Joseph bowed one last time and disappeared behind the falling curtains. The ebullient roar of the audience echoed down the narrow halls backstage as he made his way to his dressing-room in the Moulin Rouge. Can-Can girls blew kisses at him as they brushed past in a rush and between them he caught the eyes of two tall, unsmiling gentlemen in brown suits blocking his door.Distracted by the sight of the surly pair, Joseph didn’t notice the skirt trailing along the floor behind one of the dancing girls and he slipped on it. He caught himself before he went completely to the ground and on one knee looked up to see the way to his room cleared. The light was low inside, but reflected in the corner of the mirror, he saw a gaunt figure in an overcoat, a thick grey beard overflowing its collar. One of the guards motioned him inside.
Slowly, Joseph crept into his room, his eyes focused intently on the man in the mirror. Electricity rolled down his spine as the draft of the door swinging shut behind him chilled the sweat on the back of his neck. The spectre stepped from the shadows.
“Your majesty!” shouted Joseph.
“SHHH! Don’t reveal me,” King Leopold II pleaded, “It was quite an effort to sneak in here unseen, just to experience firsthand Europe’s most famous celebrity.”
“My show? You’ve seen my act?”
The King grabbed Joseph’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“I did, and I wanted to tell you in person how much I enjoy your fartistry.”
A soft knock at the door signaled the King it was time to sneak away. And as the monarch departed that evening on December 16, 1892, Joseph Pujol, the “Fartomatic,” saluted him by exhaling Belgium’s national anthem through his trousers.
14 comments:
+JMJ+
Some people are just born gifted, I guess.
Me: I can't even whistle!
Ah, but you can live-blog an 80's movie like nobody's business, ma'am! :)
Christopher,
Leave it to you to find someone who made flatulence an "art form" and you even found a way to put it in an historical context. Thanks for this amusing 300 :)
Karinann: Sometimes it seems all I write about is death and tragedy, I've got to sneak in some nonsensical ones every now and again :)
Oh great Christopher. All I need is Dave to read this. He too thinks of his farting as an artform. Now he has something to back him up. And they say women stick together. Nothing like men and their farts.
Michelle: HEY! You stay out of our business now! LOL!!! (Should be quite a contest in a few weeks...)
I shall take part in no such contest. I am a fartisseiur, and will not engage in such flatulent rhetoric with someone from...Texas. Of all places.
{Should have known better then to post this story...} !!!
+JMJ+
I used to read the blog of a single mother who went on a camping trip with her son and about a dozen father/son pairs. She said the most surprising lesson she learned was that, for males, farting jokes never get old.
never
Never indeed.
Judging by the almost daily conversation at the dinner table between Dave and our four boys, no, those jokes never get old. Well, to the mama and the sisters, yes, old very old indeed! But for the male Marciniaks-bathroom humor is the height of their dinner conversation!
Holy cow, now I'm going to have to write a quick story tomorrow night so to push this one down the list... LOL!
+JMJ+
But why? It's your top comment getter! ;-)
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