Gurning out a rectal-puff in a supermarket is not big, nor clever, yet quite amusing.
I was strolling through Tescos with my trolly and suddenly I felt the warning rumble, predicting the imminent arrival of a possible copious emmision of Eau-de-Colon. I looked around to make sure nobody was nearby and decided to birth the proot in the cheese and dairy produce aisle. I sort of perched against the trolly to force the guff out at a controlled pace, so as not to make it too audible. Sadly, it was not to be and a size XXL air buffet was expelled from my walnut at great velocity, producing a very loud quacking raspberry.

Almost immediately I realised that the boquet was pungent beyond normallity and decided to make good my escape, leaving behind the stench for the next person to make their way to this particular part of the shop to procure their chosen dairy produce. As I turned I almost bumped into a woman who I had not detected, as she was crouched down low with a 6 pint bottle of semi-skimmed which she had picked from the lower part of the display.

It was a shockingly immediate realisation that this person, not only witnessed the full soundtrack but had actually received the anal gust full in the face.

I am a gentleman and promptly apologised and continued with my shopping. A few minutes later I found myself at the same checkout as the poor recipient of my repulsive fartage. For a while our eyes met very briefly, but devilment soon got the better of me. I turned to the woman who was looking decidedly uncomfortable, probably due to her feeling nauseous and possibly in a state of shock. Let's face it. I mean, the last thing you expect whilst shopping for milk in a supermarket is some cunt farting directly into your face.

Our eyes met and she gave me a look of disgust yet spoke no words. I stared back at her and without muse or emotion I simply said, "I think there's more". The woman hurried her shopping back into her basket and moved to another checkout much further up the store, and close to the exit. Our paths crossed briefly in the car park. She wound down the window of her Renault Megane, looked at me briefly and said briefly, yet assertivley, "Filty pig". I waved and bid her a pleasent journey.

I have dined out on this story for several years now, but I do feel rather sorry for this woman, as should she ever decides to recall these events, it will inevitably be met with mirth. Shame.
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 11:48, Reply)

Girl Fart of Death
Some years ago, I had an operation on my fallopian tube. Sadly for me, the operation wasn't the 'cut into the skin and be left with a kickass scar' type of operation but an -ahem- 'natural entry' type op. And I think we all know where the doctor was intending to shove his speculum.

Anyway, to make the op easier, a butch nurse had to stick a well lubed finger somewhere a woman had previously never explored. On the end of this (gloved!) finger was a pessary type pill intended to relax my unsuspecting mimsy. (If you're feeling sorry for me yet, it gets worse)

Anyway, I hadn't been allowed food for something like 24 hours, so I was somewhat suprised when the urge to poo swayed over my suffering self. I hopped off my steel framed bed, waddled (the urge was HUGE) to the loos, wearing nowt but an open backed hospital gown and a pair of big knickers, to the ladies.

Where I passed what can only be described as nuclear waste. Seriously. I'm suprised the toilet didn't melt. It was *yellow* (and I mean, neon had nothing on this literal shit) and it smelt like death itself. I know shit smells bad. I know. But seriously I needed a breathing mask. And it was my OWN. I'm so glad no-one else joined me in the loo in that 10 minute freakout. It seems these relaxant pills relax *everything*.

I waddled back to my bed after a good scrub-down, feeling violated. Even I didn't want to be with me right then, disgusted I was. I felt purged however, and sure the matter would not be repeated.

I had my op, and came to in some 'recovery room' which is basically hospital bollocks for 'if we lie all the invalids side to side we can check they're all still alive without having to walk too far' and then I was wheeled back to my bed to snooze. Snooze I did, for hours, and when I awoke, rather spaced out, my other half was sitting there, looking anxious. My first words? 'Where am I?' No. 'I love you?' Nope.

No, I let a soft and disturbingly long air biscuit float dramatically into the curtained enclosure. I thought there was a slight chance I had gotten away with it, as nothing was said. My nostrils then became gradually aware that this was not the case. I was still rather weak, and powerless to it's evil, meaty, poisonous fumes.

My partner's gaze changed from sympathy and love to disgust and confusion. His eyes started to water, his breathing stopped, he made odd choking noises. To make matters worse, a young nurse came into my pungent lair to bring me a cuppa. Nothing was said, but I SWEAR she gagged.

HOW BAD does a fart have to be that you make a nurse want to physically vomit? HOW BAD?! Nurses see exploded legs and popped eyeballs and all mater of vomit and snot and fecal abnormalities every day and don't even bat an eyelid!

