On farts

I occurs to me that having been a resident of planet Earth for nearly 15,000 days, I have probably heard a least that many farts if my own are included, and that’s a conservative estimate. Nevertheless, there is no fatigue factor when it comes to the amusement farts offer. I would grin just as widely at the millionth audible fart I might hear as I would at the first.

Recently there was a thread on a message board I frequent concerning all things flatulence. Actually, “there was a thread” is duplicitous since I started it myself. In this thread, which grew to a surprising length, was mention of sharting, shitticles, and other terms you may, much to your detriment, be unfamiliar with.

The loudest fart I ever heard was expelled from the arse of a girlfriend, circa early 2006. The set-up was the two of us visiting her parents and working on computers two rooms apart. When I heard an eruption reminiscent of a howitzer shell, I walked toward the living room and peeked around the corner with a bland expression. The offending party was laughing so hard she was almost crying. She was a notorious farter, and this time the perfect storm of short shorts, a hardwood chair, and a high-fiber diet resulted in a cataclysmic blast that probably threatened the structural integrity of the chair, if not the whole house. (She used to be stricken with farthood on runs, something she didn’t like. When this happened on a particularly gassy morning run, I gritted my teeth, tensed up, and farted audibly in her presence for the first and only time of our almost-three-year relationship. She expressed surprise and made it clear she appreciated the display of empathy.)

The loudest burst of flatulence I ever heard in a public setting was perpetrated about 20 years ago by one of my friends in the Bailey-Howe Library on the campus of the University of Vermont. I was studying at a table that was part of a very long row of such tables, and it was pretty crowded. My friend, who I was not expecting to see because I knew he was busy getting drunk all day, showed up, sat down across from me, and immediately let loose with a boom of uncommon timbre and resonance. Then he started laughing and buried his head in his arms.

I actually jumped. The girl one table away did an impressive job of pretending not to notice, but there were people eight or nine tables away staring our way to see who the perp was. For all I know the bastards thought it was me. Shortly after that we both left, no for nothing.

If you want to have all sorts of fun in this realm, try sleeping on an air mattress. Farts on a well-inflated air mattress are given an extraordinary volume boost, and you’ll feel as powerful as Thor himself.

Then again, it’s best to be careful with your arse and what it’s holding at bay lest you end up like this poor S.O.B.

Not his lucky day.

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