this was a stinker of such epic proportions that heads turned and accusing looks were thrown. Somewhere the culprit was safe and secure in the crowd, smugly shrouded in a fog of their own stink while their unprovoked act of trouser terrorism crept through the concert goers and insulted all unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The offender could have gone outside and pretended to be enjoying the view of the Thames whilst letting one go, but no, this had to be carried out in the queue for drinks, during the intermission, in the middle of a group of innocent people previously enjoying their night out. Maybe that’s the point, maybe we were enjoying ourselves too much and pleasure offends the phantom farter like sunlight burns a vampire. The next assailant struck later that night in a crowded cellar bar. The stench was ripe enough for me to have to explain to a nearby couple that I had nothing to do with it, but I could tell that they didn’t believe me and their expressions seemed to say: “Thank you sir, our evening drink has been greatly enhanced by smelling the inside of your anus“. I seemed like I was protesting too much, but it’s hard to find solidarity against these assaults once the stench has been successfully unleashed. Embarrassment, anger, and confusion are the emotional targets of the fart rapist, the trophies of their vile trade.

Once, in a train carriage with a friend, I witnessed what I think is the only way to confront these untamed arseholes. As the odour filled the carriage my friend said loudly “That is rank!” It’s as close to naming and shaming these individuals as you can get and, although it does require a certain amount of nerve, it revealed a shamed-faced youth, sat opposite, who would not raise his head. Short of sniffing the backside of everyone around us, I think we had found our man.

I beg you, don’t let this act go unchallenged. The next time somebody decides to assault your nostrils by stealth, voice your displeasure loudly. Together we can make a difference.

Head Chef.