1
As a boy, I once owned a whoopee cushion. I thought it hilarious; my aging and extremely “proper” great aunt—God rest her soul—did not, and at one Thanksgiving dinner, she let me know. Chastened, I never used a whoopee cushion again. Nor, as the decades passed, did I think much more about the possible humor value of fake farts.
Until this week, when I came across the strange case of Alexander Paul Robertson Lewis, who has been charged with a…
