by Joshua Blanc
Outside the grand old auction hall of Oomofoomo, Wilshington, a
crowd of distinguished ladies and gentlemen gathered for the midday set.
The auctioneer took the podium, adjusted his fly, and declared the
auction in session with a tap of his gavel.|
"Our first item up for bid, ladies and gentlemen, is this collection of vintage phonographs," he said. "The title of this collection is 'A Thousand And One Farts,' documenting the great diversity of the fart world as recorded and identified by the great flatulentologist, Harry Huevos. Bidding starts at twenty-five dollars."
There was a nod from a lady at the back of the crowd.
"I have twenty-five dollars for this item, do I hear fifty?"
A man in the front row put up his hand.
"Excellent. Fifty dollars. Do I hear seventy-five?"
There was silence. One person coughed.
"Just listen to what great farts Mr. Huevos has preserved on these recordings. Classics like the whistler, the tailgunner, the woofer, the tweeter, the creaker, the didgeridoo-doo, the baked-bean blaster, the chili-dog rumbler, the atom-smasher, the butt-wobbler, the afterburner, the mirror crack'd from side-to-side, the A-bomb, the B-flat, the elastic eliminator, the porcelain-pilferer, Beethoven's fifth, the eureka, the fizzler, and my personal favourite: the thrabbler. Why there's even such rarities as the fart in a wind-tunnel, and 'if you fart in the woods does anybody hear?' So, folks, can I pull your finger for seventy-five dollars?"
"I'll give you one-hundred!" said a thin man in the middle of the gathering.
"One-hundred dollars from the piggy in the middle! Do I hear more? Going once, going twice, sold! Congratulations on your fine purchase, sir."
Two auction-hands removed the sold item from the podium and carried on the next up for bid.
"Here we have a unique item from the laboratory of Professor Huevos' rival flatulentologist, Gary Gasworks. Professor Gasworks spent his long career developing a system for photographing flatulence. Not only is there a vast collection of still photographs, but Gary also succeeded in filming farts. So I am proud to auction today this fine collection of photos, films and the cameras that made them. We'll start at seventy-five dollars."
"Over here!" said the first bidder.
The bidding continued to a price of one hundred and twenty-five dollars, but the auctioneer was sure he could sell the collection for more.
"Before we go any further, let me show you one of these films to prove what a fantastic contribution to science they really are."
Scratchy film, stained by a special filter effect, rolled onto a screen behind the podium. Although soundless, the film showed an impressive cloud of gas erupting from a test subject. Subtitles revealed the statistics of the experiment: this fart had been cabbage- fueled.
"It's a good thing this isn't smell-o-vision, eh folks? Sadly, Gary was killed in a freak explosion during one of these film sessions. But through these fine examples of his work he lives on. Do I hear one hundred and fifty dollars?"
The film did the trick -- the item sold for two hundred dollars to one teary-eyed bidder. Once the next item arrived, the auction-hands removed the cover sheet -- revealing a crate of dusty old jars.
"How much do I hear for lot number three-o-three, an antique collection of preserved farts? Shall we start the bidding at say, one hundred dollars?"
There were only blank stares from the auction-goers.
"Hmm. A tough sell, eh? How about fifty dollars? These aren't just any old farts y'know."
He picked up a jar.
"Why, this one right here is Elvis Presley's very last fart."
"I'll give you fifty right here!" said an auction-goer.
"I have fifty dollars from the moose in the tweed suit! Do I hear sixty?"
"Yes, I'll give you sixty," said another.
"That's sixty from the tweed in the moose suit. Do I hear one-hundred? Just look at this, folks -- a very rare specimen indeed."
He held up a tiny vial.
"The Queen's fart. This may be the only one she's ever done, so do I hear one-hundred dollars?"
"One hundred!" said another bidder.
"I have one-hundred from the weed in the goose suit. Do I hear one-hundred and fifty?"
"One hundred and fifty!" said yet another.
"We're heating up now. Do I hear two-hundred? Not only are the farts antique, ladies and gentlemen, but the jars they're in are as old as the hills as well. They were probably made by Methuselah's Great Aunty. Two hundred?"
THHHHHPPPPPPPPP! A large man in the first row farted.
"What spirit, Sir! I see you're already a collector. I have a bid of two-hundred dollars from the man in the first row who just farted so wholeheartedly. Do I have any more bids for lot three-o-three?"
Scores of people left the auction in a hurry. Others who weren't quick enough coughed and gagged and fell writhing to the ground.
"Going once. Going *cough* twice ... *splutter*. Sold *cough* to the man in the ..."