The wind of change…

This is happening right now - no need for wavey lines…

Ok, so I’m at work…and everything is fine. However, you’d be quite staggered to hear that last night, after an evening of public strumming / singing / drinking heavily / general twatting about, I ended up dining preposterously hugely on a Chinese takeaway – and it was one so utterly capacious that my only requirement when I ordered it for delivery, was that it be so phenomenally gargantuan it could be visible from Saturn. They delivered - It was proper lully, and all was well.

Hmm – yet fast forwarding to surviving the experience and waking up this morning. Something is now not right in my guts…and I confess my rotting innards are hardly the most reliable of body parts…I realise that I must begin to brace myself for the worst.

Three (frankly exhaustive) trips to ‘trap one’ later, and my repetitive belly gurgling upset is still not resolved. Further action seems to be constantly required.

Somewhat unfortunately, I have recently been relocated into an ‘open’ office, and am now thrust belly-button deep into a predicament that I used to take for granted…

I can no longer fart merrily without fear of reprisal… I mean previously, my fruits of flabby woof-woofs could veritably peel the wallpaper from the place. When I had my own office, things were cool – as long as I didn’t have any meetings I could trouser trumpet to my heart’s content – nobody cared…but now I have the hideousness of ‘decorum’ to consider… and society needs to be saved.

But what can I do? Heroically, I decide to consider the wellbeing of others, and although I have no other ablution requirements, I decide to wander over to the nearest chod bin…just for a fart…nowt else.

However, just by the way this green foggy monster is brewing in my crap factory, I suspect some potential that the sheer megatonnage that could blast from my quivering cack passage could make that apocalyptic scene in Terminator 2 (where Sarah Conner ends up like a skeleton hanging on to a fence)…look like a day out in Disneyland.

I fair sprint to the shitters…and result! Nobody is in there! I walk up to a urinal (just for authenticity) and wait for my intestines to empty…which by now are positively straining under the pressure of containing such a large reserve of natural gas that it could put half of Russia out of business.

But what happens? Nothing. Fuck.diddley.all. I just can’t fart. My sphincter muscles seem to go on strike to such a degree that I half expect some placards to come out of my dishevelled ringpiece with ‘fight the power!’ written on it.

I give my stomach a prod to try and ‘help things along’, but no joy. As time passes I realise it’s just all getting rather awkward as I am stood in a gent’s toilet…doing nothing…with a big grimace on my face, and my legs slightly bent, waiting for this dirty bomb to deploy.

Eventually, people start to come in to use the facilities. ‘Alright Pooflake?’ they enquire. ‘Mmmmmf’ I reply, waving frantically with one arm pressed to the wall as I am now desperately trying to eradicate this foulness that is still stubbornly refusing to budge from my insides.

I have no choice. Nothing is happening. I need to give up.

I step out to the corridor, and try to maintain some resolve as I stroll past the other people in their cubicles….and what happens?

The fart comes back. Honestly, I could have laid waste to the whole Human resources department with one blast. So I curse my arse, run back to the bogs…and…...and…….....…nothing…again.

Time has passed now - I’m back at my desk. As I type this I could easily let off a guff so magnificent that it could topple the very foundations of the surrounding buildings…but it appears quite painfully clear that if I go somewhere where my trumpage is not embarrassing, the feeling seems to subside.

So there you have it. My own shite socket seems to be randomly committing acts of evil against me. Why is this happening?

Does this happen to anyone else?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 17:07, 16 replies)

what an affliction
You're suffering the polar opposite of shy bladder. Your arse piece requires an audience.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 17:54, closed)

Your life seems to be a long, losing battle against the end of your digestive system.
Have you considered improving your diet, and/or seeing a doctor?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 18:16, closed)

Crikey, are you psychic?...

My new diet starts tomorrow - yesterday was my last big 'blow out' as it were...hence the *ahem*, 'issues' today.

And by the way - thank you for not ripping me to shreds. I recognise your skill at this, and I understand that I've got to be one of the easiest targets out there. No doubt it's just a matter of time before I post some utter bollocks that will justify your administration of 'tearing me a new one'.

Until then...
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:19, closed)

Er, yeah...
This level of self-deprecation seems out of place, on this website.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:33, closed)

Yet again PF, another classic.
Are you sure you don't write for viz?
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:00, closed)

Nah...

Viz is good.

(Well, it was the last time I read it...which, to be fair, was fucking yonks ago)

But thank you anyway :)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:20, closed)

On topic? not really :(
Funny as fuck? Hell yeah!

So have a click
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:38, closed)

Man the fuck up
and crop dust.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:43, closed)

It's probably just the result of way too much starfish hunting over the years.
Don't worry, the AIDS will fix it for you.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 19:58, closed)

hahahahahahahahahaha
its funny cos its implying pooflake is a quender. I get it!
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 20:14, closed)

Hey, it fixed it for me!
;)
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 23:58, closed)

solution:
Air hula hoop. When you're alone in the bathroom, just pretend you're hula hooping. You have to get really into it though.

This is still in the test phase, but I've been getting positive results. (I recently moved to a town with a store that makes its own linguica and chorizo.)
( the prick of misery pierced my foot on a spiiiike on, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 5:42, closed)

My farts are evil.
If I lay off the beer (especially Guinness), I don't fart. So to keep the peace (and GF), I don't drink during the week.

Once, having been stinking the bar out, I was ordered to "Go outside!" when I had one imminent, so off I ran, out the door and played the trumpet loud and clear - and promptly made a smoker hovering by the door throw up.
( snee held his breath since, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 7:37, closed)

Tears coming down
this made me laugh :)
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Tue 21 Feb 2012, 10:38, closed)

Old gruntlebum's vom inducing botty burps
Nice work sir. I've heard of that happening in an enclosed space, where noxious lingering farts have been left in a toilet or lift. But in the open air, that's impressive.
(Simian Typewriter Supplies Pty. Ltd. is house hunting in the neighborhood of infinity, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 12:27, closed)

in short, yes
i also work in an open office:

sat at desk - need to fart
walk to bogs - dont need to fart

either way stomach pains.

try using a side office to "make a call", being on your feet might 'help things along'
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 9:30, closed)

Solidarity brother!
Yep, I too suffer the same misfortune of my arse refusing to perform unless there's an audience.

Have a sympathy click.
(King Nightmare, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 9:39, closed)

When I was a junior technician aaaages ago
Before powerpoint presentations, I was put in charge of the projector for a meeting of medics.

Even though a remote was available to change the slides for themselves, because consultant medics are a self important bunch they liked to order a minion "next slide please"

So I had to sit at the back of a lecture theater and press a button when ordered. Unfortunatly I had been out for too many beers and a curry the night before, and lecture theaters are designed to carry sound so I couldn't fart.

By the time the 1st break came I ran to a toilet cubicle and let rip with the most colosal huge fetid odious arse ripping fart I have ever done it was at least 60 seconds long maybe longer. I was crying with a mixture of relief humor and pain.

I left the cubical tears still on my face to find all the unrinals being used and a small queue waiting to avail themselves of the facilities.
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 11:18, closed)