TA’s followers’ demographic is fascinating. Some of us live outside the UK as expats. Some are not British and must regard us with amusement, especially since the current government is planning to take even more away money from rich bastards. (Flee while you can) In fact, you don’t even have to be rich or a bastard - just comfy. Possibly even polite and well-mannered. Even if you are nice, the chances are that the present financial climate, brought on by the same people who gave you Gordon Brown and banned plain chocolate bounty bars and fun, is going to chip away at your cash stash.
Don’t worry though. Now is the time to invest in Poo.
I didn’t get this from my own financial advisor - I am still having words with him about putting it all in magic beans and Tamagochis. No, this comes from the real world fact that the North Koreans are short of poo, and must pay a tax if they cannot contribute their officially mandated share.
North Koreans are in deep doo doo, literally, as their government has ordered each household to collect 10 kilograms (22 pounds) of human waste and dry it for use as fertilizer (rfa.org)
The penalty for not doing your fair share is pretty stiff - enough to give anybody the top ten hits. You could face a fine or forced labour. It’s now a case of survival of the shittest.
Kim Jong Un demands 1,100lb of poo from North Korean citizens sparking fights and black market trading (LBC)
The quota for this is 440 pounds of poo. The problem is that the average person only does about 312 pounds a year. Ok, ok - you are not the average person.
So my advice, as an accredited, independent nut job, is to invest heavily in shite. You can either buy a lot of it on Amazon (search the reviews for Air Fryers and Dolce and Gabbana ) or get the family working from home and make it a team bonding exercise. You can then arrange to export it to the DPRK (Notice how any country that includes the word ‘democratic’ in its title, never is.) People are fighting each other over piles of the stuff, but it is a happy-go-lucky kind of fighting, since nobody is unhappy there.
It’s a sure fire winner. Having spent a lifetime dealing in this commodity, I know.
Which reminds me. What about ‘recycled’ lavatory paper? Is there a machine which scrapes it off? You never see men in adverts for bathroom stationery. Dogs yes, men no. The doorbell always rings when you are sitting on the loo.
Since we are currently in the bottom area… You will have farted, on average, between 14 to 23 times today. No wonder there is a climate crisis with all that methane. Even if you vote Green, you are destroying the planet. Probably more so, since you only eat cabbage.
Government advice is that you should never fart in an empty room or office, since someone will immediately walk in with a cheery grin that quickly turns to an agonising death rictus. This is what scientists call The First Rule of Farts.
The second rule of farts is first dates. Do not be perceived to fart on a first date. Certainly do not fart during first sex (whichever is the sooner). However, thereafter, the sooner you get over the farting issue, the better. A long term relationship cannot be sustained if one or the other party stifles their farts and pretends they never do - which brings me to the next rule.
The third rule of farts is that women are inherently deceitful; they do not fart honestly.
Since most of us know that the first fart joke was found in a coprolite, it is as well to know that it has always been a topic for fun. My favourite story comes from the reign of QEI. Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, fled the country for 7 years after farting loudly in the presence of her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the First. He went to France, where, not only is flatulence acceptable, it is regarded as a core competency. (see below) On his return to the court, she said, “My, Lord, I had forgot the fart”. There is a lesser known one about the same Monarch showing a foreign dignitary around the royal stables. One horse farted loudly as they passed. The Queen remarked, “I do apologise, Your Excellency”. To which the visitor said, "It is no problem, Your Majesty. I thought it was one of the horses."
Joseph Pujol, who could fart to order and play tunes with his gaseous anal emissions, appeared regularly with his unusual act at Moulin-Rouge (from 1890 to 1894) The revenue from his performances doubled that of Sarah Berhnardt. He retired from performing the squeaky bottom routine in 1914. There are no known sound recordings of his work on stage. Pujol died in Toulon, where he was buried. The grave is still extant.
Note to subscribers.
It’s time there was a format on this substack. From here on in, there will be a light-hearted post for the weekend and a serious, insightful, but occasionally gloomy one during the week. Be seeing you.