<------- peals of laughter. You’ve just used your Special Magyck to blend the DNA of Cecil Adams and Garrison Kellior:
When I worked for the banking equipment company, we had a crew of guys who took great pride in farting. Were farting an Olympic event, those guys would have brought home gold for the US. The only rule of engagement was never, ever, ever fart in a bank vault. Farts in bank vaults have half-lives measured in decades. Before learning that rule, I let one tear inside a vault, and the other guys walked out, leaving me to install the rest of the safe deposit box trim while marinating in my own trouser growl.
My other favorite fart story is from the fire service. It was a humid Saturday summer morning, and I was driving an engine in a slow moving parade procession. High school bands, members in dress uniform marching, horse drawn units-the whole deal. My passenger was the department president, a man known for his ill winds which blew no good. As we approaching the reviewing stand full of politicians where the parade judges were located, the percolating beer and hoagie from the previous night reached critical pressure in my bowels, and I let go one of those “growling dog under the couch” rippers that made a “rat-tat-tat” on the armoralled truck seat. The aroma threatened to discolor the paint in the cab, and as we stared straight ahead, Alex said from the corner of his mouth, “You. Dirty. Bastard.” Past the judges, we turned the corner, and he stuck his head out the truck window like a German Shepherd while I laughed. 
I’ve worked diligently on a technique that I call the ventrilofart (the art and craft of fart throwing). It’s done with a little misdirection, an innocent smile and a simple denial .
Yeah, although I usually use my ass.
After getting a good laugh out of some of the posts in this thread, I have to add my own. It isn’t work-related, but SO-related.
One night Mr. SCL and I were in bed. I felt the impending pressure, and because I had heard snores from his side of the bed I assumed he was asleep. So I let 'er rip instead of getting up in the cold - a fart of previously unreached volume and duration. As I lay there, trying very hard not to giggle, I hear from the other side of the bed in a very sleepy voice:
"Damn, you coulda tried out for the Army band with that one."Dances, that was gold!
Thanks for the input, er output.
Quite correct. And we don’t sweat, either. We ‘glisten.’
Why is it o.k. for my husband to fart anywhere anytime, but if I let one slip - OH MY GOD! Its just plain awful.
By the way my Dad used to love to let one go in front of family friends and blame it on me! I used to want to crawl in a hole and die.
At one of my former jobs I could not even begin to match the “Ladies”
Worked in a cow barn
First off, no never at work. Geez, I’m the boss here, we’d have total rebellion if I did.
And always always always fart for the cats. For one thing, you can BLAME the cat:
“Damn, Scarlett…are you in to the garbage bags again?”
Buy my cats don’t bury things, in fact they treat it as some kind of loving gift. They curl up tighter and start purring and rolling around all bliss-like.
Like danceswithcats my favorite is from the fire service. We were standing by waiting for the power company to arrive at 3 AM to disconnect some high voltage lines on top of a car. Well, I ripped one off to the amusement of my fellow FF’s that rattled the windows on the engine with a truly thunderous roar! Didn’t realize that half a dozen neighbors had taken up positions behind us to watch the excitement. They fled the scene in a hurry.
Open the pod bay door, Dad.