I mean, the world may have been born into being in a great, gaseous uproar so infinitely awesome and powerful that it's still flinging burning stars to the ever growing reaches of the universe as the cycle of creation, existence, and demise goes on endlessly, and all life, all creation, all of all we know and much, much more that we are too small to ever conceive is spun from that single cataclysm. But I'm pretty sure my farts are just farts.