I just lay there and grinned like a mong.
(Northern Lovely, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 17:36, Reply)

Hedgehog gassing
My mate's mum used to be part of some kind of organisation that rescued injured and abandoned animals. He always had to share his house with squirrels and hedgehogs, requiring weeks or maybe months of careful rehabilitation. He had to suffer all these poor souls stinking out his bedroom as his mum lovingly nursed them back to health.

Anyway, one hot summer I'm around my mate's house sitting in the garden catching some rays and generally talking mince when his mum comes out with one of these hedgehogs. Apparantly it needed excercise for it's iminent release so we had the job of keeping an eye on it as it ran around the garden sniffing things intently. It sniffed around the flowers, it sniffed around the lawn and eventually came to us two. It's little nose sniffed around me, then my mate. It sniffed his feet, then went up his leg, sniffing all the way upto his thighs. Now my mate's eyes lit up, quick as a flash he opened his legs apart and as the little mite sniffed his balls, my mate let out a ripple of one of the most noxious gas emissions I've ever encountered.
What happened next was amazing.
The hedgehog put it's nose right onto my mates bumhole and in an instant recoiled in horror. Not only that but the poor fella started having what I could best describe as a violent seizure. Most disturbingly it started twisting its head around and began vomiting on it's own back! Staggering sideways and then running backwards, head spinning, tongue lolling out of it's mouth it finally came to rest on it's back when it fell off the lawn into the flower beds a good four feet away, and continued to throw up on itself until eventually it curled up into a ball.

The guff was horrendous to me and I was a smoker at the time so my sense of smell was shot, but poor Mr Tiggywinkle would've been able to sniff out a slug from 10ft away and he was sniffing the brown-eye of the storm.

We thought it was going to die, I thought I was going to die (laughing). It didn't, but it did spend an extras week in rehab as according to my mate's mum, "it didn't seem quite ready to go out anymore."
(sparks , oh, I don't know., Fri 13 Jul 2007, 17:07, Reply)

Most important farting tip ever!
I can be a little trumpy at times. Had anyone else noticed that the ones that just sort of [sigh] out are the smelliest? But I digress.

Being of a trumpy type, I often used to find myself in meetings at work with a bowel full of gas, and unable to release it. Stomachular noises would ensue as my colon would recycle the gasses back into my intestines and back again (Is that just me? It's a most peculiar sensation). But then: THE ANSWER!

After completing your toilet, but before pulling up the kecks, take four sheets of toilet paper, still connected together. Fold in half, and then half again, so you have a single sheet, four times thickness. Press this between your spread arse cheeks to that the 'Mountain fold' thus formed lies pretty much central, with your nipsy pressed against the paper. Release cheek control, clamping the paper between the cheeks.

REMEMBER TO CONTINUE THE DRESSING PROCESS

You can now trump to your heart's content. The inability of the nipsy to 'speak' means that the gasses escape with nary a peep nor a squeek.

This tip is also useful for lardoes who suffer from sweaty-crack and the associated itching.

I call it 'The Grunt Baffle', and it is patented.

You may now read on.
( moogthedog, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 14:50, Reply)

The London Eye
The london eye is basically a number fairly small sealed plastic capsules on a fooking huge wheel. It takes fully 30 minuntes to complete a revolution and once it has begun there is no way to go off other than wating for the ride to finish. Thus, it was a rare moment of synchronicity that I dropped the most pungent gruff of my entire life right at the top of the London eye, on a hot summers day, surrounded by unsuspecting tourists. I swear to god one Italian lady tried to force the main door on the capsule. She would have rather jumped than bear the stench anymore.

They knew it was me because I was the only one laughing.
(MrVictim, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:21, Reply)

Ah...
When I first met my girlfriend, I was particularly shy about farting in her presence. I was keen to impress, and I didn't think that letting rip would be the key to her heart. Two and a half years on, I'm more than making up for lost farts, and I now go out of my way to make sure she takes the full force of my offers.

For example, I called round her parent's house, only to see her in the garden crouched in front of one of the dogs. Her back was facing me so I thought this would be an excellent opportuniy to release a fart I'd been saving for her all day. So with all my stealth, I crept up, turned around and sat on her shoulders, pinning her to her knees. I flatuated with such force there were tremours in my legs, and the volume was enough to drown out the screams of anguish. I then brought my legs in front of her, locking her head in my thighs, and produced another stormer.

