Mr Farty Pants
by Nikolaj Vigrim
Published by Nikolaj Vigrim
Copyright 2013 Nikolaj Vigrim
Illustration by Lulu
If you enjoy reading ‘Mr Farty Pants’, please take a minute to rate it.
Many thanks to Christopher for Bob Bugerboy
And Zoe for her love of everything horrible and nasty
‘Harry’s Pocket Book of Clouds’
‘Princess Rose’
'The Adventures of Blackcat'
'Harry the Cloud'
'Lucy'
‘Cabo’
‘Strange Happenings at No 4’
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/311520
This story is dedicated to Basildon Bob's dog, Perry, whose deadly farts where enough to curl the hair on your head.
For the print version please follow this link
Mr Farty Pants – The Book
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Contact the Author
[email protected] Chapter 1
Faaaart! Bam! Boomptha!
Flames and goop flew everywhere then all was quiet, thick pungent blue smoke left hanging in the air.
'She just exploded!' shouted a fat lady, breaking the silence. 'Right in front of me. Like one moment there was this pregnant lady, all puffed up huge, like she was about to blow, then bam, flames and smoke, she blew!'
'Get off!' said a young lad, picking himself up off the ground.
'She did too, I saw it with my very eyes. Did, did, did,' insisted the woman, wiping something horrible off her brow.
'Get off!'
Whaa, whaa, whaa
Wha Wha Wha
Faaaaaaaaaaart!
The smoke blasted away and there lay a little baby.
'Well, I'll be,' exclaimed the woman, wobbling her way over and carefully picking up the newborn baby.
She cradled it to her breast, goop and all, rubbing its back to sooth it.
Faaarrrt
'Fong-o, you horrible thing,' she scolded, half smiling, half grimacing, as a toxic cloud of greeny-yellow fart gas engulfed her.
Mr Farty Pants was born
Chapter 2
'Spontaneous combustion, no way!' said the policeman. 'You're telling porky pies.' He scribbled Baby found abandoned, no witnesses in his notebook and scooped up the little baby.
The girls at reception loved it when a baby was bought in but this one was different. He was cute, all babies are cute, even baby rhinos and lampreys and leeches.
This one was different, he was musical, he trumpeted.
It was gas attack at the police station.
The police left standing called the ambulance people who called the fire-brigade who turned up in fart proof suits, dragged out the casualties then took the baby to an isolation unit for contagious infectious diseases at the hospital.
'Cute?' pipped the nurse's muffled voice from behind her gas mask. 'Like a baby polar bear!'
Chapter 3
The doctors didn't know what to do with Mr Farty Pants. At first they wore radiation suits, with built in rebreathers like what you see on the movies, then they built a special room where all the air got sucked up into the ceiling. It worked a treat, sucking the fart gas safely away but lifted the nurses dresses and sucked everything up to the ceiling, so they reversed the fans so everything got sucked down rather than up, it made it really hard to walk.
So baby Farty Pants grew up living a normal life, if you can call living in a fart proof room with the wind blowing down normal. He thought it was normal; it was the only life he knew.
Gastroenterologists from far and wide came to see Farty, They poked and prodded him and fed him black beans and broccoli then eyed him expectantly through designer glasses. They strapped him down in a big whirring MMR machine and spent long nights peering at computer screens watching farts gas bubbles form inside him. They collected gas in Ziploc bags for spectrographic analysis and published papers in The Medical Gazette about his over active bottom.
Then the accountants got involved. Sure Farty had bought fame to their hospital but it was costing a fortune to keep him in isolation in his fart proof room. The doctors agreed, there is only so long you can watch fart bubbles forming and the medical world had bored of Mr Farty Pants and his noxious farts and moved on to other things. They decided to cure him and let him go, but not without cashing in on him first. Technicians arrived with big fluffy microphones, cameras and rolls of wire and turned his ward into a television studio. A technician was housed in a fart proof box to edit sound and cameras and Mr Farty Pants was aired live on cable TV and the internet. Special infrared cameras even showed the farts being sucked away by the whirring fans.
Mr Farty Pants proclaimed the adds in the papers, Can we cure him?
He was put on a fart free diet. Broccoli, Brussels sprouts and beans were out; he ate low fart foods like rice and probiotics.
His greenhouse gas emissions went down but the fartometer on the wall was still in the red.
People started watching, then when a nationwide competition was advertised, ratings soared. Mr Farty Pants, can you cure him? shouted the billboards. It wasn't so much the prize of a trip of a lifetime for two to Blackpool that attracted attention but the chance to be in the limelight for having cured Farty Pants of his curse and to cash in on the millions that others suffering from lively bottoms would pay to be fart free.
Chapter 4
Inventors arrived at the hospital gates
First was Dr Conner with his antifart pills. They seemed to work just fine for a few days and the treatment was hailed a success, then young Farty Pants began to expand and swell. The building was evacuated and a safety perimeter formed a kilometre back. People sat glued to their TVs waiting for him to blow. When it happened it was more spectacular than anyone had imagined. The building was destroyed, blowing out in all directions in a huge fireball.
Amazingly Farty Pants was okay.
