IBS
My favourite is Garlic. Instant bowel chocolate mousse.

The neighbours know when I stick to my safe foods and when I don't
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 17:14, Reply)

farts
My grandmother used to run to the doorway into another room, fart into that room and then return back to where she was as if nothing happened. If you were lucky she didn't block the only exit with the stench cause when it reached you you had to get out quick.
(uffda, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 17:05, Reply)

Cat farts are the worst.
I have the world's loveliest cat, a long-furred black cat with bright yellow-green eyes named Josephine. She's as sweet and snuggly a kitty as anyone could ever ask for.

She also has the worst farts I've ever encountered, the kind that will clear a room and leave people gasping outside.

It took me a while to realize that she uses them as a tactical weapon. If she gets particularly annoyed, there will be the tiniest of sounds- a faint warning for the mayhem about to ensue as she releases an invisible cloud of fetor. And when does she do this, you ask?

-when she is rubbing your legs because she wants food and instead you scoop her up and snuggle her.

-when she's snuggling with me at night and either my girlfriend or her dog disturbs her. At 3am, there is nothing more foul.

-when my teenage son scoops her up to snuggle when she's not expecting it, and blasts him at face level.

She's been officially nicknamed Miss Pooty-Butt.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 16:36, Reply)

Markov1723
Isn't Pedigree Chum dog food? Maybe that's the reason your cat farts so much!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 16:27, Reply)

Assembly fart
It was a long time ago.
I was in 4th or 5th year at high school in one of those lovely 'Year Assemblys' with the Year Tutor known as ''the sweeny'' (not because he shot us, shouted at us or called us SLAAGS .. just because of the 70's stack shoes he wore alongside 10 year old kipper ties)

Anyway, i was feeling a bit tense down below, not in a ''im going to crap'' kind of way, just unsettled. I tried to keep it in but the boredom of being forcefed some homily on christian values etc just was too much for my formative anarchistic mind so, thinking it would just be a normal 'trump'/sbd, i let it out.

It was hot.

Like the hot lager and curry farts you only really get when you are over 18 and eat loads of stuff.

The stench was greeny browny orange, it had colour and texture. This was your arse on drugs.
However, it also had its gravity and massive density and stayed in a 1.5 meter radius of me for a good ten minutes causinfg retching and giggles (like Shaun of the Dead but without zombies).
My friends could not believe the stench and it became known as the Assembly Fart.

My cat crowley also likes to play pick me up fart tennis and can strip paint with his chuffs that ALWAYS smell of fish and pedigree chum.

He is ace
(markov1723 Annoying Bavarians since, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 16:14, Reply)

Disappointed
My old boss once recounted to me the story of his most disappointing fart. During tests for IBS he had to have a camera fed into his tradesmans and afterwards on the drive home he was aware that he about to massively shit himself.

He drove home at a terrifying speed, burst through the front door and clambered up the stairs to the bathroom, just whipping his trousers down quick enough to get his arse over the toilet and let out the longest, most epically rasping trump of his life.

He inhaled for the celebratory sniff, expecting a sick making beefiness only he could love but was massively let down to discover that it smelt of soap.

It's been ten years now and he still hasn't recovered from the disappointment.
(mudflaps, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:55, Reply)

My innards hate me too...
You may have seen Pink Goddess claim that one of my farts put her back out. But that's not quite true. I'm one of those poor unfortunates who suffers from IBS
(more here for those not of a medical persuasion). This means that my bowels often act up, converting my motions into something quite hideous indeed. This also means that I'll have the runs much of the time. On that particular morning, I'd woken to the familiar refrain of my body tearing itself in half. "Great," I think. "Another bad day." When Pink Goddess finished in the loo, it was my turn. And in I dived, and released about half a gallon of acidic arse-juice, mixed with hideous farts. If farts are Satan's breath, then this was probably Satan's Expresso. And *that's* when her back went.

This means that farting is like Russian Roulette, as I'm never quite sure when I'll gamble and lose. Even sneezing and coughing are the same. I once had to bin my underwear after an unexpected sneeze caused a bit of a leak.

My best two, tho', are as follows:

After a poor-quality lunch, I was on my way back from site, when the feeling of an emergency motion came on. So I dumped the car at the services, and waddled, fully-clenched to the toilet. I dived into the only free cubicle, dropped my clothes, and relieved myself. Oh, it was a bad one. So bad, in fact, that from the cubicle next to me, I heard someone scream "----- -. ------ on a ------- bike! What the ---- just ------- happened?!?" (Or words to that effect). I held my nose, and tried not to breathe. When I finally left the cubicle, the place was empty...