No sooner had I finished, my girlfriend calmly asked, "What on earth are you doing?" Imagine my surprise to find my her standing in front of me, and her mother's head between my legs.

This was two months ago, and I've been too scared to visit her parents since.
(God_of_the_mind, Sat 14 Jul 2007, 17:20, Reply)

I once farted my own name
I was sat on a chair at a mates house and farted.. I swear it said "BARRY" starting low and rumbling and increasing the pitch towards the end..

I got excited and looked at my mates to say I thought it sounded like my name (expecting them to say it just sounded like a fart)... before i got to say anything one of them shouted "HAHAHAH You just farted your name!!! nice skills!"

BEAT THAT!

Length? about 3 seconds

(click I like this is you believe Barry is the gayest name in the country! - stupid sadistic parents)
(ShavenLunatic says touch your nose!, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:11, Reply)

School assembly
School assembly, cross-legged on a wooden floor. God, it echoes.

"And deliver us from evil," said Mr George, reciting the Lord's Prayer, winding it up with the now familiar "Forever and ever..."

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPGREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP-pop-pop-pop-GRAAAAAAAAAMK!

"Amen"

Jesus, I am so, so sorry.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:12, Reply)

Our dog Ben
Once farted infront of the gas fire, and lit his own fart.

The surprise and confusion as he leapt up and whipped around to see what what going on with his bum was quite special.

Length - dunno, but it definitely went "woof".
(BeatsWork, Sat 14 Jul 2007, 1:51, Reply)

A convenient place...
... to let one go is normally, well, a public convenience.

Not very long ago, I had a late night stop at a motorway services. First port of call was the cludge, and as I entered so did another chap. I entered one cubicle, he entered another. But horror of horrors, I realised that before the stool, there was an immense gas build up, and my gut feeling was that it was going to come out loud. I didn't want to embarrass myself by farting so loudly when it's so obviously me. No matter, thinks I, I'll hold it until he drops his load.

But no sound came from his stall. I desperation, I try to let some out quietly. But that just wasn't going to happen. It trumepeted, and the reverb from the bowl and an otherwise empty set of toilets was impressive. Mid-fart, I hear giggling coming from the other chap, closely followed, nay, concurrent with, a fart of similar timbre from him. Well, that set me off, and had anyone else entered the loos they would have been greeted by the sound of two strangers farting, giggling and dropping their loads. A quite delightful symphony!
(Neddy Nedson is nice really, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 23:06, Reply)

Saboturdge
One Maths lesson, many moons again, I was ripping off some of the dirtiest things this side of the Channel. My arse-clouds caused the teacher to purchase a shelf of those air-freshener things. But that is not this story, oh no. This story is one on ninja-like stealth, amazing bravery, and a cunning rectum.
At my (old) school, rivalry is high between the Maths teachers. And all the class rooms have ajoining doors. It's not unknown for a teacher to pop through into another lesson just to disrupt it. Next door to us was a Mr. Robinson, a beautiful kind of geek who proclaimed maths 'better than sex'. My teacher gave me a shocking mission. Go through into his classroom to pick up some 'text books', while eeking some rotters out along the way.
So I casually sauntered into his classroom, and went across to get the books. 'Puurrrt prappht puuurt' went my bottom as I trotted around, trying to ensure maximum coverage.
Every teacher in the school knew about it before the end of the day, Mr. Robinson is said to have made a notice in the staff room warning the other teachers that I was Mrs. Leat's secret anal weapon.
( Mr. Jack cracked the elite b3ta inner circle on, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:05, Reply)

The worst thing I ever did
Ahhhhh. How age brings us the benefit of wonderful experiences. There's some things you should never do; believe me, I've done most of them several times, and those that I've only done once, I'll probably end up doing again just for the sake of it.

Back when I was 18, I had quite a lot of things ahead of me. I had a fiancé at this time; her name was Gillian. Prior to our engagement, at 17, she'd popped my ever ripening cherry for me. We ended up engaged; this phenomena is known as 'first fuck' syndrome.
So, Gillian.
Bless her, initially she was a great choice, but as time went by, she hooked up with some new friends outside of our group. In the end she became a real SLAG. Turned out she'd been sleeping with some heroin addict. Class. In all truth, I was glad to be rid of her...

