C’mon, I want details. Confess, confess…
For a comprehensive listing, you’ll probably have to Google the results from the O L D* competition held in Beantown, MA.
- Odor - Loudness - Duration.
Not necessarily the biggest but the most noteworthy was the one that reverberated against my school chair and ended my formal education in maths - teacher 'said ‘get out and don’t come back’. Age 15.
The Pistols were in the charts then, we were changin’ the world, maaaaaaan.
I embarrassed myself at work, once. It wasn’t noisy but it was a total turnoff to everyone that I was working with. I denied being the source, but I’m surev that everybody knew.
Still, nobody really cares about that kind of thing.
It wasn’t me who done it, but the story will amuse you.
Four of us chaps are playing bridge. Somebody lets off an incredibly smelly fart. :eek:
I’m first to react and get out through the open door. 
The next two players arrive simultaneously at the only exit and manage to jam themselves in the doorway. 
The fourth player is thus trapped in the room and screams at the two chaps in front of him to get out of the way. :smack:
A moment I’ll never forget. 
There was an old TV show called Kenny vs Spenny. They would compete in things exactly like this. Kenny cheats. I’m not sure if Spenny really didn’t know or if it was part of the premise of the show, it was funny either way. Here’s the ‘who can blow the longest fart episode’. Really NSFW (but nothing until you get minutes into the clip). He does some cheating earlier on, but you can skip to 14:28 to see what he does to actually win and keep going to see how he really ramps it up.
And watch his other videos too.
This makes me think of my most “embarrassing” fart moment and I was completely innocent.
I was perhaps in my mid 20’s, and I have an appointment in a downtown multi story building. I get on the elevator on the main floor and several others get on as well. We travel to about the 4th floor with people getting off the elevator until what I thought was my floor, the 5th floor. I get off the elevator, only to realize I wanted the fifteenth floor! However, this realization comes after the elevator is gone.
I press the up button and have to wait a while until a different elevator arrives. I get on and it STINKS to high heaven but it’s empty. (someone else ripped a fart on it). anyway, I press the button intending to suffer my way another 10 floors, but to my abhorrence, it stops at the 6th floor. On gets the most gorgeous babe in a short skirt!
We ride the same elevator car and both exit at the 15th floor!! Fortunately for my embarrassment, she goes to a different business than I have to go to. (I think it was a dentist, but that part I cannot remember)
Gotta admit that’s my worst ever fart story. Can’t imagine what kind of PIG she thought I was!!
I’m not saying when it was Little Pig but it blew your house in.
He huffed and he puffed…
Disc golf, like most other disc sports, is self governed.
During a recent tourny I played with someone who called a courtesy violation on himself for fairway-clearing flatulence. That was pretty funny.
I was the ripper.
My buddy and I were in Vegas, staying on the 27th floor IIRC. We got on the elevator, heading down to the lobby floor, elevator all to ourselves. Maybe 15th floor or so I cracked a rat, it was bad. Then about the 9th floor, the elevator stops and a family (!) was about to get onboard. Without saying a word or even looking at each other, we bail as they board. Like climbing into a gas chamber at Auschwitz. We hung out on the 9th for a while, I was afraid to catch another elevator too soon, give the paramedics time to clear the bodies before we show up.
I admit it.
I shot the Hindenburg.
Shhhhhhh! They don’t know it was me. I’ve only every eaten baked beans twice in my life, and wouldn’t you know BOTH times they were listening!!!
Seriously though, let me tell you about my Third Grade field trip.
You know how third graders are, it’s just that time when you’re starting to figure out how to act like a human, and that there are real social differences between boys and girls. One of the main ones being that at that age farts are still funny to boys, but to girls they are beginning to be “gross.” (As is everything else in the world, but I digress.)
Anyway, since you know the topic, then you already know the punch line. There we all were, in a semi-circle just inside the elephant’s cage. Yes, inside. This was a super-secret amazing insider’s tour arranged for us especially. And we were there listening to the actual National Zoo Large Animal Veterinarian going on about the gestational process of elephants.
I don’t recall whether he ever actually said that the elephant we were looking at was pregnant, but we certainly decided it was. And we furthermore decided that there was a contest to see who could identify the first actual signal that the baby would be born right there in front of us. If there was one, which there might have been, I don’t remember. Actually, given the later behavior of the animal in question, one might be tempted to assert that it was in fact a BOY elephant. I guess we’ll never know.
