Some of them feel as if they are prisoners tunneling out of a German POW camp, constantly digging around obstacles.
Some feel as if they are children strolling out the porch door on a breezy summer day.
I often wonder if there is a visible bubble because some feel that way, as if they are filling one until the pressure gets too high and it bursts. Could I reach back there and pop them with a pin?
I wonder about these things.
Did you ever think about maybe getting a hobby that would get your mind off your farts? Just askin’…
Just be wary of the wet ones…
Reach down with a Bic lighter and enjoy the show.
I like the ones that feel like a string of pearls.
When you have a bad case of diarrhea, don’t trust a fart.
I woke up Monday morning at 4 am to the worst bout of the stomach flu I have had in quite a while. By 11 am, I was cleaned out. I spent the rest of the day in and out of sweats and chills. Finally around 6 pm, I ate half a can of soup and a cup of applesauce followed by a cup of tea.
I woke up feeling better on Tuesday and had a bit of applesauce and a piece of toast. I went to work and did ok until lunch. I wasn’t super hungry, but I felt I needed to eat, so I got some chicken noodle soup from Wawa. I had that and a ginger ale and a cinnamon graham cracker.
The next 10 hours were filled with the worst smelling gas I have ever had. I wasn’t particularly painful or anything, but it could have peeled paint. At first, I was a little scared, so anytime I felt a little pressure I ran to the bathroom just in case and had it out in there. It turns out that my colon was still empty aside from the nastiest gas ever.
Thankfully, I was the only one in my lab, but I sprayed plenty of febreze just in case someone came in.
In my household, we call that “gambling and losing”. Seriously. One of my kids picked up the word “shart” from one of her friends, so I asked her to use that phrase instead, since it doesn’t sound quite so vulgar.
Now my kids can’t even hear the word “gamble” without breaking into fits of uncontrollable giggling.
Hmm…
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over –
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
*
(With aologies to Langston Hughes)*
Or if you’re over 60… 
Apparently woke up my wife the other night with a gas attack. She said it was so bad she got up and left the room for an hour. I was unaware of all this because I was sleeping soundly.
When she told me about it I was really kind of proud inside though.
Farts - or perhaps I should say farting - can be understood as an example of speech-act theory, the act being, in this case, nearly indistinguishable from the speech (recalling the folk incantation “Speak to me, O toothless wonder”).
Farts also illustrate vividly what McLuhan meant by “the medium is the message”: the message is not so much the discrete act (or entity) of flatus as the process of flatulation, indeed, even the very mechanism of the flatus’s creation.
Geologists call that beaded drainage.
Just don’t fart in bed then fluff the covers. Boyfriend thinks that’s hilarious. I get him back by farting when he wants to spoon… muhahahaha
IIRC, Tralfamadorians communicate by tap dancing and farting.
“I strongly advise against intentionally farting whilst moving heavy weights. Sometimes – especially under those circumstances – farts have a solid center.”
From the author of Starting Strength, Mark Rippetoe.
Like in the Dairy Queen commercial, I blow bubbles with kittens in them, only from the opposite end. 
Ahh, yes- the Dutch Oven. I occasionally amuse myself by ripping one and pushing my wife’s head under the covers. Fortunately, she still laughs at my immaturity.