The Fart Researcher, Burning Their Butt

The Fart Researcher, Burning Their Butt

When I was a child, I was a fart researcher.

I wasn't appointed by anyone. I didn't wear a lab coat, nor did I have a laboratory.

It was just that I was curious about it.

【Which is smellier: a fart in a room or a fart underwater?】

This question.

Thinking about it now, it really doesn't matter at all. But for a child, being "curious" is reason enough to move the world.

First, I asked my parents.

"Huh? I don't know."

I asked my siblings, too. I asked my friends.

But all I got back were...

"Why are you asking something like that?"

...such cold words.

Because I'm curious, obviously.

I began to get frustrated that no one in the world was taking this problem seriously.

If that's the case, I have no choice but to do it myself.

Thus, I took the plunge into an experiment using my own body.

Whenever I feel a fart coming on, I head to the bath.

I secretly named this series of actions the "Fart Bath Project."

Setting a standard fart at 10, I will verify what kind of numbers a bath fart can produce.

It is an extremely important study.

Around that time, it was summer vacation, and my cousin who is one year older was staying over.

We took a bath together every day.

Wanting to continue my research, I took the plunge and asked for her cooperation.

"What's that? Sounds fun."

My cousin was surprisingly enthusiastic.

Thinking back on it now, she was also quite strange.

And so, we ended up waiting for "that moment" inside the bathtub.

A few days later.

The opportunity finally arrives.

---It's coming.

Soaking in the bathtub, I sensed the signs.

I quietly submerge the washbasin.

Capture preparations complete.

Bogoaaaa...

It's quite large.

But I remained calm.

Carefully moving the washbasin so as not to let the bubbles escape, I finally succeeded in capturing it completely inside.

100% pure fart.

I felt the moment history was made.

First, my cousin, who is my co-researcher, was to check it.

She took a deep breath and dove in headfirst.

Her face was pressed tightly against the washbasin.

It was the next moment.

"Guff...!"

I surfaced rapidly while blowing bubbles.

"Ugh..."

What kind of reaction is that?

Isn't that rude to my fart?

My cousin coughed violently, said only "That's dangerous," and left the bath.

Only I and the washbasin were left in the tub.

The time had finally come for me to reach the truth myself.

—At that moment, I noticed something strange.

The washbasin was floating higher than before.

The amount of gas inside had clearly increased.

No.

This isn't a fart.

The breath my cousin exhaled when they choked is mixed in.

I suddenly became calm.

It was no longer 100% pure.

Why on earth must I be forced to inhale the breath of a relative?

As a researcher, this was an intolerable situation.

However, having come this far, I had no choice but to verify it.

I steeled myself and dove into the washbasin.

And the moment I inhaled,

“Gahhh...!!”

A stinging sensation pierced my nasal cavity.

A clinging stench, not unlike the sulfur of a hot spring resort.

Just like my cousin, I surfaced and coughed violently.

It was an exceptionally high-grade fart.

As a research result, I concluded that the bath fart was a “30”.

Three times the normal amount.

This successful experience drove me mad.

A fart is a gaseous substance.

If I bring it close to a candle flame, will it burn? Or will the force of it blow the flame out?

This, too, was a problem that had to be solved.

The latter half of summer vacation.

After my cousin went home, I started the second phase—the "Fart Candle Project."

First, safety measures.

I moved all the shoes to the side and set up the candle on the entryway floor.

I also prepared a bucket filled with water.

Perfect.

I lit the candle, got down on all fours, hiked up my skirt, and quietly positioned my butt toward the candle.

Ready to launch.

All that was left was to wait.

...

...Nothing.

The position is tough.

In the first place, the entryway was not suitable for a fart-launching posture.

My knees hurt.

I should change my posture a little.

It was at that exact moment.

The front door opened.

I was startled and lost my balance.

In that instant.

Sizzle.

"Ouch!!"

My butt got burned.

I rolled around in the entryway while holding my butt.

My parent, who had just returned home, understood the situation in an instant.

My parent silently checked my butt.

They gently placed their hand on the reddened area.

"...Are you an idiot?"

After saying that, my parent took some ointment out of the medicine cabinet.

I felt a sense of "ultimate humiliation" that I had never experienced since childhood, having my parent touch my butt while applying ointment.

At the same time, I thought,

"Oh, this parent is seriously angry."

More than being hit on the head, this act of "silently applying ointment" spoke volumes about how disappointed my parent was.

My parent's hand pulled away from my butt.

And I was strictly told never to do fart research again.

Project permanently frozen.

And so, with a burned butt and deep humiliation, I ended up retiring as a fart researcher.

After that, I tried to present my research results as a summer vacation independent study project at school, but my parent stopped me.

I was persuaded by my parent, and it was replaced with something safe and incredibly boring called an "Ant Observation Diary."

By the way, although I don't conduct fart research using fire anymore,

"If I'm curious about something, I can't rest until I actually try it"

that trait of mine has not been cured at all.

Perhaps human nature doesn't change that easily.