by Ross Sharp

It came to me last night. After a few glasses of wine and a bowl of lamb saag and a cigarette yes a cigarette that’s what it was it wasn’t anything other than that, everything went “ping” and fell into place all at once and I finally realised what it all means …

You’re a guy farts five hundred times a day. Most guys fart five times a day but you, you’ve been popping them out with nary a second thought five hundred times a day for yonks now, you sound like a duck on speed with Tourette’s. This is stinking the place up something awful for the rest of us and we reckon it’s about time something be done about it.

So the government says, “Listen, you fat farting little fucker, we’re a bit whiffed out by all your funky spummage and we reckon, short of putting a plug in it, you ought to pay us some cash so we can clean off the walls a bit and put some oxygen back into the air.”

So you say, “Yeah alright, I’ll hand over a coupla fistfuls, orright, it’s good PR ain’t it, the fuck, eh?”

So the government says, “That’s fucking fantastic, farting dude! And listen, all ya gotta do is hand over the dosh on a regular basis like, and you can keep fartin’ all you fuckin’ like! Same as before, whaddya think, eh? Good?”

“Fuckin’ excellent”, you say. And off you go.

Anyway, after a while, you get sick of shoveling out money hand over fucking fist just for the privilege of stinking up the joint, so you get to thinkin’ that maybe you should start doing stuff like dealing with your crappy diet, the stuff that’s putting the fug to the flora and fauna and knocking them flat out to fucking buggery.

So this is what you do. You go on a diet and you lose weight and you exercise more and you sweat less and girls look at you and smile sweetly and you make lots of friends and everyone invites you over for dinner and you invite them over for dinner and people say nice things about you and they don’t hold their noses anymore when you come ‘round ‘cause you fart like normal folks do now only five times a day which is perfectly acceptable unless you’re in an elevator with other people or at a funeral during the quiet bit when the casket slides into the fire.

And because you don’t fart so much and people can breathe without thinking they must be living in God’s gaping anus itself, you pay the government less money which means more money for you.

And lots of girls, too.

So that’s it.

The Emissions Trading Scheme explained.

And it’s all thanks to a bowl of lamb and spinach curry.