Don’t know what I ate,
but it ain’t good.
I’ve had gas before. I mean, I’m the Fart guy, futhuchrissakes.
There’s a long history. I have a solid understanding of the nature and origin of my farts. There’s the roast beef fart, the Gyros fart, the cottage cheese fart. The onion ring fart, the White castle fart. The deep-fried zucchini fart. THe turkey gravy fart. The oyster stuffing fart. The Kielbasa fart, the Bratwurst fart, the Vienna Red Hots Kosher fart. The cheesy mushroom fart. The cube steak and onion soup mix fart. The ham and cheese omelette fart. The Eli’s cheescake fart.
But today.
No, I have no idea, but this has been coming on a while.
Whatever it has been that I’ve been eating, it comes out smelling like a campground outhouse in the heat of august after a chili cookoff. I mean, when I was a kid I was repulsed by the smell of outhouses, and now, my digestive system does things to food that make me smell like one.
Hell to get old. People tell me it beats the alternative. Until I fart. Then they accuse me of having died prematurely.
You know there’s solid quality in your work when ya can’t stand your own brand.
Bravo!
One of my father’s favorite sayings was “Christ, son, I hope it didn’t smell that bad when you ate it!”
One of my pals, after a night of drinking lots of beer, would emit the “Musty Cellar.” They were strong enough to clear a campground – in the open with a breeze. Aaahh, the memories.
I’m personally a fan of the home-cooked kosher corned beef fart.
“Only a Klingon would fart in an airlock.” – Mr. Spock
Beyond a certain age, breathing makes you fart.
“Mr. Spock! Did I hear you correctly? Did you say there are Klingons around Uranus?
“I recommend you switch to a sturdier brand of Bunwad.”
2 stories.
When I was 18 and still in high school, one day while working in the FFA experience plot, a group of 9 guys were hauling out rocks. We had an open cab tractor and barge wagon to haul with, and then my truck, an ’85 Chevy. While going across the field, I let one rip. I was driving and there was one guy in the cab. With both windows down, the side vents full open, the floor vents open, and the split back open, we were both gagging and trying to climb out the windows with the truck still moving. The 5 guys in the bed of the truck all bailed out and ran. The 2 guys on the tractor, which was 35 yards away started coughing.
Then, at a living history event about a year ago, a large group of people was gathered when a friend of mine cut loose. People for 30 feet around him scattered and I actually watch a dog rub its nose with its paws and then on the ground to try and get rid of the smell.
I haven’t lived in Indiana for 30 years, but in all my travels, I’ve noticed that Hoosier men, wherever they roam, rule the world when it comes to the frequent formation of forceful, fetid flatulence.
I moved away too young to fully develop my talent, so it warms my heart to hear stories from a master practitioner of the tweet science.
Oh, I’ve known a few texans that could keep up.