The average human being farts 16 times a day, releasing an amazing half a litre of fart gas over a 24-hour period. We are fleshy gasbags – in fact, I’m surprised that the sustainable-energy mob haven’t cottoned on, harnessing the fart supply of a giardia sufferer. They could be chained to the house in pairs to power household energy requirements such as hot water and cooking. Why, up in areas like Federal where the locals live off tank water they’re so full of gas that in the future Santos may even consider fracking them.

Cutting the cheese is as much a part of normal human behaviour as sleeping; in fact in my experience most bed partners unknowingly launch the air biscuit while in repose, so why is farting still such a source of embarrassment? I’m not advocating that we replace the handshake with the botty burp. Public decorum is appreciated; I hold low regard for crop dusters. These are the flatulent infidels who silently pass gas while walking past a group of people and then quickly vacate the area, leaving others to suffer the consequences and in some unfortunate cases, suffer the blame. The most evil crop duster will do this when exiting a lift, knowing that when the door closes, although their identity may be revealed, it’s only retrospective as the occupants of the elevator will be left to swelter in a moving dutch oven of gaseous horror.

I have to admit that I once caused an asthma attack with my farting. I can’t claim sole responsibility: it was a double-barrelled attack. On a holiday vacation to my grandmother’s house, my cousin Lisa and I mounted a post-stew knicker-ripping attack on her younger brother. For well over an hour we dropped our nighties over his head and let loose some major window rattlers. I don’t know what my grandmother had done to that stew, but until this day I have never had such a bountiful supply of natural gas available so readily on demand.

Laurence, the receiver of the stink clouds, thought it was hysterical. He laughed till he cried. And then he stopped breathing. Suddenly Lisa and I became aware that we could be held responsible for the choking death of her younger brother. We took the situation in hand. ‘We won’t get you any help unless you promise not to dob on us.’ The poor boy was turning blue but he managed a head nod, and not long after a helpful adult arrived bearing Ventolin. No one could establish why Laurence had suddenly fallen prey to such a violent attack, although my mother did notice that the windows needed opening as it smelt ‘like something’s died in the room’. He never dobbed.

Since that murderous moment I’ve spent most of my life trying not to fart. I haven’t yet become a carpet slipper. These are old ladies who drop a cabbage curler and then pretend they can’t smell a thing. I am more prone to finding discreet locations to launch a cheek flapper. There is no greater pleasure for the lone farter than the car. Here one can fart freely without fear of losing favour.

Women are more repressed in this department than men, and in some occasions even manage to convince their partners they don’t fart at all. It’s not true. They fart alone. They enjoy long car trips scoring the stink velocity of their own putricity. (I made up a word, take that, spell check!) I once let rip with an impressive carpet stainer, then stopped to pick up a hitchhiker. I felt like Mrs Milat.

In parts of America farting is considered a crime. A 12-year-old boy was arrested in Florida for intentionally passing gas in class. Christ, if they brought that law in here there’d be no boys in second class. In West Virginia a man farted in the vicinity of a police officer and then fanned the offensive odour in his direction. He was arrested on ‘battery’. I’ve smelt some pretty bad drops in my time, but I’ve never thought it would take out a grown man!

I’m a comedian, and I have to admit I still find farting funny. It’s the sound that I love. A farting application on iPhone netted $10,000 in just one day, proving that I am not alone! The sound varies depending on the tightness of the sphincter and the velocity of the gas being propelled, as well as other factors, such as water and body fat. The auditory pitch (sound) of the flatulent outburst can also be affected by the anal embouchure. Meaning that fat people with cheek control rule the world. In fact there was even a French chap who could fart the national anthem. If we had that kind of talent in Australia, we wouldn’t keep stuffing up the second verse.