One of the best things about Gillian was her huge static caravan, which my friends and i would often go back to after a night on the beer.
On one particular night, four of us lads went back with Gill -- all quite lashed. I made everyone hot chocolate and Gill' finished hers and went to bed. Little did I know, but several blocks of ex-lax chocolate had been placed in my drink and left to dissolve whilst I was in the bedroom wishing her goodnight. The trivial pursuit board came out, and we set about drunken play. [This was 1989 after all.]

My stomach was upset. Laddishly, I let out a restricted guff. My friend Luke looked around the table.
"Give me a lighter... Now!"
Us other three lads watched in awe as he pulled down his trousers, placed the lighter... and guffed.. Producing a small blue green flame. Impressed, we rallied the table. Lindon and Justin couldn't rise to the challenge... But I felt worthy.

I stood next to the fireplace, dropped my trousers, lit the lighter and STRAAAAAINED.
FAARRRPPPPPP!!

The lighter was extinguished. The fireplace was pebbledashed. Everything was covered in a thick layer of liquid shit.
I looked around at the stunned faces: total silence as the realisation set in about what'd just happened.... Followed by a tidal wave of laughter which rose the very She-devil herself... GILLIAN!
"What's going on in there?" she shouted, "I'm coming out!"
The laughter stopped, shock set in, and then panic.
"Errrrr... Nothing!" I yelped.
I grabbed what I could: kitchen roll, paper, and the kitchen cloth from the sink.
By the time she was dressed and out, minimal evidence was on show. She didn't even suss. The 'soiled' kitchen cloth sat back in the sink.
I felt relief.

It doesn't end there though. Obviously, no one else sussed either..
I arrived at the caravan on the following tuesday.
Gillians step mother was just finishing the washing up. She was using the cloth... That I'd forgotten to clean.
Arse biscuits.
( mr null One mad man in a world gone sane, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 16:01, Reply)

Love farts.
When I was young and agile I perfected the art of ever-so carefully climbing onto the bed, standing astride my girlfriend’s head, then slowly and carefully bending my knees thus lowering my foul arse towards her head.
Keeping my voice calm, not laughing in case I gave the game away, I would softly call her name , peeping down at her so I could see when she opened her beautiful blue eyes……and just as she registered that she was staring at my balloon knot, unleash a gust of fetid beery fart right on target, before leaping out of the way as she swung her vicious claws at my dangling nut-sack, often missing me by mere millimetres.

In time, as the relationship developed, I realised that if I stood on the duvet cover her arms would be trapped, giving me precious seconds to squeeze out the last dregs and escape before my pods got knocked into orbit.
I do miss her.
(Rsoles, Tue 17 Jul 2007, 20:23, Reply)

The farts of food poisoning...
Farts are just farts. All do them, some people's stink more thanks to bad diets or whatever... but when you get food poisoning.... Now *that's* a fart!

I've been hospitalised with salmonella, so I thought I knew exactly what a food poisoning fart was like. But on a trip to Chile, I'd been cheerfully yomping around at 4,500m, dodging lightning bolts, and generally doing the stuff travellers are supposed to do. But at dinner I felt strangely uncomfortable. I didn't want to eat and left my meal, but I had no idea why there was no space inside me.

Well about 1am, I found out. I'd filled myself up with gas. And I guess at high-altitude it just comes out with even higher relative pressure. The first fart started in bed, but felt like it might about to go, erm wet. A few seconds later I'm on the toilet, making a ferocious noise, and emptying my old bowels of both gas, liquids and solids. It wasn't a good time. But hey, one incident isn't a true fart.

So... for the next six hours I had half hourly squits/farting/vomit sessions, eventually turning to just whatever water I tried to drink.

I kind of hoped that was it. But a night of that will leave you exhausted and I was feeling pretty sick. I said my goodbyes to the expedition and stayed put for a few days to recover. At that point I headed off to a place called San Pedro de Atacama to chill a little. All felt well and my appetite was returning. I even had my first poo.

And that's when I panicked. It felt... farty, yes, but also... stringy. I wiped, looked, and saw WORMS! Aaargh! WORMS! I was freaking out, jumped up, and had to have a good look in the u-bend.

Tip: If you've completely killed your digestive system so it doesn't work properly any more, then an easily freaked traveller probably shouldn't pick, for their first meal, spaghetti.
(clopinettes, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 20:23, Reply)

Disappointed
My old boss once recounted to me the story of his most disappointing fart. During tests for IBS he had to have a camera fed into his tradesmans and afterwards on the drive home he was aware that he about to massively shit himself.

