This site is a testament to not only my life but to the insanity of society. Dive into Psycho Carnival and you'll find tragicomic personal stories, wild yet honest rants, a little depravity, videos and a buttload of other goodies.

This site also contains adult like humor and ideas that could make you think. Consider yourself warned!

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

My Ode To Farts (Part 2)

Joseph Pujol, a man of singular talent, was born in Marseilles, France in 1857. In his early youth it became clear that he was a natural entertainer, singing, dancing, and performing for his parents' house guests. He had a love for music, and over the years he became handy with a trombone, but it was a different wind instrument that led to his eventual fame and fortune.

Young Joseph became alarmed one day when he was swimming in the sea, and took a deep breath before submerging. As he inhaled, he felt icy cold water entering through his rear end. He immediately returned to shore, and was astonished to see a great deal of seawater pouring from his backside. A doctor assured him that this was nothing to be concerned about, and it seems that Joseph took this advice to heart, exploring his strange new ability with a healthy curiosity.

While in the army, he mentioned his childhood sea-bathing experience to his buddies. They immediately wanted to know if he could do it again, so on a day's leave soon afterward he went out to the shore to swim and experiment. He successfully reenacted the hydraulics of his childhood experience there and even discovered that by contracting his abdomen muscles, he could intentionally take up as much water as he liked and eject it in a powerful stream.

Demonstrating this ability back at the barracks later provided the soldiers with no end of amusement, and soon Pujol started to practice with air instead of water, giving him the ability to produce a variety of sounds. This new development provided even more enjoyment for his buddies. It was then and there, in the army, that Pujol invented a nickname for himself that would later become a stage name synonymous throughout Europe with helpless, hysterical laughter: "Le Petomane" (translation: "The Fartiste").

After his stint in the army, Pujol returned to Marseille and to a bakeshop his father set him up in, on a street that, today, proudly bears the name "rue Pujol." At the age of 26 he married Elizabeth Henriette Oliver, the 20-year-old daughter of a local butcher. Pujol enjoyed performing, so in the evenings he entertained at local music halls by singing, doing comedy routines, and even playing his trombone backstage between numbers. He continued amusing his friends privately with his "other" wind instrument, but only at their suggestion and urging did he decide to turn this parlor trick into a full-fledged act for public audiences.

Pujol worked up a Le Petomane routine, and with some friends he rented a space in Marseille to perform it in. They promoted the show heavily themselves through posters and handouts, but word-of-mouth soon took over and they packed the house every night. Pujol's was a good act by any era's standards, but back then his scatology hit a raw nerve, and hit it hard, at an especially vulnerable time.

He developed the act in the provinces until he reached Paris in 1892. Insisting on seeing no one else, he persuaded the director of the Moulin Rouge, M Vidler, to engage him. From the first night he was a sensation.

He took the stage in a red coat, a red silk collar and black satin breeches. He began by explaining each impersonation that was to follow.

"This is a little girl... this is a bride on her wedding night (small noise) ... the morning after (loud rasping noise) ... a dressmaker tearing calico (ten seconds of ripping cloth) ... and this a cannon (loud thunder)."

The audience were at first astounded. Then there would be an uncontrollable laugh, followed by more until the whole audience was wriggling in their seats, convulsed. Women, bound rigid in corsets, were escorted from the hall by nurses, cleverly placed by the manager so that they could he seen in their bright white uniforms.

Pujol embarked on a highly successful tour of Europe and North Africa. On his return, he split from the Moulin Rouge and formed his own variety company at the Pompadour Theatre.

He continued to top the bill there until Europe was launched into a madness of its own in 1914. World War 1 had started. His sons were mobilised and Pujol never went back on stage. He settled in Marseilles to run his bakeries and then moved to Toulon where he established a thriving biscuit factory. He died in 1945, aged 88, and was buried in the cemetery of La Valette-du-Var, where his grave can still be seen today. The Sorbonne offered his family a large sum of money to study his body after his death, but they refused the offer.

My Ode To Farts (Part 1)

After that last post, I don't want anybody to think my new awards have made my head swell. No siree. I can do that just fine and dandy the normal way. To prove I'm down here, at your level, the "common man", I announce that this post is my "Ode to Farts".

I remember, fondly, of the time I had to go to the shopping mall. I was eating Chinese food at the Courtyard restaurant square. It was tasty, plentiful and a little spicy.

Suddenly, I had the urge to shit. And that wasn't good, considering the men's restrooms nearby were spectacular in their degree of repugnance. Inside you could find the floors blanketed with shit soaked toilet paper and piss covered toilet seats any day of the week. But it was especially disgusting on the weekend. I knew this from past experience. There were often times, after departing from the Courtyard restrooms, when I felt I should I rush to the nearest HAZMAT location to make sure I wasn't infected by something poisonous. While there, they could spray me down with some hardcore bacteria killin' stuff.

Even though I had the urge to drop a load, I was trying to hold it in. I didn't want to go to the Courtyard restroom. Waddling bravely with pinched buttocks, I made my way to the Sears end of the shopping mall and finally, to my restroom of choice. I could depend on it, most times, to be "floor-poop free".

So there I was, squishing a turd out from my colon when I heard two people come in. I hate it when other people are in there, when you're there. It's like an invasion of privacy or something.

A minute passed by.