Anyway, in consequence of this “Land Ho!” type contest we’d created for ourselves all eyes were trained on the elephant’s whatzit, when it started to twitch. Cue 20-odd excitable third graders pointing and screeching and yelling and insisting that they saw it first. One or two of the more informed girls began to desperately back away in fear of what the oncoming deluge might due to their patent leather shoes . . .
And then that elephant ripped it out. The longest, loudest, deepest, most bassoon-like sound you ever did hear.
We had this choir director named Mrs. Sharp, who also was my piano teacher in the Summertime. (Yes, that was really her name) Mrs. Sharp had these nodules on her vocal chords, from singing wrong when she was young. She had been breathing from her chest instead of her diaphragm, and so her vocal chords must have been rubbing together or something?
But anyway she had to have these nodules removed and it wrecked her voice and she didn’t want this to happen to us. So she was always exhorting us to breath right, and to " . . .supPORT the sound!" “You have to sup-PORT the sound from deep in the bottom of your lungs!”
Well, Mrs. Sharp, she would have liked that elephant. Because he sup-PORTed his sound all right. You could actually see the muscles in his belly contracting as he forced out the last minute or so of the flatulence. The skin around the area of interest was rippling out in concentric circles, interrupted only by the natural folds at the top and bottom.
It was a truly majestic performance, worth the whole bus trip and everything!
Excellent poster / thread name combo !
Colonoscopy.
So, I wake up after the procedure, and I’m given instructions from the nurse about bringing my knees up to my chest to help release the pressure. Apparently they inject air up there as they go, to accommodate the scope. And it all has to come out. I follow the instructions, hugging myself in a near-fetal position, waiting for the inevitable.
A few minutes later, the doc comes in to share the results of the colonoscopy. In a calm, quiet voice, he says, “Everything went pretty well, but we did find FAWWOOOOMMSSSHHHHPFPFPFPFBERRBEERRRBERRRRPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAGOBBAGOBBAFFFFFFFSSSSSHHHHHOOOOMPABALAPABALAPABALABLBLBLBLBLKKKKKCCCCHHHHSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHiiiiiieeeeooOOOWOWWWWAMMOMMOMMMOOMMMOMMBLAPBLAPBLAPWUBBALUBBADUBDUBSSSSssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiipht. Any questions?”
Blink. Blink. “phrrrt?”
Our duty truck to go on liberty was a weapons carrier, much like this one. Canvas cover on the back, and a zippered plastic window between the back and the cab, which was open. There were five of us in the back and two in the front. I let this absolute corker out and within five seconds the driver slammed on the brakes and the truck emptied. I admit that even I had to evacuate.
I bought a container of vegetarian chili. Just add water and heat. I farted for three days.
That doesn’t sound overly impressive, because you are probably parsing it as I farted more often than usual for three days. No, I farted continuously for three days. It was a very strange experience, and one I would not care to repeat.
We were going camping, my Scoutmaster was driving the school bus. It was summer and all the windows were down. We had taken out two rows of seats to stow gear and my Father and I were napping on top of all the tents and stuff. I woke up to the most ungodly stench. My Scoutmaster started off with WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? Followed by WHO DID THAT? That’s when I noticed the suppressed laughter and the tears streaming down my Dad’s face.
Sometimes it’s a matter of motive, and opportunity. We (our platoon) were at Ft. Eustis (Even Uncle Sam Thinks It Sucks) training in aircraft mechanics as all prior service, so we weren’t newbies and the discipline less strict than brand new troopies. Anyway it was the last formation of the day before a long weekend and we were at parade rest, getting ready to be dismissed. The platoon sergeant barked “Group, Attennnnshuuun!” and simultaneously I felt a strong rumbling in the nether regions as we all stood at attention. Hmm… At the next order “Present Arms!” (everybody salutes) I let loose an impressive report with impeccable timing as everyone saluted, it just had to be done, simply because. Everyone just died laughing, good order and discipline destroyed, and the platoon sergeant just waved us all away for the weekend with mock disgust. I know, I know, juvenile as hell. It had to be done.