He drove home at a terrifying speed, burst through the front door and clambered up the stairs to the bathroom, just whipping his trousers down quick enough to get his arse over the toilet and let out the longest, most epically rasping trump of his life.

He inhaled for the celebratory sniff, expecting a sick making beefiness only he could love but was massively let down to discover that it smelt of soap.

It's been ten years now and he still hasn't recovered from the disappointment.
(mudflaps, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:55, Reply)

What really kills you in your own home..
I graduated from Uni on 2005 and spend the summer madly earning money to go out to America to visit my girlfriend, who dumped me 2 days after i'd arrived, though I still had to spend a month living with her family as I couldn't afford the charge to get an earlier flight. One night, while she was feeling the strain of having to be civil with someone she'd just horribly broken up with, she brought out a big box of assorted sweets. Cola bottles, chewy things I don't know the names of, red tape, the works. So we munched away on these until feeling ill, then decided to call it a night. I went to my room, lay down and instantly had the "whoop! time to get back up!" feeling, ran to the toilet and promptly shat out the entire contents of my large intestine. But it wasn't done yet, oh no. With nothing left to come out, I started farting noisily, until I shat out the contents of my stomach in a stinky liquid stream. But the farting wouldn't stop. With nothing left to come out, I felt safe enough to return to my bed and try to sleep. After continuing to have tremendous farts for another hour I eventually nodded off at about 1am, only to be woken up 2 hours later by a loud, blaring alarm. I looked around frantically thinking "House fire?!" but there was no longer an alarm and no smoke, I turned the lights on and checked the smoke alarm but it seemed ok. So I went back to bed, letting out yet another colossal fart as I did so. 15 minutes later the alarm went off again, and again I looked about, checked the alarm, wondered why noone else had been woken up etc, then sat in bed thinking "what the hell is causing this, both the farts and the alarms?". I turned the lights off and looked around again, noticing this time that there was a flashing light coming from under the wardrobe. I turned the light back on, pulled the wardrobe away and found the culprit. The air content detector, with a big flashing light next to the "WARNING: GAS LEVELS APPROACHING TOXIC - INCREASE VENTILATION" warning.

I was farting myself to death.

I popped it outside my room and opened all the windows so as not to be woken up again, then farted my way back into a slumber.

Makes me think - someone, somewhere, has in fact farted themself to death.
(Andari, Sat 14 Jul 2007, 19:11, Reply)

When I was younger
I used to work in a supermarket on the night shift.

One night, to alleviate the inevitable boredom of shelf-stacking, I wandered down to the front desk, held down the talk button and let a real teeth-rattler go into the microphone of the PA system.

I can't begin to express the satisfaction of hearing ones own arse-biscuit echo round the eves of a large closed supermarket followed by a hearty cheer from impressed colleagues.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 11:17, Reply)

My Brother Farted E.T. to Death!
I'm not kidding. I was about eight and we were on a cheapo family holiday so all essentially sleeping in the same tiny room in a hotel in La Rochelle. After we'd gone to bed I began having a nightmare about E.T. being ten foot tall and instead of having lovely glowing healing fingers he had massive knives and was pretty intent on stabbing me up with them. I was getting more and more terrified as he chased me through a field in the middle of the night until I reached a deserted town and E.T. suddenly disappeared. Now the real fear began. As I rounded the edges of buildings he would jump out, making that strange 'EEERRRRRR' noise he does in the film when he's startled. Finally he jumped out from behind a dustbin and I tripped and fell over. There was no escape. He towered over me, the lethal blades glinting in the moonlight and promptly spontaneously combusted with a loud noise and showered me in goo. Oddly I could then hear lots of people laughing and I joined in. Terror over I fell into a dreamless sleep and awoke the next morning ready to tell my parents about my weird dream.

"Did you have a nightmare last night?" My mother asked before I could even open my mouth. I just nodded suspiciously. She explained that while her and my dad were enjoying a last glass of wine before bed I'd started moaning in fright in my sleep. They waited to see if I would wake up and watched as I started screaming and clawing at the air. My mother decided to wake me up and comfort me but as she crossed the living room to the bunk beds where we were sleeping my ten year old brother rolled over and let rip the loudest fart my mother said she'd ever heard. I apparently instantly fell silent and my parents burst out laughing. My mum told me as she stood there trying not to wake us up by laughing so loud, I joined in. She presumed it had woken me up so asked if I was alright. When I responded with gentle snoring she just shrugged and they laughed about it some more. So there you have it, my brother farted E.T. to death. Beat that!
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 14 Jul 2007, 15:55, Reply)

Following through
Going to meet friend A in London with other friend B. Had a decidedy dodgy arse. As my friend A and I are members of an elite club who have soiled themselve in public (mainly due to drinking) I phoned and told him to bring some immodium from his ample supply.

