Mister, does the Hurricane Center name your farts?

So I’m sitting in the cuarto de poopie again, tending to the dark side of the moon and minding my own damn business, when I hear some lumbernuts come in and trudge across the gunnery range toward the wall-bound pisspot. I go back to reading, unaware that storm clouds are brewing up someone’s ass.

“unZZZZiiiiippppp… buuuuuurrrrppppp… HHHhhhhnnnnnnnnrrrraaarrrpppp… blattt… blattt!

I look like a fucking spotlighted deer I’m so surprised. If there was a short haired pointer in the stall with me, he’d be on three legs and wimpering right now. As I raise my head up from the editorial page, I’m wondering was that frikkin’ real? Did somebody’s ass just sucker punch my sensibilities?

HHHHHaaarrrrrrppprrrroooggaaaa… hunnnrttt… hunnnrrrtttt!

Motherfucker! It’s goddamn anuscane season! *** Aromecia*** blew through first and scattered my previous understanding of the laws of harmonics and now here comes ***Bungholio *** to shiver my fucking timbers. Jesus, does this guy have a tuba shoved up his ass? Calling Dr. William Grey at Colorado State, Hey fucker, did you forecast this shit?

Pppppfffffaaaarrrrrrrrtttttttttt… pppffflllattttt… pfffllaaatttt!

Where’s my fucking plywood? I need a board to secure this damn stall up before I’m swept away by the colon of death. It’s like you can feel the pressure differential in the room and I half expect the light to begin to flicker and fade. I imagine out of the corner of my eye seeing some brown dust devil come spinning across the floor, scattering pubic hair and the sports page in my direction. Aaargh, run away! The sonofabitch can spawn tornadoes out his ass!

"BBbbllllloooooppppppp… hhhhaaaaarrrfffff… haaarrrfffff

That’s it! Clappostinkia and Dungariffic were the final straw. I knew there was a tidal surge of methane heading my way and I was headed for higher ground. I packed up my trousers and headed for the door obeying a primal evacuation order, just like his ass had.

Jesus frikken Christ, can you sue a company cafeteria?

Anuscane … heh-heh … I like that.

And remember, things are always calm in the eye of a fart.

I think your first warning should’ve been when you noticed the spotter planes circling above the men’s room.

Aaah, the spotter planes… so that explains the front of his trousers.

  • gasp *

I’m speechless, lieu, utterly speechless.


What is it about men farting at the urinal? Is there some little porcelain fingerpuller there that I’ve not noticed before? It’s almost like they’re invoking Newton’s Law of equal and opposite reactions… Ffffaaaarrrrttttt = Wwwwhhhiiiiizzzzz.

What really shocks me is when I’m standing next to them, just watering the white garden, and they let one rip. What the fuck? Did I just go in there and shit on their keyboard? Do they really think their shit doesn’t stink? Trust me guys, those cheeks back there have got permanent halitosis.

Well, you see, I cooked a pot of beans Monday. So I’ve had Pintos everyday this week.

A bowl of beans with Fritos, cheese and sour cream…Beans and cheese and sour cream on a tortilla…

Beans anyway I can eat them.

I feel like skipping up and down the halls here singing
“I’m a fart magnet,
I’m a fart magnet.”

Whew…now that was fucking funny…I laughed so hard I actually farted…you can imagine what that caused…ohhh, my sides are a achin’…
Thanks Lieu, I really needed to laugh and this one more than did the trick…

Of course the farts are named alphabetically, but I wonder if it would be correct here to alternate gender.

BTW, one fart at the urinal is called an escapee. Multiple is called a jail break (or so I’ve been led to beleive.)

I actually feel sorry for the guy. I mean, how many times have you been tossing a whiz at the urinal and you feel The Rumble[sup]TM[/sup]. Sure, you try to hold back, but doing so causes you to interrupt the stream. Now, you get this incredible pressure in Sir Charles caused by the urine back-up and have no choice but to relax your grip on The Clench[sup]TM[/sup]. As a result, you still bust ass, but now it’s noticeable, not metered out as you possibly could have done before The Great Witholding and definitely not silent. Worst of all, perhaps, others in the pisharium hear not only The Rippingtons but also hear the staccato piss.

At the very least, he should fill out an Environmental Impact Statement.


Cheered me up a great deal! :smiley:

Urinal farts are a source of Pride, second only to the Loud Church Fart in the balcony.


Don’t forget to crap your pants!

Here comes one now…

Heh! Another instant classic!


Did you hear what that asshole said?

So the place you go to piss and shit is the wrong place to fart? I should hold the fart in until I get to an elevator?

Isn’t this a rather strange sort of complaint from a “Gas producing geologist”?


I mean, why waste a perfectly good fart on some porcelean and tile? When there is a cubicle across the aisle from you occupied with someone who would probably appreciate the breeze? I try very hard to never fart anywhere except where others can enjoy. How selfish.

Nice work Lieu. I had to go take my morning shit, I laughed so hard. And it’s not even due to pull in to the station until 8:15.


It was the thread title that first caught my delighted attention. But when I saw it was authored by lieu, I knew we were in for a treat.

God that was funny. Spritle’s contribution was also beautiful.

lieu, I may have to go to the emergency room, my sides hurt so much from laughing! It’s all your fault! You gonna pay my medical bills? And what do I tell them when they ask how the “injury” occured? I don’t often laugh so hard, especially when I am alone. Thanks, I needed that.

Best thread title ever.

Sweet fuck! that was a good one lieu. Where I work, there are some guys who register on the Richter scale when they release the harbor trout. I gotta wonder what used to happen when people were allowed to smoke indoors, what with those methane storm fronts roaring across the corporate floor. Hey, maybe I just figured out that “spontaneous human combustion” thing?