Talking out of my arse...

This morning, and not for the first time, my wife informed me that sometimes I talk out of my arse. To be honest I was pleased with the ‘sometimes’, because increasingly I find myself talking nonsense, starting a sentence with no idea where it might eventually end up. This equally applies to my writing.

On this particular occasion I was talking about ventriloquism and what a great act an arse ventriloquist would be. I have no idea where this thought came from or how it escaped from my mouth, but it did and once it was out there was no going back.

Arse ventriloquism, I purported, would be a sensation and pretty easy to do. No need for voice throwing as your back would be to your audience, all you needed to do was drop your trousers and start talking in the type of voice a ventriloquist’s dummy’s bottom might use. Of course you’d need to tailor it to sound really arsey, but with my temperament that wouldn’t be too hard and nobody would see my mouth moving as I told my arse jokes…

“Did you know that women with fat arses live longer than the men that mention it?... Hindsight is a great thing; I love looking at pretty girls bottoms… It’s been many moons since I was last arrested for indecent exposure…”

I went on to inform my wife that perhaps I could audition for ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, yes by this time I was on a roll. Just imagine Simon Custard’s face as I showed him my bum and started talking out of it. I’m sure That David Wooleychums would love it, and as for the rest – well, who’s really arsed?

Perhaps I could even sing out of my anus. But what would I sing as I twerked along to the music? Groove Amada’s ‘I See You Baby (Shakin’ That Arse’) is a little obvious, but how about ‘We All Stand Together (The Frog Song)’ by Pull MyCartknee?- Bum, Bum, Bum. Bum, Bum, Bum…

Of course performance of ‘Derriere Music’ is nothing new. Le Petomane was the stage name of the French Flatulist (professional farter) Joseph Pujoi, who could ‘sing’ La Marseillaise through his sphincter and in modern times Mr Methane keeps fart art alive. Of course neither of these great bottom performers actually spoke out of their arses, but Monsieur Petomane could make his bum say ‘sausages’ in half a dozen different languages.

So, as you see after reading this, my wife is quite perceptive and overly generous. Not only do I talk out of my arse, I write shit as well…