Friend texts at 1pm to say he can't make it.

Panic sets in. I'm in Harvey Nichols at this point and am concerned that the brewing fart may have (barely but enough to warrant worry) some substnce to it. I pop to the toilets where a dad is escorting his son. I go into cubicle and slowly let out a vile fart. Thankfully no residue. I leave. Dad gives me look of disgust and wonderment at the sulphuric stench.

3pm. SoHo. I fart and successfully emit nothing but purest gas. Result! Perhaps the immodium isn't needed...

5.30pm (or thereabouts)on Loughton tube station...
I decide to let another fart out. I must add at this point, that I am wearing some shorts with an underpant lining.

Fuckfuckfuck! Fucking fucker fuck! Bollocks! I have obviously followed through. Even though I have CLEARLY followed through, I insert hand to check. It's damp. Could just be sweat?

I bring hand to nose to smell. Nope. It's shit. The kind of shit I haven't done since a baby.

I can get away with this methinks.

No chance. Friend B's nose twitches. Twitches again. Looks at Chinese gent standing nearby with disgust. I can't help it...

'B.'
'Yes Lithepanther? Have you farted btw?'
'No, B. I've shit myself.'

I wander off. Shall I ise the ironically positioned Indian takeaway? No toilet.

Eventually I waddle in the way that only people who shit themselves can (and everyone knows your shame) to J Sainsbury and go in customer toilet. Taking off shorts, I clean myself up. Now, how do I clean the shorts? 'Fuck it' I think. Go to rip out lining.

It's made of industrial strength steel or something. Eventually - resourceful this and if it wasn't part of this story would probably get me a job in Mi6 shoud they ever care to interview me - I use the coat peg to saw off my lining. I walk outside, bid Dad and son combo 2 good day and leave.

Friend A likes this story. Friend B was so shocked he has never even used this as ammunition to take the piss.

*Apologies for length.
(The Lithe Panther, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:02, Reply)

Bit off topic
But I feel I must share. Mr P has just sat me down for a 'serious' conversation. On Sunday we all got a little bit drunk on vodka laced with cranberry, and then pomegranate, and then just pure and simple vodka. Thing is, we are not posh peeps, the only reason we had 'posh veg' in our beers was cos it was on offer at the co-op late shop over the road.

Turns out Mr P has smelled cranberry and pomegranate in his wee and poo for 3 days now and as such thinks that the neat vodka has caused his liver to give up the ghost.

Bless him, he's smelling the Lush soap I bought at the weekend; now living in the soap dish on the bath at the side of the loo. Should I tell him?
( no longer a user, Wed 18 Jul 2007, 0:17, Reply)

Rectal Examination
A couple of years ago I had a slight stomach ache but figured I was just hungry. To ease my stomach I decided to have a takeaway Indian (nothing spicy though). Unfortunately throughout the night I felt progressively worse.

The next morning the first thing I did was release liquid from both ends, not a very endearing thing for my housemates to hear at 7am. However, the worst was still to come!

Throughout the rest of the day liquid poo continued to pour out of my bum. By the evening I was dehydrated so after consultation with NHS Direct I took myself off to casualty. Thankfully I made the taxi journey without discharging any further atomic waste.

Once in casualty they decided that I either had food poisoning or appendicitis. Either way, I needed to be re-hydrated so they admitted me to a surgical assessment ward. By this time it was about 1am and all I wanted to do was die quietly in a corner.

The consultant who admitted me was an old man who had with him a junior doctor. They decided I needed a rectal examination. I promptly laid on my side expecting the worst with a sheepish look on my face. The nurse feeling my embarrassment was kind enough to say “well your day just keeps on getting better and better”.

The consultant asked what the junior doctor should be feeling/looking out for, on went the glove with some Vaseline (how grateful I was). The fingers went up my arse, the junior doctor had a poke around. While junior doc was having a poke I felt my stomach start to grumble – I was either going to fart or poo, possibly both. At that moment the junior doc decided there was nothing untoward but as he released his fingers my bowels exploded.