I made sure my stall door was securely locked by pulling at the latch- so the turd burglars couldn't barge through.At that moment, I cut the loudest, juiciest fart that I've ever let rip in a public restroom.

To me, it had the delicate, heady aroma of a fresh baked loaf of bread. I suspect the other guys didn't smell it that way. I heard coughing from the other side of the stall wall. Hard coughing. Someone was attempting to talk. There was some urgent mumbling. Then I heard choking. One of them shouted, "God, let me out of here!" I heard more mumbling, coughing and choking. I could hear the metal trash can clang on the floor. They sounded desperate, as if they were fighting each other to get to the door first. I had to laugh. And when I did, I farted again. Which made me laugh harder.

When I was ready to leave, those guys were well on their way. Maybe to the hospital.

Friday, July 11, 2008

I Got Tagged For An.... Arte Y Pico Award?

Tommy from emailrubbish tagged me for this award. I guess it's a good thing from the way it sounds. Hell, I don't know. Hey Tommy, were you drunk when nominated my crazy ass? Explain yourself, buddy.

 Click here for Tommy's post about the award. He'll be overjoyed if you visit his humble and humorous blog.

What is the meaning of the expression: Arte y Pico (I copied this explanation from the Award's website)

Basically, ironically, it translates into a wonderful phrase in Mexico, “lo maximo.” LOL! It will never find its counterpart in English, but if it HAD to, it would be something like, Wow. The Best Art. Over the top. Click Arte y Pico for more info. Hope ya know spanish. Heh heh.

And here's my PICKS for the Arty de Farte Award:

Anok from Identity Check

King Al from King Al's Thoughts of The Day

ramblingman from Angry Clown

earthlingorgeous from Earthly Explorations

 oceanvice from Bad Generation


1) You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award, creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.

 2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

 3) Each award-winning, has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

 4) Award-winning and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y pico”blog , so everyone will know the origin of this award.

 5) To show these rules.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Virtues Of Hemp

This video explains the many benefits hemp would provide if we were to stop cutting down our forests and used hemp whenever we could.  In the past, it was used for paper, clothing, rope and more.  This clip brings up valid points worth considering.

We Don't Care

The Senate has given King Of The World, G.W. Bush, it's blessing on the continuing intrusion by our government that allows for spying on Americans. The bill, that changed secret government eavesdropping rules for the worse, was sent to the White House, Wednesday.

The FISA bill expands the president’s powers of surveillance over American citizens but would also forestall civil suits against the telecoms that illegally participated in past surveillance. The perfect cover up for Bush's crimes.

Now that the Fourth Amendment has been practically destroyed, where is the public outcry in all of this? Why, there is none to be found, of course. There's not an ounce of principle or public interest in this legislation.

After all, it's not our problem. Is it?

Unfortunately, the general public mindset is this:

To keep working longer hours, perhaps a second job to pay for the outlandish gas, food costs and everything else.

Ignore the fact that our civil rights and freedoms are being stripped away.

And turn a deaf ear when someone speaks the truth about the illegal war in Iraq that has taken 4,116 (the count, so far) American soldier's lives since it's beginning and ruined the countless lives of the families and friends connected to those soldiers.

It's way past time to wake up, people.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008


Rick, who I believe lives in Canada, has spent a lot of money on getting much of his body tattoed.  You see, Rick would like to look like a zombie.  And, so far, he's doing a great job.  He even thinks like a zombie, in the fact, that he is apparently brain dead.

See and click the link below the photo of Rick for more on Zombie Boy and what he has done to himself.

Saturday, July 5, 2008



Thursday, July 3, 2008

Filling The Void

Three great forces rule the world: stupidity, fear and greed. -Albert Einstein

Any so-called material thing that you want is merely a symbol: you want it not for itself, but because it will content your spirit for the moment. -Mark Twain

Much of our activity these days is nothing more than a cheap anesthetic to deaden the pain of an empty life. -Unknown

This war has been motivated by pride or arrogance, by a desire to control oil wealth, by a desire to implant our programs. (talking about the Iraq war) - Jimmy Carter

The motivation for war is simple. The U.S. government started the war with Iraq in order to make it easy for U.S. corporations to do business in other countries. They intend to use cheap labor in those countries, which will make Americans rich. -Michael Moore

No drug, not even alcohol, causes the fundamental ills of society. If we're looking for the source of our troubles, we shouldn't test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power. - P.J. O'Rourke

There can be no doubt this is a world populated with people who are infatuated with money and power. From the very start, most of us are taught by society, advertisers and even some parents that our lives should be geared toward the accumulation of wealth and materials.

You must follow these steps (nonconformity to these rules will label you as freak or outcast)

1) Go to college
2) Get a high paying job
3) Make lots of money
4) Have yard monkeys
5) Covet what others have
6) But, most importantly, be a good consumer and BUY-BUY-BUY all of those symbolic things (new cars, houses, electronic gadgets, jewelry, clothes and so on) that you know you must have to fill that void you wistfully call a soul.

Afterwards, you may die knowing you conformed to the hallowed rules of society and realize it was all meaningless.

Too late.

Then you're thrown into a box and put in the ground to become food for maggots.

But hey, this little diatribe won't prevent anyone from doing what is expected of them in this society. Greed is the main motivator. It is the BE ALL-END ALL of your daily lives. And look around you now. The economy. The hunger of the poor. Global warming. Wars.

Our greed makes these things.
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