Breaking Wind
August 26th, 2008
What’s that you’re wearing, friend, in this harsh weather brought on by the changing of summer to winter? Is that the same thin outer coat made of glossy synthetic material that you wore in the spring? I noticed it incorporates an elastic waistband and zipper, how novel. What do you call this seasonal garment?
What’s that you say? A windbreaker? Such flagrant use of a genericized trademark should be frowned upon. Are you using that windbreaker to go to the Xerox machine? Or to shelter you from the ills of disease so you can save your bucks rather than buy some Kleenex?
How about this: does it make you fart? Are you wearing some sort of Cloak of Flatulence, because that’s what it sounds like, buddy. You are wearing a hoodless creation that has been named as if it was an organism that was seconds away from defecating, if it could just clear the path of all that gas.
Huh, are you wearing a fart? Huh, fart boy?
Do not be afraid, you – like the majority of the population – have become entangled in American colloquialisms. What you describe as a windbreaker is simply a article of clothing that has been given a title based on its assumed primary use. Really, the term “windbreaker” can and should be used to describe anything that separates the air around it as it moves in any of the cardinal directions (and some non-cardinal directions such as up and down).
And most importantly, “breaking wind” has more in common with aerodynamics than your flatulence. If we don’t disseminate this particular slang phrase, we run the danger of turning everyday chilly consumers into a race of walking gas factories. As of today, when you are forced to air out your insides via the exhaust of the anus, you are no longer “breaking wind.”
It’s almost impossible to trace this cutesy term back to its origins, since it gained popularity in times when it was rude to reference flatulence, nonetheless come up with an accurate term for it. It has become so ingrained into society that the definition falls under the idiom section under the word “break” right below “breaking the ice” and “breaking the bank” – two equally useless terms.
So it’s going to be difficult to purge this phrase without providing some sort of alternative. Naturally, it will have to be capable of use in formal situations, since that’s the primary use of the offending term in the first place:
Plutocrat: I say, Agnes, do you smell that putrid odor?
Aristocratic Agnes: At first, I was unable to detect the offending aroma, but after a prolonged wiff, I now believe that someone (not possibly myself, for I am a lady of the highest class) has broke wind.
Plutocrat: One of the Negros has been sneaking tastes of the goat cheese, no doubt.
Aristocratic Agnes: No doubt.
With all the various terms given to gas, it’s difficult to find one that fits in all social situations, so in the true spirit of Newspeak, I will condense all intestinal gas into one simple word that will hopefully breach the barriers of the lexicon.
The furthest I can trace back some sort of root that will allow for the blossoming of this new term is the Indo-European “perd-“ which is used dually for fart and partridge – ironically, an actual windbreaker. It is also the acronym used for the federal Program of Energy Research and Development, which is funny to me since methane is being researched and –most probably – accidentally developed by the team. Perd seems to predate the Old English “feortan” and the Germanic “fartōn,” and will serve as the basis for our solidified term.
Also to be considered is that this term must be verb if it is to replace “breaking wind.” Therefore, we might find some help in the Latin word “cernere” which roughly means “to separate or set apart,” and is the root of “recrement,” another great word to describe waste matter (including your fart and the shits that follow it).
Now, let’s mash these terms together. Perdcernere. That sounds ugly, and cannot be used in proper conversations, so let’s mash it up a little by taking out the offensive letter. Perdcernere becomes Perdsernere (fukk the sees) and with a twist of the gracious becomes Perdserene making your farts tranquil and elegant.
Let’s see how our friends make use of this new term.
Plutocrat: My, my. That a superior meal, dear. Who knew quail eggs went so sublimely with the boiled flesh of peasant children?
Aristocratic Agnes:I was certainly surprised, although the rich flavors might send my navy chest into some turmoil.
Plutocrat: Are you telling me that slight scent is a product your perdserene?
Aristocratic Agnes: Quite.
Plutocrat: Quite.
Now, I’m not as dense as to think you’ll now refer to squeezing out a toot as “manufacturing a perdserene.” So, I’ve made an acronym, P.S. That’s right, P.S. is now farting. How’s that for concise?
Let’s review what we’ve established today: You are wearing a thin jacket, which does break the wind, but is not correctly called a windbreaker. When you fart, you are actually perdserening or making a P.S.
And that plane flying above you is really the only thing breaking wind.
Post Script: In conjunction with the above statements, I hereby decree that post scripts be stricken from all letters. Say what you want to say in the body of your text or just write a new goddamn letter, you lazy bastard. If you end up using the P.S. abbreviation, all enlightened readers with think you’re just farting out some sort of pathetic afterthought.
Post Post Script: Logically, a P.P.S is now your actual feces, since that’s the only logical thing that would happen post P.S.
