David Beckham and Tiger Woods

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

I think it was the ten commandments that stated "Thou shalt not worship any false idol", or words to that effect. One of the things that has alway amazed me is that throughout history people have needed to worship somebody or something. The above two are just a few of the numerous examples that I could mention but they are perhaps more recent examples of the superstar. Talent thay have, but none more so than a host of others plying the same profession and yet they are singled out for adulation. Sure it is much to do with the medias insatiable desire to sell copy and promote these people, who usually have a product to sell, but as we all know idols can soon be knocked from their perch and the media seem to specialise in building them up and pulling them down.
 An example of the latter appeared in The Guardian this morning http://guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2010/jul/17/david-beckham-england-celebrity, although I happen to agree that all that little fart Beckham is concerned with is promoting his brand and in so doing he pops up everywhere .
 Talking of farts through the wonders of Google I managed to locate the following which used to give me many a giggle when I was a lad:-

THE GREAT FARTING CONTEST


I will tell you a tale that is certain to please,

Of a great farting contest at Wyndham on Pease,

When all the great arses paraded the fields,

To take part in a contest for various shields.

Some cocked up their arses to fart up the scale,

To strive for a cup and a barrel of ale.

And those whose arses were biggest and strongest,

Took part in a contest for loudest and longest.

This pleasant event had drawn a great crowd,

And the betting was even, on Mrs McLoud.

It was said in the papers, the sporting edition,

That this lady’s arse was in perfect condition.

Now old Mrs Potluck was backed for a place,

For she’d been often found in deepest disgrace,

Having farted in church and drowned the great organ,

And gassed the old verger, Marmaduke Morgan.

With a clump of red hairs and a wart on each side,

She cocked it up well with the greatest of pride,

She fancied her chance of wining with ease,

Having trained on a diet of cabbage and peas.

The vicar arrived and ascended the stand,

And proceeded to tell this remarkable band,

That the contest was on, as was shown on the bills,

But the use was taboo of injections and pills.

The contestants lined up at the signal to start,

And winning the toss Mrs Jones took first fart.

The crowd was astonished in silence and wonder,

And the BBC issued a warning of thunder.

Next Mrs Black who’d advanced to the front,

Started by doing a wonderful stunt,

With wide-parted cheeks and tightly clenched hands,

She blew off the roof of the sixpenny stands.

Old Mrs Potluck thought nothing of this,

She’d had some weak tea, and was all wind and piss.

With hands on her hips, and legs stretched out wide,

She unluckily shit, and was disqualified.

Next Mrs Bugle who farted alone,

Amazed all the crowd, with her sweetness of tone.

The judges agreed without bias or pause,

‘First prize Mrs Bugle, now pull up your drawers.’

She advanced to the rostrum with maidenly gait,

To receive, from the vicar, a set of gold plate.

Then she farted to the crowd, who had started to sing,

And farted the first verse of God save the King.__________________

Gordonblewit