I’ve traveled by car across this country many times, and have for the most part been unable to resist the myriad odd tourist attractions that litter our highways big and small. I’ve seen the house on the rock, the giant dinosaur in the desert, the worlds tallest thermometer, also in the desert, and Wall Drug, might as well be in the desert. And as ironic and just plain silly as most of these attractions are, I have to admit none of them come close to The Museum of Past Gas.
One might question many things about a museum dedicated to preserving the farts of historical figures; its reason for being high among them. I certainly had many of my own questions, and like any citizen journalist, I was determined to get answers.
When I entered this surprisingly modern facility, I was struck by its whiteness, its almost Swedish attention to smooth surfaces, its use of advanced technology, and its peculiar smell, or should I say lack of one.
Grayson St. Jean is the curator, and has been since the place opened in the early 90’s. He’s a tall man, slender, speaks with a slight drawl, though where in the south he’s from is hard to place. Since this whole story is fabricated, I’ll say Baton Rouge.
Once I entered the grand foyer of the museum, my attention was immediately drawn to the ceiling and its labyrinth of air ducts, fans, and ultraviolet lighting. The second thing I noticed was the large bust of Ben Franklin in the middle of the room. This slightly larger than life tribute in Bronze is accompanied by a small leather satchel with an inscription sewn in it that reads. “Faba faba musica fructum plus comederis toot eo magis.” Loosely translated as “beans beans the musical fruit, the more you eat the more you toot.” The satchel is about the size of a small sandwich bag, with a drawstring at the top. Just above the satchel is a small plaque that describes its contents as “The Flatulence” of Mr. Ben Franklin”. Additional material goes on to describe Mr. Franklins dietary regimen, and his hand in the perfection of the science of fart collecting.“Its not really that surprising”, Mr. St Jean quipped, noting the quizzical expression on my face. “Franklin had his hand in all sorts of queer pursuits.”
Moving on, we entered the adjoining gallery, a wide opened environment with smooth white walls adorned with dozens of small touch screens featuring the likenesses of random historical figures. Below each of the screens, there were clear plastic masks attached to small tubes, reminiscent of the overhead oxygen masks you find on airplanes. “ Try the General Custard” Mr. St. Jean suggests from the back of the room. “ Buffalo and Jicama”. He also recommended the Babe Ruth, which I have to admit wasn’t that bad.
There’s a lot to wonder about here. For instance, how do they collect and maintain the gas? St. Jean, told me. “The collection part is simple,its the preservation part that’s tricky”. He then quickly directed me into a smaller room with a large bullet-proof clear box hanging at the far end. “This is really interesting”’, said St Jean. “Though its not really fart related.” I moved closer to the clear box, that was similar to the one in the Louvre that protects the Mona Lisa. “It looks like an old pair of soiled underwear”, I said. “Not just any underwear”, St. Jean replied, “Its Jesus’s underwear”, “This”, he proclaimed, “is the Shroud of Urine.”
Indeed.