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The Fart at Wang Chongyang's Funeral
Anonymous


     The Complete Perfection sect of Daoists organized a big memorial service when Wang Chongyang bid farewell to the mortal world. [See
here.] A profusion of luminaries from many different sects attended the service.
     When Viewing the Remains had just been completed, the crowd of celebrities was on pins and needles as they laid out offerings of fruit, cigarettes and beverages in the funeral hall. The entire group then sat around the edge of Wang Chongyang's casket and started to discuss the question of how the Jiu Yin Sutra should be bequeathed! The negotiations proceeded amid soft funeral music. The luminaries hypocritically consigned the mourning to others while they made their arguments for ownership of the Jiu Yin Sutra.
     Just when the debate was at its most intense, the loud, penetrating sound of a sharp, crisp fart suddenly surged forth. The throng immediately went absolutely silent in astonishment and they all looked at each other in dismay. The actualization of this fart was a high technical achievement; it was majestic and powerful, with the strength of thousands. The prolonged sound echoed through the rafters and the lingering odor was inexhaustible! The martial artists reacted at once with great indignation (especially because someone had had such little regard for the effect of this action on such a stately occasion). The Seven Sons of Complete Perfection, who were acting as the official hosts, could not abide by such an insult. When they heard the sound they jumped completely out of their chairs, pulled out their swords and assumed the Big Dipper Seven Star stance.
   Qiu Chuji asked Ma Yu softly, "Brother, could it have been one of us that let that one loose?" Ma Yu shook his head confidently: "I think not. We of the Complete Perfection Sect have an inner strength which would most likely prevent such a loss of control over the passage of gas!" Several people immediately turned to look at the Seven Southern Freaks, whose inner strength was the least developed of any of the sects. The Seven Southern Freaks looked as though they were thinking of something. Then Ke Zhen, the Flying Bat, the one with red and green bruises on his ugly face, trembled all over as he stood up and said, "Harrumph, what are you people saying. We Seven Southern Freaks have not fully developed our martial skills, but we have never done anything so shameless, obscene, and calamitous!" "That's right," added Second Zhu, the Wise. "We Seven Southern Freaks are like one person. We all fart together whether we're at home or in a public place. Did you hear seven simultaneous farts?"
     Qiu Chuji understood full well the habits of the Seven Southern Freaks. He smiled at them and nodded his head to indicate that they should sit down. His gaze turned to Ouyang Feng, the Western Poison, whose etiquette was usually wretched. Ouyang Feng smiled disingenuously. "You Seven Sons of Complete Perfection, how could your ilk hope to smell a fart from my White Camel Mountain Manor without problems?" As he spoke he gave a wink to Ouyang Ke. With one sudden movement, Ouyang Ke was crouched stably on a water jar by the door. His abdomen flexed and, with a great roar, white smoke tinged with a yellow spray came out from his crotch. Ouyang Feng hurriedly covered his eyes with his hand: "Ke, my boy, you're just a vulgar show-off. Get outta here. I told you not to drink so many cold drinks down here in the South, but you just wouldn't listen!" Before the crowd's eyes the water jar had been scorched black in a flash, and they all knew in their bones that Old Poison and his nephew could not have let loose such a clear and orthodox fart as the one they'd heard.
     Everyone's gaze turned around the room and fell on Hong Qigong, the Beggar of the North. They all thought to themselves, "The old panhandler doesn't normally care about personal hygiene. He must be the one who did it." Hong Qigong burst out laughing. "Ha, ha! When this old man farts, there's always action to go with it!" As he said this he jabbed his dog beating stick into the ground, flipped over on his stomach with a kick and waggled his rear end in the air. Two of his disciples from the Beggar Clique were immediately knocked backwards amidst the sound of the fart, as though they had been launched like rockets.
     So it wasn't Hong Qigong, either. Could that mean it was Great Teacher One Lamp, the Emperor of the South? One Lamp's face was pale. "Mendicants don't tell lies," he said. "This old monk has dedicated all the impure vapors in his body to use in the One Finger Death Touch." As he was talking he quietly applied his force. He lifted his middle finger toward the sky and struck a POSE….His four disciples, Fisherman, Lumberjack, Farmer and Scholar, hastily grabbed him. "Master, Master, the True Force is a treasure, don't use it up so casually!"
     For lack of an alternative, one by one the crowd turned to stare at Pharmacist Huang, the Demon of the East. Pharmacist Huang beat on the table, contorting his face into a tiger's scowl, then stood and stretched up to his full height. "That's right! All those fucking farts were mine!" Huang Rong, sitting beside him, quickly pulled on his sleeve. "What are you saying, Dad? It wasn't you that farted. Brother Jing, you've heard my dad fart. You can clear this up right now!" Guo Jing scratched his head and stood up. "Yeah, that wasn't my honorable father-in-law's fart. His farts are invariably three parts righteous gas and seven parts corrupt gas. And besides, those who understand a bit of the laws of music are always shaken to the core because his farts sound like Waves on the Jade Sea…. Heh, heh…. That's my answer!" Old Demon Huang smiled at Guo Jing for the first time in his life and handed him a Peach Blossom Flower cigarette!
     Only Windstorm Mei was left now. Without waiting for the crowd to say anything, she stood up and said in an eerie voice, "Humph! Whoever the fuck farted and won't admit it, this old gal will force him out like this!" As she spoke she made a hook with her fingers and, turning toward Yang Kang, who had been standing behind her, tweaked him lightly on the butt. All of a sudden Yang Kang screamed wretchedly, like a cat whose tail had been burned in the fire, and flew out of the room. "This old gal might be blind," Windstorm Mei continued, "but she's not deaf. That fart came from 75 degrees East and 32 degrees North!" The crowd looked toward the position Windstorm Mei had specified. Their gaze fell upon Wang Chongyang's casket….
     The casket's lid began to open by itself. The faces of the celebrities in the crowd turned ashen and they each exclaimed, "Old Wang's come back to life!" In an instant Wang sat up in his coffin, singing Gao Linsheng's song, "'It's me, it's me, it's still me….' My dear Luminaries, it goes without saying that this poor Daoist has been to the other side. But I felt helpless because of your endless wrangling over the Jiu Yin Sutra. I was afraid that you would cut up my corpse before I even got into the presence of the Lord, so I let loose the final blast of my true power to burn the Jiu Yin Sutra!" When he finished talking, he again stretched out his legs and expired.

     The crowd of luminaries shook their heads and, one by one, left the Hall of Complete Perfection. After a bit, Zhou Botong came rushing out from the rear courtyard, all bouncing and vivacious. "Oyez, oyez! Gather 'round, Seven Sons of Complete Perfection! We can now visit the Jiu Yin Sutra! What the Master burned just now was his and Lin Chaoying's love letters!"


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