Beer and nuclear powered farts

There seems to be a rash of beer and poop related threads around here, so I figured this would be the perfect time for a thread that combines them both.

When I drink a lot of beer, the next morning is often a very, uh, “moving” experience. I’ll produce a nice big, brown bowl that makes it look like I had metamucil pancakes for breakfast.

Except today, instead of the usual turbo-dump, I got nuclear powered beer farts. I’m not talking about a little gas, I’m talking about how-much-rotten-broccoli-and-eggs-did-you-eat-last-night, knock-an-elephant-dead-at-thirty-yards toxic emissions. If Bush is still looking for weapons of mass destruction, he should come over here because I’ve got one warming my chair right now.

Sitting inside my closed door office, I let a few really nice ones rip. There’s just something magical about absolutely polluting an enclosed airspace and then stewing in it. Of course, when someone else does it, it’s gross, vile, and disgusting, but when you do it yourself it’s a fine work of olfactory art.

Just as I was finishing up my handiwork, my manager came by wanting to talk. Uh oh. But he stood by the door and didn’t really come inside, so I thought he might not have smelled it (or maybe he did and was wisely keeping his distance.)

He left, and the danger was over. What better way to celebrate than to let fly a few more stinkers? The long squeaky kind, the ones that just reek. With the additions of a trench and some dead Frenchmen, my office would have been a perfect recreation of a World War I battlefield.

Two minutes passed, and then I heard another knock on the door. The manager. Again. Except this time he stepped inside.

I was able to refrain from further expulsion while he was in here, but judging from the funny look on his face and the way he slowly backed away from me during our conversation, I don’t think I scored any brownie points.

Now if you’ll just excuse me for a moment…
Aaaaaaahhhhhhh.

Oh yeah.

Sheer poetry!

:: dabs tear from eye with hanky::

Beer doesn’t make for stinky gas in my abdomen. But it sure makes up for it with volume!

Back in my bachelor days, I could put away an entire 12-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in one evening. If you don’t know about Sierra Nevada, it’s krausened, which means for the final fermentation they just put the yeast in the bottle, seal it, and go. It makes for an especially satisfying beer, in my opinion.

And for especially satisfying flatulance. Long, deep, resonant, sustained notes… with little lingering odor. It’s probably more CO2, produced by the yeast, as the body warmth sped its metabolism of the beer in my gut. And my gut was probably less hostile than most since I was taking prevacid for acid reflux… caused by excessive beer consumption.

(Ahh… the synergy of it all.)

The morning after a good Sierra Nevada binge, I would awaken with a familiar pressure way down in the bottom of my gut. I’d take a deep breath, tense up and push with my diaphragm:

Ssssffffthbraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaarrrrrpthfthburrrblptpthputputpthfffffsssssspt!

It was like exhaling. In fact, the sustained part of the note was of such sustained, unbroken timbre it was almost like singing. In fact, sometimes I’d have to take another breath and push again.

Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhrthp!

Like angels with fanfare trumpets, this was the sound that ushered in many mornings at the bughunter household.

AKA: Bud Mud, Schlitz shits, Blatz splats or the Keystone plops

The OP reminds me of a commercial for Bud Light I think. This guy’s in his office eating chinese food and he gets a strange look on his face, he looks around, lifts a cheek and lets out a nasty one and smiles. Two seconds later the whole office comes in saying “Surprise!” one woman is holding a birthday cake. The looks on their faces makes me laugh just thinking about it.

That reminds me of another similar story. A few weeks ago I was suffering from the above mentioned “voluminous beer farts of death”. I went out to my car for lunch and as soon as I got in I let out a whopper, kind of quiet but powerfully stinky. Just then I look at the parked car next to me, in it sits the hottest woman in our entire building. I blushed so much I might have gotten a tan.

No more stories, just a link to another funny fart-related commercial.