I had managed to spray bright yellow liquid poo all over the doctor, he wasn’t wearing scrubs but instead quite an expensive looking suit. The consultant looked unimpressed, the doctor looked like he was about the cry and the nurse just had a tiny grin etched on her face. I couldn’t even begin to start apologising because at that point I started to retch.

The next day I heard the story retold by many nurses as they changed shifts. By the time I was discharged (minus an appendix) I swear the nurses waved goodbye and quietly thanked me for spraying the doctor rather than them.
(Spray Girl, Tue 17 Jul 2007, 22:09, Reply)

air jordan
I like to do a jump just as I fart, so it looks like I'm being propelled forward/upward. I sometimes do this when I'm alone, just for a bit of entertainment.
(bob rob, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 18:53, Reply)

The Breath of Satan
I come from a long line of farters. My dad is one of those people who finds anal serenades the funniest thing on earth, much to mum's great annoyance.

But without fail, it is always her own trumps which have been the source of the greatest amusement, of which the greatest was one summer many years ago when both her sisters and our cousins were all over for a Sunday of food, booze, playing games and family bonding.

Picture, if you will, a group of 12 of us in the garden doing nothing more exciting than standing in a big circle simply throwing a ball randomly to each other (yes, the family get-togethers were quite, quite shit). Mum wasn't the best of catchers, and was regularly dropping the ball, and had to scuttle off to pick it up with the grace and co-ordination only a post-menopausal lady appears to be able to attain.

One time, she bent over a bit quickly, and inadvertantly let off a fart of such power and tonal quality that it must have been close to tearing the fabric of space and time.

This destroyed everyone - uncles and aunts were bent over double in pain from laughing. There didn't seem to be a dry eye in the garden. The game was half-heartedly continued but eventually was given up as a lost cause.

This in itself was amusing enough, but from my own point of view it was funnier watching our neighbours the following weekend, standing in a circle, attempting to play the same game and work out what the hell made it quite so amusing for us to play.

I reckon at its current velocity that fart must be close approaching the edge of the known universe.

---

I think my own most ignoble moment was being on holiday in Prague with some friends staying in a dorm room. I dropped a fart which was silent and evil enough to rouse my friend Ali from his drunken slumber.

I almost wept with joy.
(Glis, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 15:41, Reply)

Cruelty to animals.
Another one!

My father was walking around the bed, with the cat following him.. sniffing his behind (as you do.)

My father lovingly stops, bends over a little, the cat then decides to take this prime opportunity to take a great big sniff. *just* As my father lets one go, a big, smelly, one-you-could-eat type.

The cat has never been the same again, oh how i laughed!
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 14:24, Reply)

Blowing me a kiss...
After a night on the town a few years back and feeling more than a little horny, me and Mrs tinpixel race home to bed for a night of not-so-tender-lurve.

Ever the gentleman, I do my bit for queen and country and head south. Several minutes of the finest cunnilingus later, her deep breathing and relaxed body assures me I'm doing well. I am, indeed, the man.

He legs shift a little and a soft moan escapes her lips... "She's almost there. Fucking get in!" thinks I.

A split second later the full force of a silent fart, emitted from an anus mere millimeters away from my face, fills my mouth and nostrils - a vile combination of rotten veg and school-poo (you know the smell).

I almost threw up in her cunt.

Did I get an apology? Oh no... She'd fucking fallen asleep.
(tinpixel, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 11:37, Reply)

Train Fart
A few years back me and my mates decided to go and see Greenday in Manchester, and since nobody could be arsed driving we decided to get the train.

All was well until just near the end of the journey when, with out much provocation,I did a trump. This fart felt somehow different to normal farts though. Its source felt deeper than just my colon, and I felt a strange churning in my gut as the gaseous expulsion took on a sustained power that suprised me. I felt as though I could give it some real force without any fear of shitting myself, and so I did what any b3tard would do and really went with it. It was the longest, and loudest fart I've ever produced, and to make things even better it stunk AND it spread, quickly without losing its potency. This thing was so meaty that as it reached people, they started to chew before realising what it was. It was so bad that people at the other end of the carriage were asking who'd shat themselves, and one woman sat near us (who in my defence was already feeling travel sick) churned her guts out into a shopping bag.

It was the worst journey ever as far everyone else was concerned, but theres nothing quite like the smell of your own brew, and nothing quite as funny as seeing someone be sick because of it. I've never been hated by so many people so quickly though.
( Furness, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 19:55, Reply)

Undiluted
My ex once farted directly up my nose during a 69. It was incredible. Totally undiluted, pure methane straight into the nostril.

