I was in my native Germany for a visit, and went out to eat solo (my boyfriend didn’t come on the trip with me).
I ate at this awesome restaurant, but, well, I ate too much, and was bloated and gassy as hell. I decided to let it go in the back seat, then it happened. Luckily, it was toward the end of my ride.
I tried getting to my hotel room really quickly. Ended up in the elevator with two businessmen. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice.
Oh, yeah. That happened to me several years ago when norovirus was going around our area. I think I was one of the last people to get it. I was a human volcano for the first 24 hours. I put down a tarp in the guest bathroom and slept on the floor that first night.
There is a morning radio show that once went to give a “shout out” but tongue tied it into a “shart out”; it went over so well that it became a regular thing.
You email/text in your request & they’ll read it on air…followed by the sound of nice, juicy flatulence.
I was not quite 30 the only time it happened to me. I was on the D train in Brooklyn. The only place I saw when I got outside was the Army recruiting center on Flatbush Avenue. They let me use the can, but it was a minute too late. I had a plastic bag in my backpack, so I rinsed out my drawers, got on the R train, and went home.
The first time it happened to me I had just walked out the door, pulled it shut to lock, and realized I didn’t have my keys and had locked myself out. As I was standing there pondering my dilemma, I felt the need to expel some gas. Nothing significant, just a little toot, nothing to give a second thought to. But then, as the toot was tooting, I felt the unmistakable sensation that this time THIS TIME was different. Really? This day of all days I discover a new power I have? Man oh man!
Anywho, I knew I had given a spare key to my unemployed friend, so I called him to bring it over. I waited for about 20 minutes before they arrived and I was able to go inside and clean up and change. Good times!
Ugh. My bout with Norovirus (or something very, very similar judging by how quickly the rest of the family caught it): Last October, I was taking the train south from New York City and somewhere in mid-NJ began to feel queasy. A couple of trips to the bathroom let me feeling “broken-hearted” (i.e. nothing passed).
By Baltimore, I just went into the bathroom and stayed there. Nothing was happening southbound, but my stomach finally decided to refund its dinner - a very, very rare thing for me, like “every 30 years or so”.
By then I was feeling so wretched I was glad to be hurling… only the heaves caused the other end to wake up too. Fortunately not enough to cause a mess, as I was not looking forward to having to text my friend to go rooting in my suitcase for a change. Luckily, once that bout of hurling was done, it was done (the real horrors were about to begin).
I tell everyone that dinner was trying to head back to NY and everything else tried to continue south of Washington. The minute I got home from the train (literally - I stood up when the car got home and :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:) all hell broke loose. I don’t count that as “sharting” though.
Tangentially related (yes, I know the internet is forever, but here goes), I applaud women for living with the knowledge that their “monthly visitor” may come when they’re unprepared. I’ve learned to stop asking how they know from the glares I’ve received!
I sharted after eating a sidewalk vendor hotdog in Manhattan. Problem was it happened on the train ride home. I was able to get to the car that had a toilet of sorts and tossed the underpants away, and cleaned myself up as best I could. My young son who was in tow found it all amusing.
I haven’t shat my britches *once since I quit drinking Thunderbird, and that was damned near 20 years ago.
Or Night Train, or even Mad Dawg or Cisco if the local lusheria was sold out of my preference (not that the various brands of fortified “wino wine” have distinctive flavors, but T’Bird and Train have always had the coolest looking labels)
countless times… one side effect that you dont get told after they remove your gallbladder is you get the drislavia <sp> 1-2 times a week … for the first few years … then eventually you still get them but more like once or twice a month
Well, as my brother explained to me when he was a gross 12-year old adolescent and I was a disgusted 6-year old who witnessed a farting contest between him and his friends, "You can tell if it’s going to be a “wet one” or a “dry one”.
