I was working in the storage room at work today - good thing too, because I was totally gassy. I was letting little successions of machine-gun farts out all over the place. When I came out for lunch I saw my boss working on an order just outside the door. he said nothing. I’m sure he heard me. I’m sure the whole WORLD heard me! :eek:
Then once, when I was a kid in church with my mom and brother, just at the part where the priest says “Let us now give thanks…” my brother offered up the biggest, tuba-blat fart ever. It echoed. I think if my mom could have died then, she would have.
Oh, gosh. One day I was in the copy room making photocopies. I was also farting up a storm. SBDs, y’know. One of the guys I worked for came in and started talking to me; I couldn’t focus on anything he said because I was so mortified. I mean, I was the only person in the room before he came in, and there’s no way he couldn’t have noticed the pervasive aroma. I was most relieved when he left.
Going a little further back, I learned a little trick in elementary school that served me well. Whenever I needed to fart, I’d go sharpen my pencil. I was far enough away from anyone that a little surreptitious fart could go undetected. That worked until the day I didn’t realize the fan in the front of the room was going to send the noisome results of my fart through the whole class. That was bad. Almost as bad as the day I barfed up oatmeal all over my teacher’s desk, but that’s another story.
In sixth grade. While sitting down behind the cute girl I had a crush on. Onto a desk chair that had a marvelous, yet undiscovered, ability to amplify soundwaves to a level that could shatter granite.
I was horrified.
John Lennon died the night before. And I didn’t care.
I was about to be a college freshman and I went to this week-long “Fish Camp” a few weeks before fall classes started. A girl from home that I was getting pretty friendly with was there as well. At the end of the week, we had a big group meeting where the lights were turned down low and it was really quiet and people were standing up one at a time and saying how much the week meant to them and how they had made some really great friends and everyone was getting quite emotional. Some people were even crying. I was sitting on the floor and the girl from home was sitting right next to me. I could feel gas building up in my gut, but I held it in. It got worse and worse and became pretty painful. I should have gotten up and excused myself, but everyone was so intent on these emotional testimonials that I stayed where I was. Finally I could hold out no longer and I decided that I could probably pass it out silently, and there were enough people around us that if it smelled I could pretend it was someone else.
So I tried to position myself in such a way that I could let it out slowly and silently and “BRAAAAAP!!!” It echoed off the hard linoleum floor and everyone in the large, crowded room froze in shock for a brief instant before laughter began to ring out. I was mortified and could do nothing but smile sheepishly and hide my face in my hands and wait for everyone to move on to something else. My ‘girl from home’ looked pretty embarassed just to be sitting next to me. We never spoke of that event, but our romance didn’t last very long after that.
Once school started, I discovered that my dorm roommate–whom I hadn’t known before–had been at the same fish camp session that I had been in. When I told him about blasting one out during the meeting, he got this incredulous look on his face and said, “THAT WAS YOU?!”
My most embarassing was when I was in college… and 8 months pregnant. At the beginning of one of my classes a bunch of us were just standing around talking (I was sitting) and my backpack was on the table but I couldn’t reach it sitting down. So I stood up and leaned over the table to grab it and as I leaned I let out the loudest raunchies fart ever! Everyone in the class stopped talking and looked at me in dead silence. I’m glad I was friends with all those people or else I’d have been really mortified. I tried not to show my embarassment by laughing and then everyone else started laughing so it wasn’t so bad. Besides, anyone who’s been 8 months pregnant knows that you can’t really control your bodily functions that well at that stage of the pregnancy.
My mother will never let me forget the time that I informed the world at large in an affronted voice that the fart I’d just blasted had “bit my cooter.” I was three years old and was sitting on a vinyl seat. The fart had kinda echoed upwards to my tiny girl parts.
More recently, I farted so offensively in the car that Mr. Amanita had to roll down the window.
The past few nights, I’ve been really gassy. I roll over, wake up, fart, and go back to sleep.
Last night, we fell asleep with the TV on. I got up to turn it off, and when I turned around to go back to bed, let out a loud, obnoxious fart. I’m surprised I didn’t wake Airman up.
Coincidentally, I’m listening to “The Fart Retrieval League” part of George Carlin’s A Place for My Stuff album.
Two memories have built up in my head. I shall release them here:
I was 15 and bending over to open the outside metal doors covering the steps leading down the basement in my parents’ house. I ripped a fart that rivaled a foghorn. Sure, after the fact, I turned to see if anyone was around. I saw my neighbor standing on her back steps, about 20 feet away, taking her things in off the clothesline. She just looked at me stern-faced, shaking her head.
