Time I think to found a Ban Bing Crosby (BBC) society or club. I stormed out of two stores today because of their nicotine-coated White Christmas serenades as old bitch bargain hunters trampled to death promising young sperm donor shop assistants: to think, profit margins might have grown fatter on my festive generosity. Alas, Bing Crosby shooed me away and so two businesses now face an uncertain future in these already parlous economic times.
St Augustine, in his The City of God, speaks of men with “such command of their bowels, that they can break wind continuously at will, so as to produce the effect of singing." Flatulism has an illustrious history: the well known Gemini, Le Pétomane (Joseph Pujol), was a professional farteur who imitated musical instruments. The professional farters of medieval Ireland were called braigetori.
So Crosby fans should not be upset if I say that the only possible explanation for Bing’s low, rumbling crooner emissions is that he was a consummate flatulist whose anal belches were recorded then replayed very slowly indeed (to the accompaniment of trumpet, piano, fiddle and his lilting whistlings).
Par rump pa pump pum etc etc (my thanks to Crista for this exemplary reminder).
Whether such a noise should be actively encouraged where decent couples (and their children) congregate to purchase goods is worthy of serious thought. Lest we forget, flatulence is a major cause of global warming: do we really want to encourage the celebration of this destructive sound as we seek budget-friendly goodies thanks to a 2.5% reduction in VAT?
To finish, listen to Bing singing a hymn to gay love (did you not realise he celebrated gay love? Oh dear, indiscreet me. And he beat his kids and had bad breath). And then listen to a cacophony of farts for comparative analysis, click here.