The whole thing was shown again and again in slow motion on tele. The blockage was blown out of Farty's bottom like a cork out of a champagne bottle. He shot out the window and snaked across the sky making a high pitched farting noise just like when you blow up a balloon until it's about to pop and let it go.
He landed with a splash in the hospital lake while the hospital buildings, blasted fill with highly volatile fart gas, exploded.
A commission of enquiry into the incident found that Dr Conner had given Farty cement pills. He was locked away in jail and became known as Dr Connercrete.
Farty Pants found new lodgings in a tent by the lake.
Fart activated blowy upwards fans were installed, like the ones that people use to practice skydiving over. Just one part per million of fart gas was needed to fire them into action. It worked a treat but the tent kept getting blasted away.
With all the TV coverage of the exploding hospital everyone was looking for a cure for Farty Pants. There was a queue of people waiting at the hospital gates hoping to claim the prize, which was now for a holiday to the exotic Spanish seaside resort of Benidorm, tickets to the theme parks and the glass bottom boat included.
Having discovered that blocking fart gas inside didn't work there were three different approaches to stopping Farty's flatulence: prevention, filter and trap.
There was briefly a forth train of thought, that his farting problem was purely in his head, but after he had been hypnotised, brainwashed and subject to controlled electric shocks and he was still trumpeting away as happily as before, it was decided the problem was physiological not psychological.
A team of nutritionists from Oxford University were given the chance to try and prevent him farting. He was fed a special diet, massaged regul
arly and made to exercise. Most six year olds are full of beans, they run round like crazy, screaming and shouting. Not Farty Pants, he wasn't one to waste a good calorie running about or exercising when it could be converted to noise, smell and gas. They fed him on rice and enzyme pills and made him run round chasing a radio controlled car fill of everything yummy; chewing gum and ice cream, cream buns and sugary donuts. He went red in the face as he puffed and panted his way around the hospital lawns chasing it.Farty lost a pound, then another, and another. He even seemed to fart a little less.
The nutritionists thought they had cracked it and were quietly congratulating themselves until one morning Farty appeared wearing his oversized underpants on the outside and a sheet like a superhero cape.
'Capey Crusader,' he shouted as he puffed his way after his breakfast, which remained frustratingly, just out of reach. Then a smile came to his face and...
Faaaaaaaaarrrttt!
He shot through the air like he was wearing a jet propulsion pack, arms out stretched and cape flying in the breeze, and pounced on the breakfast car.
They were foiled. Farty practiced his newfound skills, hovering just above the ground and flying at low level across the pond, just like a superhero.
Chapter 5
The filterers came next; fine mesh, microfibre underpants with a weave so tight it would catch the fart molecules on the way through. It worked just fine for the first fart but then became hopelessly clogged and his underpants swelled up like a balloon and popped sending out a greeny, yellow cloud of evil gas that spread out at supersonic speed and ignited. Camera crews, security guards and scientists dived for cover.
Whoosh, Bam.
They got their whiskers singed!
Capture pants came next. Hermetically sealed, pressure sensitive pants caught the farts which were then vacuumed away through a hose running out the back like a long tail. The hose snaked its way off to an explosion proof central unit that compressed the gas and stowed it in shiny red metal cylinders ready to be utilised for industrial purposes like pest control and removing wasp nests, or stock piled for fighting alien invasions.
A great system but no very practical as Farty Pants had to stay within a vacuum hose length of the processing plant.
Next came the refined version, designed by the celebrated Professor Sidebottom, self-contained fart proof pants, cheekily named farty pants. Farty liked them. By opening a bypass valve he jet-propelled himself around the lawn wearing the cape and his farty pants.
They operated like a compact high pressure pump. The pressure of a fart caught in the incoming fart chamber driving it's wee molecules through nano valves in the fabric to the next chamber, where the brief pressure buildup from the next fart temporarily caught in the chamber forced it through to the next chamber, and so on, gradually compressing it until it was at 300 bar and was stowed in two tanks, strapped like dive bottles to Farty's back. They were heavy but he liked the look of them. When he put his farty pants on outside his trousers and wore his cape, he felt like a real superhero, Capey Crusader himself.
To be honest, he didn't like wearing his farty pants, they were heavy, hot and uncomfortable and were tricky to take off to have a pee but he was sick of being a freak and wanted to be able to play with the other kids. Even though it was the only life he knew, young Farty Pants could see it was not normal. He had seen kids on TV that had mums and dads and lived in houses and didn't have scientists and doctors queuing up to see them, nervous looking camera men and security guards lurking in every shadow, and fire men wearing silver suits and breathing gear standing by ready for damage control should he have a blowout. They did cool things like skateboarding, swimming and going to school. No one ever read him a book, played hide and seek or sung him happy birthday. Not never, they hadn't.
So Professor Sidebottom and his lab assistant went on an all-expenses paid holiday to Benidorm and Farty Pants, proudly wearing his farty pants and a electric blue cape headed off to his first foster home, No. 4 High Street, and a normal life.
Well almost!
