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Posted by gutenberg, on Tue Feb 26, 2013 12:26 pm
With a few minor changes I think I could say I've been there!!!

Written by Anna. Posted in Marriage

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?

That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized …

My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced it’s way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you …” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.

“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re …”

“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”

This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s laying on the couch while I type this … “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.

Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.

I know, its a long story but I hope somebody gets a laugh, Ed

Reply by Primeboy, on Tue Feb 26, 2013 1:06 pm
gutenberg wrote:
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart? Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

For the discerning gentleman, no explanation is required. He knows enough to consider the source behind every gastric phenomenon. After all, Martin Luther once advised that a happy fart never comes from a miserable ass. Hmmmmmmm. Happy Farts. That might be a new movie title for those tap dancing penguins.  You started this, Ed.
Reply by gutenberg, on Tue Feb 26, 2013 7:53 pm
Its possible a discerning gentleman may not be aware of gastric phenomenon, but let him wake up with a bag on his belly and it wont be long before he knows more than he ever wanted to know about free floating gastric gasses. And now on to the penguins, I just heard recently a new colony of penguins were found in Antarctica, how you may ask? Apparently photos taken from the space station found plenty of evidence by means of the massive amount of poo they left and they radioed one of the base camps there and they found quite a large herd/? of the penguins and that got me to thinking of dancing penguins with all that poo around, especially on a warm,well, you get the idea, splish splash, man but that fish stinks. OK, I've gone about as far as I can go on this before we get into Penguins singing at a birthday party, Fereeze a jolly good. . . . . .
Reply by bob.hewson, on Sat Mar 02, 2013 1:11 am
I can see that the level of replies has dropped low enough to a level where I can now appreciate them.

What do people mean when they call me an old fart?

The teacher asked little Johnny to use the word " definitely " in a sentence.Little Johnny replies, "Teacher, do farts have lumps in them?"The Teacher says, "Of course not Johnny,"To which Johnny replies, "Then I have definitely s**t my pants,".

A midwife is walking past the hospital staffroom, when she hears two African doctors talking, "I'm telling you it's wumba: W-U-M-B-A," says the first.
"No. It's woombaa: W-O-O-M-B-A-A," says the second.
"No, no, no. Wumba: W-U-M-B-A," says the first again.
At this the nurse pops her head through the door, "I think you'll find, gentlemen, it's WOMB: W-O-M-B."
The two doctors look blankly at her, until one of them says, "Madam. I doubt if you've ever even SEEN a water buffalo, let alone heard one fart in a mudpool."

"Darling," says a husband to his wife, "Let's try a new position tonight." "Good idea!," she says, "You go to the sink and do the dishes, while I sit in front of the TV and fart!"
Reply by geographia, on Wed Mar 13, 2013 7:29 pm
I haven't laughed so much for a long time.  Brilliant.  Absolutely brilliant.
Reply by J.J, on Wed Mar 13, 2013 10:20 pm
omg!! I have not laughed that hard in awhile..I had tears in my eyes I was laughing so hard
Reply by funnygurl, on Thu Mar 14, 2013 1:20 am
Reply by christiesdad, on Thu Mar 14, 2013 9:39 am
Fart is derived from the following:

Flatulent          F...latulent


Rear                R...rear

Terminal          T...erminal

I heard this somewhere
Reply by Primeboy, on Thu Mar 14, 2013 12:37 pm
Here's a relevant little limerick that will take this thread to a higher plane:

A Lady asked me to tea
and said 'do you fart when you pee?'
I said with some wit
'do you belch when you shit?'
I think that was one up for me.

I think this has something to do with what they call "multitasking." In any case, the takeaway here is to answer a question with a question.

Reply by gutenberg, on Thu Mar 14, 2013 4:48 pm
And multitasking with humor is pure genius and we have plenty of them right here, thanks guys and gals, Ed
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