Luckily I came shortly after so avoided vomiting. Yet another reason to thank my genitals.

I also once parped in my sleep with such volume and power that I woke up shouting 'What the hell was that?!', convinced the house was being broken into. It took a good few minutes before my wife convinced me that I was the cause. She would know after all as I once erupted in a night fart so revolting that she awoke in tears.

I can't pretend that I'm not proud of that.
(mudflaps, Wed 18 Jul 2007, 9:35, Reply)

Guinness + Fried Tomatoes = Bath of death
My first ever part time job was as a Betterware salesman door to stinking door in Sunny Hull. I was 16, and probably the youngest person in the western world to have sold a carpet sweeper. I was also in the midst of bowel problems. Catastrophic bowel problems that meant i had been bunged up for at least a week.
I am usually a regular poo-er twice a day clockwork, you can set your watch by my arse, and the pain from this sudden and unexplained bout of botty famine was considerable.
As i was delivering another load of Catalogues to the bored (and sexually frustrated - but thats for another QOTW) housewives of my estate, I was accosted by a rather elderly lady and the conversation went like this...

Old Lady :-" Why are walking like that son, shit yerself?"
Airliebird :-"No, quite the opposite in fact, i'm appallingly constipated"
OL "You know what you need, son? Fried Tomatoes and Guinness! and nothing but that. Drink nowt but Guinness and eat nowt but fried tommys, and you'll be as right as rain in a day!"

So rather than visit a doctor or even the chemist or even buy some bran (I am a bloke after all), I followed this lovely wizened bowel fairy's advice, and after persuading my dad to purchase me some guinness, i fried my first batch of tomatoes.
Now, let me assure everyone, this is not a diet to be toyed with and in fact, Dr Atkins would probably even call it irresponsible - if he hadn't died of bowel cancer.
So after 4 meals and in fact 24hrs to the minute since the advice had been handed down, airliebird found himself in the bath, soothing his distended and aching belly.
Was it my fevered imagination or was there a stirring of sorts in my tummy? I shifted my position a little...There it was again! Definite movement!
I decide I should try to make it to the toilet only a few feet away and i lift an arse cheek from the floor of the bath.

TTTThhhhhhhhwwwwwwwwrrrrrrraaaaaaaaarrrrrrpppp!

Pity poor airliebird..... he is now sat in a bath that appears to be totally constituted of watered down Guinness and tomato skins. I swear it even had a head on it.
Can you imagine pulling the plug on a bath and it not going down because of the tomato skins blocking the hole? Having to reach down and unblock it by hand?
I have never fried a tomato since, but Guinness is my favourite drink to this day.

Glad I got this off my chest I think, but strangely I have never totally subscribed to the "better out than in" theory since.
(airliebird Has now found Twiglets in Sydney!!!!!!! yay!, Sun 15 Jul 2007, 14:55, Reply)

causing injury
Many years ago i worked as a programmer in a chicken-shit little company that has since ceased to exist. For a while, our office was above a branch of Next.

The staff used to come up and use our photocopier, as they didn't have their own.

One day this poor young girl climbed the steps to our office, laden down with a huge crate of documents to be copied. As she reached the top, she opened our door just as i let off the loudest, longest, nastiest smelling beer and curry fueled fart of my life.

she dropped the crate, grabbed her nose, pitched backwards down the hard concrete steps, breaking her arm in the progress.

Then the crate landed on her.
(coobeastie Used to Be in Evil Gazebo, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 20:14, Reply)

Work farts...
As many of you know, I am unhappy at my workplace (where I no longer work by the way) particularly with my CEO. About a year ago, I used to bring my dog to work with me every day. It's a small company, so it was nice to have the dog in there, wandering around, inspecting scents and what not...

Until one day, my dog must have overheard me complaining about my boss to my Dad on my cell because, shortly after I got settled in my office, Goose, an English Mastiff, decided he needed a stroll 'round. He walks right into the CEO's office and launches what may well be the most rancid fart I have ever smelled...complete with audio.

THEN, he casually turns around, and walks out of the office and trots back to mine. Moments after his return to my office, the CEO's face appears in my doorway telling me "Keep that damned dog in your own office. He just farted in mine and I am going to have to work from the conference room. I cant concentrate."

Of course, I had to inspect and before I even got INTO the office, the stench was seeping out into the halls. It nearly made me gag.

Good dog....good dog.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 17:38, Reply)