this thread is inspired from the thread bad erections. Well I happen to walk to the gym, close to my house. My gym buddy who owns a car, driving by and offered me a lift. But just a few seconds before getting in the car I was farting in the middle of the street on the way to the gym as i said. The fart followed me in the car. I could have smelled it a little myself in the car, maybe because a little bit stayed in my pants.
Well I was a bit embarrased and do as if nothing was happening. But it was quite suprised he offered the lift and I stepped in and just farted and was just a little bit embarrased about it. I don\\\\\\\'t know if he noticed but well that is the story. <- not steam, but gas.
I'm in the computer lab when I feel that familiar rumbling below my belly. I have to rip one. Big time. It hurts so bad that I know if I stand up it'll force its way out. So I'm stuck there struggling against an imminent fart in a room full of people.
I look around at my peers there in the computer lab. If any of them are under similar pressures, they aren't showing it.
I decide to squeeze out the littlest bit. Just to take the edge off of the pain. It's risky and I know it. When something is that eager to escape, opening the door is ill-advised.
I very carefully release my grip on the beast.
Oh shit! That was way bigger than planned! I feverishly try to look like somebody who didn't just fart in public. I'm writing with my right hand and typing with my left. I'm reading the monitor and a book at the same time. My furrowed brow only hints at the wealth of activity taking place in my mind. It should be inconceivable that somebody this involved can also be farting.
But wait a minute. That thing didn't make a sound. I didn't hear a whisper of what felt like a hearty, burrito-induced ass clap. I've been spared (clearly) by the fart muffling technology of the computer lab chair. I'm pleased and I see opportunty. If the chair can muffle that much, it can muffle a little more.
Blinded by the relief the first fart provided, I push the limits of the chair with the second one. The duration is short but the flow rate is massive. It feels like POW! but it sounds like...
Silence.
This chair is truly amazing! I felt those vibrations up and down my back, but I didn't hear a single note of it. At this point I could safely stand up and walk out to take care of the rest in private, but why bother? This chair cannot be overcome.
I let it all go, and I mean I am going for the gold with this one. A broadening smile forms across my face as the backs of my legs are vibrated into numbness. I can feel my ass cheeks slapping together with great force, almost painfully, yet the chair absorbs all. The suddenly empty feeling of my stomach is surprisingly satisfying.
I return my hands, which had been braced against the desk throughout the tumultuous fart, to the arm rests of this marvelous chair. I triumphantly lean back, pleased with what I've gotten away with.
That's when I realize I am wearing headphones.
There's nothing special about the chair. "Country Grammar" is blaring in my ears. I look again at my peers in the computer lab. They are all looking back at me. People are leaning around computer monitors just to cast a disgusted look in my direction. There are three girls in my same row; each wears a different expression of horror.
If I get up now, I'm the guy who farts and flees - leaving others to deal with my aroma. So I have to sit there typing, in the palpable heat of my own fart, until every last one of them is gone.
First a little bit of back-story. My dad's gas is said to be lethal. I always hear the story of before I was born, how he made a woman puke on a train, because it was so bad.
Anyway, my mom worked a day job and my dad worked a night job, so he would pick her up from work every now and then. We would get our friend to pick her up sometimes too, since he lived with us. Well being a kid, I had an urge to suprise her all of the time. My dad drove one of those Saturns that had the ability to open the trunk from the back seat. It was just about time to pick my mom up and I said I wanted to go along with my friend that was over. So we hop in the car and we get the guy living with us to drive. I decide I want to suprise my mom, so my dad, friend and I open the trunk and close the back so you can't tell it is open, but you can still open it. It was pretty cramped in there and already hard to breathe. My dad decides it would be a good time to let loose. Within seconds my friend and I are gasping for air. We attempt to open the back seat when our fears are realized. It has locked shut. We bang on the seat and hope that someone hears us. Our attempts were in vain. For the next twenty minutes, we are stuck in the trunk, and my dad continues to rip them. I've never been that sick in my life.
next time something like that happens just say:On average, a person produces about half a liter of fart gas per day, distributed over an average of about fourteen daily farts.
yes but isnt it what you eat that produces the gases? If you have the ability to make ppl suffocate to you farts because of bad/old food that is not so cool hehehe
very funny, i was laughing hard reading this, so puerile laughing but so good ^^ It makes me feeling the need to launch one of m favourite boomerang fart, you know the one where the aroma is coming straight back to ur nose ^^ Hmmm
On December 24 2005 21:41 exalted wrote: Magic Chair
I'm in the computer lab when I feel that familiar rumbling below my belly. I have to rip one. Big time. It hurts so bad that I know if I stand up it'll force its way out. So I'm stuck there struggling against an imminent fart in a room full of people.
I look around at my peers there in the computer lab. If any of them are under similar pressures, they aren't showing it.
I decide to squeeze out the littlest bit. Just to take the edge off of the pain. It's risky and I know it. When something is that eager to escape, opening the door is ill-advised.
I very carefully release my grip on the beast.
Oh shit! That was way bigger than planned! I feverishly try to look like somebody who didn't just fart in public. I'm writing with my right hand and typing with my left. I'm reading the monitor and a book at the same time. My furrowed brow only hints at the wealth of activity taking place in my mind. It should be inconceivable that somebody this involved can also be farting.
But wait a minute. That thing didn't make a sound. I didn't hear a whisper of what felt like a hearty, burrito-induced ass clap. I've been spared (clearly) by the fart muffling technology of the computer lab chair. I'm pleased and I see opportunty. If the chair can muffle that much, it can muffle a little more.
Blinded by the relief the first fart provided, I push the limits of the chair with the second one. The duration is short but the flow rate is massive. It feels like POW! but it sounds like...
Silence.
This chair is truly amazing! I felt those vibrations up and down my back, but I didn't hear a single note of it. At this point I could safely stand up and walk out to take care of the rest in private, but why bother? This chair cannot be overcome.
I let it all go, and I mean I am going for the gold with this one. A broadening smile forms across my face as the backs of my legs are vibrated into numbness. I can feel my ass cheeks slapping together with great force, almost painfully, yet the chair absorbs all. The suddenly empty feeling of my stomach is surprisingly satisfying.
I return my hands, which had been braced against the desk throughout the tumultuous fart, to the arm rests of this marvelous chair. I triumphantly lean back, pleased with what I've gotten away with.
That's when I realize I am wearing headphones.
There's nothing special about the chair. "Country Grammar" is blaring in my ears. I look again at my peers in the computer lab. They are all looking back at me. People are leaning around computer monitors just to cast a disgusted look in my direction. There are three girls in my same row; each wears a different expression of horror.
If I get up now, I'm the guy who farts and flees - leaving others to deal with my aroma. So I have to sit there typing, in the palpable heat of my own fart, until every last one of them is gone.
[credit to SA]
you should write a book about ur fating experiences, that will be the tiltle btw