Just a few weeks ago I was at our annual community festival, listening to a band playing in the park. A very pretty young lady was sitting beside me. Suddenly I felt the urge to fart, and I had to let it out. Fortunately, there was a nice breeze and I was sitting downwind from this girl, and the band was loud enough to cover any sound. So I cut loose, and it was silent, but at that precise moment the wind died completely. The girl gave no indication that she noticed, though.
The best public fart I’ve witnessed, though, came from an older friend named Earl. I was sitting on the can in a stall in a public restroom, and another friend, John, was in another stall. Earl came in (we knew it was him because he’s one of those people whose mouth starts running whenever there is another person within fifty feet of him) and entered another stall. He sat down and let loose a long, loud fart. Earl is kind of chubby, and his ass must have sealed the seat perfectly because it sounded just like a trombone:
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!.
From the third stall John complimented him, “Hey, that was a good one, Earl!” And Earl replied, “Thanks - I’ve been practicing.”
Hmmm, let’s see. I got one or two good ones around here somewhere.
The Asparagus Schnapps Incident. Sophomore year at Georgetown and I’m hanging out with a few acquaintances, one of whom had brought a bottle of schnapps, in which a single stalk of asparagus was infusing, home from Switzerland. She said it was really only for show but I wanted to try it so she poured me a shot. Fast-forward to the next morning when I’m working in a smallish office with one other fellow at the Georgetown Language Lab. I gotta let one, and I figure I’ll just get it overwith, and ignore any consequences.
Fate must have read my thoughts. That thing stank worse than a truckload of long-dead roadkill skunks. My co-worker did not let me hear the end of it for a full five minutes.
The Farter on the Roof. I’m at a Civil War re-enactment with my ex-stepdaughter and her aunt, late in the evening. I pull out my fiddle and start playing, nice tunes to get people in that wistful mood when all your cares seem far, far away and it seems like the evening may just dawdle a little longer for your benefit. I gotta let one, and I figure I’ll get it overwith, and ignore any consequences.
Fate must have read my thoughts. That thing was probably heard in the Confederate camp across the field. Unfortunately, it sent the three women immediately behind me, whom I didn’t know were there, into hysterical convulsions. They’d also been hitting the booze, so they were feeling mellow enough to entertain themselves for the next half-hour by singing “la la la la la phbbbbbbbbt” and laughing like idiots.
'Tis a melancholy truth that even great men have their poor relations. After a falling out with Gladys and William Knight, I soon began performing with Phillip Bailey & Maurice White. Tell Wind and Fire they must cease their flatulence, but don’t tell me.
Attending a course on wildland fire behavior, the instructor was listing weather factors which were influential, including them being ‘winds aloft’. As he spoke the words, a guy in the back tore the canvas in a mighty fashion.
Meeting the guys in the morning, I was handing out job assignments for the day, when made of the aware to poot. Letting go gently, we were all blessed with a 30 second trouser oboe solo. My employees were impressed.
Wang-Ka, Bob was the one who had an exciting incident with a snapping turtle, wasn’t he? What is with that guy and his ass?
Ivyboy was in class, the teacher was passing out papers, and he let one rip. My son has no shame, and he immediately turned to the boy sitting behind him and asked him to check to see if he’d blown a hole in his pants.
The teacher had a hard time keeping a disapproving look on his face, I’m told.
Me? Put me with Eve, in the genteel and sophisticated/not on your life/there are certain things that will never be told/ camp.
It was the summer before 6th grade and my mom had taken me and my best friend shopping. The two of us were in this tiny little dressing room trying on shorts when my friend let out a really raunchy staccato fart. We both giggled like fiends. Until the smell hit us, that is. It. Was. Rank. We simultaneously hit the floor, laughing and saying, “Hot air rises! Hot air rises!” I guess we were making quite a bit of noise because the next thing I knew, my mom was knocking on the door, wanting to know what was going on. I reached up, still crouching and laughing on the ground, and opened the door. My mom gave us the one-eyebrow-raised look and shook her head. We both just looked at her, and in between giggles, told her, “Hot air rises,” as if that explained everything. Looking back, it must have been pretty weird seeing too girls giggling hysterically on the floor of a tiny cubicle.
Finally another chance for me to play along!! 6:30 in the AM in front of my buddies house waiting for him to get his golf clubs to place in the bed of his beater truck after a serious BBQ bender. Lots of Whiskey and Bratwursts. When the first indications of exactly how dangerous the impending fart was started to show in my gut, I contemplated holding it till we were on the road so I could share with my pals. However there was just no fighting it. It was coming and coming hot and fast. I was leaning against the bedside panel of the truck and let it fly. Fortunately my shorts were loose, unfortunately so was the bedside panel. Both cheeks flapped and the whole bedside panel shook in harmony if you could call it that. The resulting echo has become legend amongst my circle of friends. All I could do was laugh when I saw the look on his neighbors face. I can still see the horror on her face in her pink bath robe, fuzzy slippers and curlers. The best part of the story? Still had a few left in me for the hour long trip to the golf course. Good times indeed…
My girlfriend, her daughter and I had just had lunch at TGI Fridays which consisted of a couple of margaritas and a chicken Cesar salad. Afterward we went shopping at a craft store. I leaned down to pick something up off a low shelf when a rather loud, rauchy fart burst from my backside. My friends daughter proceeded to announce to the entire store “Pardon me Aunt Nikki, that stinks alot!”
I was the victim of the most beautifully choreographed stunt ever performed. While working in Alaska, my assistant and I would use farts as exclamation points.
One day I was seated at my desk with a window facing the water to my right. My assistant stood behind me looking out the window. He pointed to the window and said ‘What the heck is that?’. As I turned to look, he simulateously turned to the right and ripped one off right in my face.
Would have killed him, but I was laughing too hard. He got me hands down (or cheeks down or whatever).
Oh, man I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time!
As many of you know, In addition to be a laid-off computer programmer, I’m an umpire.
I’m the plate umpire on a women’s college fast pitch game. I crouch down and get set for the pitch to come in, when all of the sudden: Brraaappppppp. I busted out laughing before the pitch came in. I totally lost all my concentration, and was laughing out loud when I said “Ball! Ha ha ha ah” (<–that’s me laughing while I’m trying to say “ball”). The problem was that the pitch was a beautiful knee high strike. The coach goes insane from the dugout, and is yelling “What was wrong with that pitch?” to the catcher. She yelled back to the coach. “It was outside, Coach!”. She then said softly to me, “you owe me big time, Blue, or next time I’m telling him the truth!”.
We had a running joke every game I saw her after that wherein I would joke with her saying “Wheeewwww Catcher” wile waving my hand in front of my face, like I was blaming my farts on her.
