What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—except for this one fart. We’d had Mexican food and strawberry margaritas at the New Frontier and my husband went to fetch the truck while I teetered on my high heels at the back door. He pulls up, I hop in and…
It nearly lifted me off my bucket seat and burned a hole through the upholstery. The safety glass windows trembled. Neither one of us could believe that came out of a human being, much less me. Our mouths were hanging open…until…the smell. Windows down!
No matter how loud you might thing it was, it was louder…
Don’t ruin this with science, bitch!
Garlic, my children.
Specifically, roasted garlic on french bread. With butter. Those were the days, when I ate that stuff. Bad, bad farts. Scary farts. Most excellent.
And shrimp. Steamed shrimp with Old Bay. Ah, yesssss. Diarrhea AND big farts. Badder than Man Farts.
I was proud. And powerful. I was the Skeletor of farts.
Even better is garlic breadsticks. Garlic In Garlic Out.
Yeah, baby. That’s the BEST farts, when you fart and it smells exactly like what you ate. Garlic in, garlic out, indeed. Bigtime gross-out. Mmm, garlic breadsticks. I miss carbs. Now that I don’t eat a lot of carbs, I almost never fart.
Seriously. I get no respect now.
Mmm. Garlic.
I remember one day when I suddenly felt myself bloat up with pressure as a massive gas attack hit me. I needed to fart badly, and I went out to walk to try and loosen myself up–I think when that thing finally let loose, it knocked a few birds off the nearby telephone pole.
Dehydrated or freeze-dried backpacking food. I have a sleeping bag that has been rendered nearly unusable. Permanently scarred.
I just gotta ask… How many people, when driving a car, are mean enough to click that little button that disables the window switch at all the other windows before letting loose?
:rolleyes:
It’s definitely taking longer than we thought.
That is actually a really good idea. If I had automatic windows on my car, I would do that.
I once farted at work, having drank 5 bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale the night before. I was by myself, but a full 10 minutes later a friend came along and said “God, it smells like someone’s had a shit in here”. Note that she thought it smelt like actual defacation, not just gas. I think she suspected other people who used the building - I didn’t own up to it.
I bet there are at least two states that would consider that attempted suicide.
No personal insults outside the Pit. Do not do this again.
Beer farts. Cheap beer farts with, I think, onion rings.
This happened while I was in the Navy, and my ship was in port. The reactors were shut down, and we were doing one-in-three duty rotations. The day after this night out, I had the duty.
For those who’ve never been aboard a USN surface nuclear plant, the enginerooms are set up as being mostly open, with massive ventilation. Except for this sort of box in the middle of each engineroom, known as the Enclosed Operating Space, or EOS. EOS is where the engineroom was run from, where the Engineering Officer of the Watch was while steaming, and where the Reactor Plant Control Panel was. Unlike most engineering spaces, EOS was also air conditioned and so it didn’t have the same “replace all the air in the space three times a minute” ventilation that the rest of the engineroom had. Among other reasons for this, they’re supposed to be able to survive in there long enough to do a minimum shut down of the plant if there’s a steam line rupture. There’s a reason I’m giving all this data.
While the plant is operating there are about five people who have to be in that space. When it’s shut down, the only watch stander that MUST be there all the time is the poor schlub on the RPCP.
Now EOS is also where certain logs that the EOOW or Engineering Duty Officer (when shut down) has to have available and up-to-date are kept. So one of my watchstanding duties was to record all the results of the chemical analyses done on the various plant waters in these logs. This day I went into the EOS while most of the watchstanders were there - the Reactor Operator, the EDO, the mechanical and electrical roving watches. We were shooting the breeze, when it happened.
The beer and onion rings I’d had the night before thought that they’d finally found a way to avenge themselves on me. They chose that moment to bring forth a hugely loud crepitation. There was a moment of awed silence. Then the reek hit.
The EDO was the first out of the door. Within about 45 seconds the only people left in the EOS were myself and the SRO. He started cursing me, and the thing that he claimed must have died in my ass. And he didn’t stop (nor did he seem to pause for breath) during the next five minutes while I finished updating my logs.
When I left he was trying to breath fresh air from under his armpits.
My worst is described here. It was definitely the longest, smelliest one I have ever dropped. I haven’t had it happen since, but it was like all of the gas in my body left at one time.
My husband…he does this all the time.
Ever smelled a pure chocolate fart? When I worked in a gas station we used to have chocolate eating competitions - up to 20 bars in an evening. The smell after is disturbing.
Note to self: don’t read this in a funeral service.
Well, you can’t spell “funeral” without “fun”!
Pure comedy gold.
If you think roses, sunshine, and kittens smell bad…
Okay, but really-the ones owing to lactose intolerant must be bad, but I am afraid to even take the chance.
I eat tons of garlic (seriously, more than anyone I have ever met. I reek.) and every now and then get interesting smells from it. It’s great to let one go and then someone walks into the room with a hopeful look on his face and says “mmmm! who’s cooking spaghetti?”
Snort. Har Har Har.
BTW:
I read what Johnny Hildo said as a joke. Personal insult? Seriously?