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)