I was 24 and my girlfriend and I were wondering if it was indeed possible to light a fart on fire. True to my scientific nature, I volunteered to experiment. I had eaten a lot of onions earlier that day, there was a lighter handy, and the moment just felt right. I dropped my drawers, nervously held an open flame perilously close to my ass cheeks, and let one rip. I was convinced I’d simply blow the flame out. Nope.
There was a big blue ball of fire, accompanied by the smell of burning ass hair. My GF laughed hysterically, not so much at the mini methane explosion, but at the look of shock and horror on my face.
A few years ago I was laying belly down on the couch. My boyfriend at the time was teasing me so I told him to kiss my butt. So, he did. Unfortunately for him my body decided to release a very load, very gassy fart at the exact time his lips touched my jeans clad heinie. :eek: Poor guy.
When I was a senior in high school, our drama club did a few mime shows. In one my part involved “seeing a piece of gum on the ground, picking it up and chewing it.” In a rehearsal I bent over, and at that moment let out a nice loud, but short fart. Sort of a gunshot. Naturally, the auditorium was completely silent at the time and the acoustics were quite good.
I was in a bookstore, reading a collection of misheard lyrics. I was sort of crouched, as the book was on the bottom row. After reading several of the misheard lyrics, I started to laugh. I guess, given the way I was crouching, I didn’t have as much control over my innards as I thought. A nice little rrrrip. I looked around and there were people close enough to hear, but they weren’t paying attention. I thought they were just being polite. The idea of being in a bookstore, and having some guy suddently fart right near you struck me funny and I started laughing harder. Which made me fart again. I realized I was in some sort of terrible fart spiral, so I got up and left. I’m not certain, but I think two or three people watched me leave out of the corner of their eyes.
First off, I’m lactose intolerant. My body rejects milk in great evil clouds. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
One memorable incident happened as I was working a register during breakfast at McDonalds. I had foolishly drunk a milkshake before my shift. We were getting slammed and there was no way I could control the stink that was threatening to break me apart. I’m talking SBD city.
I was taking someone’s order when another girl passed behind me on the way to the hashbrown station. All of a sudden she stopped and hollered at the top of her lungs, “AEEEEEOOOOO! Smell like dem AIGS done gone bad!”
I still hope that’s what she really thought it was.
Proof that man can change his disgusting habits:
I used to fart every morning upon awaking - it was as predictible as morning wood. My (now-ex) wife put an end to that ritual way before she said, ‘I do’.
(I swear, not mine - but my) Brother-in-law’s fart story:
Taking his daily elevator ride up to the 28th floor to his office at Bear Stearns. At about the 5th floor, he ripped one so fierce that Saint Peter must’ve smelled it. Fortunately, he was alone at the time of the offese. Unfortunately, at the 9th floor came the dreaded, ‘bing’ as the elevator stopped. As the doors opened to let 2 ladies on that were planning on going up in the same car - he quickly came up with a pretty slick alibi: ‘Ladies, I gotta get off this elevator and suggest we all wait for the next one…Some guy who got off at the 7th floor dropped a bomb in here that would kill a horse’.
Something about that sounds like the opening to a Dickens novel.
“I used to fart every morning upon awaking - it was as predictible as morning wood. My father’s family name was Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip; my farts sounded something like ‘Pip.’ So, I called my farts Pip, and I, too, came to be called Pip.”
Eve, Phew! When I saw that you had posted here I was afraid that you were sharing a story! My whole world was about to implode because I am 100% positive that you are too genteel and sophisticated to do anything so gauche.
When I was around 15, my mother was annoying the heck out of me, being cute trying to pinch my butt.
Well, I just had to do it!
She went in for the pinch, and I let one go. She jumped back horrified, of course, which is what I was going for all along. Now farting isn’t a big deal in my family as we’re all gas bags , but my friend at the time was there and had to blab it to the rest of the circle at school. :rolleyes:
Another time:
I was at work one day and my husband was playing around with some guitars on the other side of the store. This store has a good size show room around 1000 + square feet, I think.
When he came over to my desk, I was literally gasping for breath! He had SBD’d all the way on the other side of the showroom before coming over and it had followed him like a dog on a leash!
At least he *claimed * to have done it on the other side of the room. :dubious:
Actually, as I’m typing this I’m beginning to realize it seems to happen an awful lot.
Like the time we went to Village Inn. It was too crowded, so we turned right back around and got into the car. He claimed that time he did it at least 20 feet from the car, but we still had to roll down the windows. I was hanging my head out like a dog just so I could breathe!
, but my friend at the time was there and had to blab it to the rest of the circle at school. :rolleyes: