Last Thursday my political science class was having a lively discussion on international weapon sales. Then, somebody dropped a bomb on the entire class.

Perhaps it was the Mexican-themed lunch at Ernie Davis. Maybe the poor guy had just been holding it in all day. Maybe he had a very strong opinion on arms sales and just expressed it through the wrong orifice. Whatever it was, something erupted in that poor sucker’s intestines and went nuclear on the entire classroom. What followed was undoubtedly the loudest, most disgusting five to seven seconds of my life since I lost my virginity.

It was gross. It was smelly. It might have even been a little wet. It was a fart. Never before had my classmates or I been subjected to such explosive flatulence in a public place. We sat in silence for several moments, reflecting on the sheer magnitude of the gaseous explosion that had just occurred.

‘Wait, was that real?’ asked one student, echoing the thoughts of everyone else in the room.

Soon our eyes all wandered to the source of the fart, where some poor soul was hunched over his desk, either unconscious or too embarrassed to look up. Behind him sat the first casualty, a blue-faced junior about to suffocate on his own vomit.

Soon we all realized that what we heard was, in fact, real. Not an elaborate prank, nor a Whoopee cushion full of dog crap. As the stench set in, our disbelief wore off. The whole class burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Now, I could sit here and endlessly pontificate on the nature of this particular fart’s volume, pitch, smell, texture and any other qualities it may possess. That would probably make for a pretty funny column and would more than satisfy the 8-year-old that lies within each of us.

However, as Syracuse University’s self-appointed humor philosopher, I’d rather use this opportunity to discuss one of life’s most basic questions: What makes a fart so gosh-darn funny? Why is it that, from heaven to hell, at a wedding or a funeral, among toddlers or senior citizens, all it takes is one toot, one squeaker, one cheek-flapper to get the grandma, the grandson, the bride and the corpse to start giggling?

It’s a topic worth exploring, for as long as mankind has had questions, we’ve searched for answers. And as long as we’ve searched for answers we’ve, well, farted. I, for one, think the humor of flatulence lies in the perpetrator’s reaction. It’s an incredibly fascinating study of human behavior: How are you supposed to carry yourself when everyone around you knows you just came within inches of crapping your pants?

For others, the humor lies in a fart’s status as social taboo, especially among high society. Nothing is better than watching someone shift uncomfortably in a tuxedo after busting a wet one at a country club reception.

For most, however, the humor lies in that simple, childish instinct in all of us to laugh at potty humor. For whatever reason, comedy has always, and forever will, delved into what we deem gross and unmentionable. It’s simply a way to cope with the inherent curiosity that accompanies an organ’s or bodily function’s designation as ‘private.’ Is it wrong? Is it childish? Am I a terrible person for writing an entire column on farts when I should be writing about love and Valentine’s Day? Maybe. Still, fart jokes are freakin’ hilarious.

Danny Fersh is sophomore broadcast journalism major and his column appears every Wednesday. He hopes this column is romantic enough for Valentine’s Day. If not, his girlfriend’s definitely going to hate the card he sent her. Speaking of girlfriends, what says love better than this week’s Valentine’s Day-themed ‘Fresh Squeeze’? Danny can be reached at dafersh@syr.edu.