Death hell farts.
Eggs. Hash browns. Corned beef hash. Bacon. Toast with marmite.
The farts smell like something crawled up my ass, caught dysentery, shat all over everything, rats came and ate it, and they shat themselves to death, and the whole pile of corpses was burned to a cinder in a methane flame.
The dog gagged.
Pushing 50, I’mm still at the top of my game.
Gross dude. :D
— A blogger from back in the day.
[…] Neanderpundit » Death hell farts. […]
Amateur, got ten years an ya. Lot more potent. Hint, add Burger King onion rings to the diet.
I have wicked farts and I have almost no sense of smell. It is the perfect weapon.
You’re not in the Pros until you’ve had port-a-potti workers refuse to service a can you’ve used.
Jim
Sunk New Dawn
Galveston, TX
Og, I’m begging you, please do more fart/poop posts? They (and the comments) and hilarious!
PS – 50 in a man is still bloody young, let me assure you. Old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyways!
anyone calling me an amateur has obviously never met me.
This post brought a tear to my eye.
A Gastro-intestinal work of art!! Wonder if your colon will ever grace the pages of the New England Journal of Medicine (or perhaps the British Journal)?