Chapter 6
Farty arrived at his first foster home wearing a new, streamlined pair of farty pants, a bright blue cape that matched his eyes and a red Super Mario style cap with FP embroidered on the front, trying its hardest to contain his mop of dark, greasy hair. By reaching back and opening a little bypass valve on the side of his tanks he was able to fly up the steps like Mario. He knocked on the door shyly, not knowing what to expect of the real world.
Nothing happened, so he banged a bit louder and waited.
Still nothing.
He was just about to jet pack his way back down the steps when the door creaked open to reveal a man and a woman wearing gas masks.
They grunted at him and the woman went to give him a hug. Scary.
He hit the bypass valve and was gone in a greeny yellow cloud.
Lucky they were wearing their gas-masks.
Foster home number 2 was all New Age and touchy feely. Glass crystals hung in the windows, shattering the light into the colours of the rainbow. Buddha Bar music played in the living room and the songs of humpback whales humping helped smooth things along in the toilet. Wind chimes played abstract tunes in the garden and kites hovered overhead warding off evil spirits. Darin and Sunshine Talulah were out to save the world,
They insisted on touching Farty all the time, even when he didn't like it, even when he asked them to stop.
'Energy,' they said. 'Feel the energy flow.'
Farty let something flow, but it wasn't energy, it was more like a deadly force field. It shrivelled up their organic cabbages, fried their chickens and put them in intensive care.
Foster home number 3 was too nice. Everything was twee and cottagey. Mr and Mrs Ramrod were very prim and proper; they kept the house and garden tidy and trim, ate their meals bang on time, not leaving so much as a pea on the plate and went to church twice on Sundays. They had everything but kids and prayed and wished that some would come along. They had Farty on trial, looking at adopting him if he fitted in. Farty was a greedy guts, so his plate was always clean, not a pea on his plate. He was too lazy to go outside and mess up the garden but he came unstuck in church. It was just so boring sitting there listening to the man with the funny collar drone on and on and on. Then someone farted, a long elegant fart starting high pitch and easing off to a low throaty rumble. The vicar looked daggers at one of the choir boys in the front row.
Ppppppppuuuuuuu...up!
Another fart snuck out from the choir boys.
Pa, pa, pa, pa...poot!
Out came another.
The vicar glared down like an eagle from his pulpit, threatening hell and brim-fire.
Farty bit his lip to stop himself laughing.
Faaaaaaaart.
Call that a fart, thought Farty, I'll show them what a fart is!
A thin smile crossed Farty’s lips. He eased off the double hermetic seal on his farty pants and let rip.
Foster home number 4 was more welcoming, no hell and brim-fire here, no gas masks, no scary hug and no door to knock on. A large man, black as the ace of spades and wearing an electric blue Hawaiian shirt, sat gently rocking on an old chair on the veranda.
'Why don't you have a door?' asked young Farty Pants, as he stood in front of a fly screen made up of hundreds of wine corks dangling on long strings.
'Everyone is welcome at number 32, Calliope Road,' said the big man. 'We have an open door policy.'
And everyone was. Farty was a bit odd, but so were a lot of the other visitor's to Eugene's house. Musicians, artists, intellects, travellers, rogues and vagabonds, all homed in on this little beatnik corner of town. Running about with his Capey Crusader suit with his gas bottles strapped to his back, young Farty just seemed to fit right in.
They didn't even seem to mind the odd fart
'Gas attack, gas attack,' shouted Farty, and everyone dived out windows and doors, laughing and giggling.
&nb
sp; Chapter 7
Farty started school.
Off came the cape and over his undies went his school uniform. Technology for fart proof pants had moved on in leaps and bounds since Farty was born and Professor Sidebottom's new model had dispensed with the gas bottles and had a high capacity reverse osmosis unit which converted the fart gas back to its odourless components that were harmlessly vented out the back with no one knowing.
Being fat and clumsy, Farty was a natural target for the school bullies. What's more, even with the sound proofing built into his farty pants, he made lots of noises. He burped and he gurgled. Rumbling sounds came from his belly and farts that reverberated around the room came from the depths of his bowls, like some deep seated earthquake centred far below the earth's crust.
The bullies taunted him, pushed and punched him, and stuck stickers saying Ink, pink, I stink to the back of his jumper. He was ever so good. Following his shrink's orders, he ignored them completely and didn't fight back. But they didn't go away like the shrink said they would, they just got worse and seem to pull the whole school in behind them. Farty had had enough, it was time to retaliate. Time for him to use his use his superpowers.
When he arrived at school wearing his Capey Crusader outfit everyone laughed, even the teachers. Farty had been putting on weight and was round and pink and puffy like a little fat piggy. He looked ridiculous in his electric blue bodysuit wearing his undies on the outside; an unlikely superhero, even if he could shoot up the stairs as if he was wearing a jet pack.
As the bullies pushed in on him in the playground, Farty loosened off the bypass valve on his undies and let rip. It was like the moon mission lift off. A cloud of yellowy green gas and dust shot out, firing kids away in all directions. Then Farty took off and blasted into the sky, shooting up until he was just a tiny dot then tumbling back down in a panic as he ran out of farts, just managing a little fluff to slow himself down before crashing down on top of his teacher.