"In a typical Brazilian house, (which is usually just one floor of a crowded apartment building), the walls and doors are very thin, and allow everyone within 100 meters to hear EVERYTHING. Combined with the acoustic effect of the slate and tile floors, the walls are wonderful amplifiers and conductors of sound. It is one thing to grunt and fart and blast away in the bathroom during normal business hours. But this was strangely different.
"Imagine: it is four A.M. All is quiet and the almost-full moon is shining down through the open window, gilding my room and my dreamy reality in a silver glow. I am not quite awake, but I am not quite asleep -- something has drawn me into this hazy in-between state. It is a rumbling down below, a pressure in my abdomen that I cannot ignore.
"Unable to control myself in my half-conscious state (nor, perhaps, desiring to, due to my constant state of depravity), I often shatter the soft silence and tropical dreams of all the Brazilians on my block with a titanic explosion of buttock brass. Long and strident peals my horn section rumble the floor and lift the sheets from my quivering body. The cacophony resounds for some moments, banishing dreams and civilized thought at one stroke. Before the echoes have begun to die out, there come to my ears foreign voices lifted loud in complaint and disgust -- for all who equipped with ears or who are able to sense vibrations have been awakened in a most rude fashion. Brazilians are not shy or quiet about expressing their emotions.
"My mocking and shameless laughter answers them one and all. I am perhaps the only sentient being in the neighborhood that returns to my slumber with a smile. The others lay scowling and doubtless plotting terrible revenges.
"So I failed to mention to my roommate that I was somewhat accomplished as a trumpeter. Let us couple this with the fact that he has now taken to leaving the door to the bathroom closed at all hours. When he is forced to enter into that haven of vileness, he emerges quickly, his little goblin face screwed up in disgust.
"Imagine even on a primitive level what this must do to a man. The stench of the innards of another male assaulting him in his own home. Poor fucker.
"Alas, I was awakened at some unholy hour the other day by a lady with a chemist's measuring kit upheld. She was there to give a remedio (which means medicine) to the toilet. It didn't help. Brazil apparently has its own methods of dealing with funk, but they aren't prepared for the sheer and unconquerable stench of my fucking Ass.
"The guy is at a loss as to what to do. There are no words for such a thing, for it is against social and civilized custom here to bring such a thing up. At least, this guy doesn't seem to have any sort of experience or idea of how to deal with it..."