Though he claimed that he could, indeed, propel himself through the air because of flexed thigh muscles, that was certainly over-simplifying matters. In fact, he could not perform this feat at will. It was actually quite interdependant upon diet. And that's where his Mexican maid, Enchilada,
entered the equation. More than simply adept at the preparation of the spicey meals of old Mexico, she was seen as a Spanish chef without peer. Her world-class bean dip had garnered her a following that went far beyond the walls of Great-Uncle Cooper's estate. However, Enchilada would be the first to admit that it is neartly impossible to consume a Mexican meal without a bit of a residual gaseous leakage.
It was after partaking of one such exceptional meal of Chili del Diablo and several bottles of Corona that Great -Uncle Cooper confided in me. "Boy", he said. "It is not truly just the thigh-flex which propels me, but rather, the build up of vapors in my lower gastoral tract following one of Enchilada's fine meals. In fact, the flexing of my thigh muscles, along with the subtle clenching of my buttocks, is an attempt to build up these vapors for as long as possible. In truth, it is the sudden UNCLENCHING of these muscles which allows the gaseous vapors to explode from my nether regions, propelling me through the air. Truth be told, that is the gist of the unfortunate accident involving your Great-Uncle Bosco. Though most in the family attribute his passing to a sudden attack of sclorosis of the liver, that was just a cover-up. His real passing was from MY passing...of gas. Poor Bosco.<<<<