The worst one was when I was still learning about how this affected me. I came home, craving kebab. This was a *very* poor-quality plan. I had my kebab, then collapsed on the sofa. Soon, my insides were doing their whole 'burst through my chest and escape' bit, so I crawled upstairs, shedding clothing as I went. I finally get my cheeks in place, and my arse emits an anguished wail, that reverberates horribly around the smallest room. A few seconds later, mother love be damned, the smell hits me. I have just enough warning to swivel round and get my head in the sink, as I lose my dinner, lunch, breakfast, and pelvis. Luckily I lived alone at the time, as anyone I shared my house with would probably have moved at this point.

These days I no longer eat kebabs, unless I'm sure I'm having a good day.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:54, Reply)

Bubble trouble (a top tip)
Whenst in the bath make sure you have vast quantities of bubbles, proceed with the release of a 'bum-sorte' into said bubbles, then with hands-a-cupeth, scoop and inhale the bubbles directly into your nostrils.

The bubble will also keep the stench trapped in their tiny spherical forms for quite some time, thus enabling you to carry said guff around with you in a portable 'stinky cloud'.
(cherry B, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:44, Reply)

Wikipedia
has some excellent articles on farting.

My particular favourite is this one.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:38, Reply)

Tank Buster
A few years ago, I was out and about with the Austrian army in some remote army grounds on a military exercise. We spent our off time in a makeshift sleeping hall housed in the huge garage of a country restaurant/hotel and had to share a shower and a toilet between all of us (~40 people). You see, I was a lot more fussy back then and therefore decided to go the first week without a shower or a trip to the toilet for anything other than a wee. Lucky enough I did survive it, but I was developing some serious chemical weapons over the week. One time while riding around in an artillery tank with the three colleagues and a commander of the squad I was in, as we were often wont/forced to do, I had to alert my colleagues via intercom that a serious gas discharge was looming ahead. My commander gave the green light and I busted an arse cloud so massive it filled out the whole of the tanks. My colleagues spent the remaining drive swearing and laughing over the intercom. The driver was in the clear of course, having only heard what had transpired through the intercom. Lucky enough, we stopped soon after. I think one of them even had a tear in his eyes.
(Mike Ock, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:27, Reply)

I strained for a fart
and out popped a chili bean.
( Brandy_Bumwinkle, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:15, Reply)

Now this is rank!
My brother (I suppose this could've fitted into the 'crazy relatives' QOTW but hey-ho) used to perform this little gem.

After I had taken a few swigs of my pint he used to squeeze out a rancid one, catch it in his hand, then slam it down and seal it for a few seconds in the inch or so of space in my glass. I tell you, it makes your whole pint honk and is very difficult, nigh on impossible to carry on drinking afterwards. What a cunt. Thank wank he doesn't do it anymore - it's one of the worst things you can do to another human being.

length? I'm working hard on it.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:09, Reply)

Farting in the shower
Unlike farting in the bath, farting in the shower has always seemed to me to be somewhat wasteful... until I perfected a new technique... which I now wish to share.

Stand with your back to the flow of water, cup a hand under the botty to catch a little water, and wait for guffy expulsion.... presto! Pleasing quacky noises, the occasional espresso-machine burble, and sometimes - and this really does take practice and solar plexical control - entire symphonies of musical loveliness.

Try it - you will not be disappointed.

Thank you.

p.s. for extra guarantied results eat many artichokes - creamed or in a soup preferrably, and them wash down with lovely warm Tizer
(bastardboy loves his mummeh, but hoo is daddeh?, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:55, Reply)

pull my finger
aaahahahahahahaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaahahaaaa!
(mmmkay, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:51, Reply)

Rugby team on a bus...getting on my nerves...
sitting two thirds towards the back. Unleashed a botty burp that resulted in much pointing of the finger between each other, foul language and a begruding respect.

Little did they know that it was created from the skinny hippy at the front with the solitary diet of oven chips and beans.
(Fall, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:49, Reply)

Rotten chair
I shared a student house in Barnsley with a very overweight and smelly gypsy who dominated the only armchair in the house. The mass of his buttocks was such that his regular heated guffs were muted in smell and sound. In fact the dulled 'bwat' noise his smothered parps made still haunts me to this day.

Whilst our ears and nostrils were (mostly) spared the chair wasn't so lucky. At the end of the year the seat of the once white but now sweaty grey chair had perished, basically becoming a hideous collection of spongy, bowel smelling crumbs.

Needless to say his flatulence cost him his deposit.
(mudflaps, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:43, Reply)

Kind of relevant
I once worked as an article writer in a newspaper office with lots of sales women and spent all day on a chair that made the most realistic farting sounds you have ever heard. It had the whole repertoire - loud ones, squeaky ones, even wet ones (I know this is pushing the bounds of reality, but it really did). Of course, this would be fine if it was controllable but the chair would only emit one of these happy tunes when I had to stretch / lean etc and would therefore already have at least one butt-cheek lifted off the seat, which made me look more guilty and no amount of subsequent bright red faced looks of shock and cries of "It's not me, it's the chair" would only result in remarks such as “Yeah, RIGHT. You are a dirty fucker Pooflake.” In the end I learned to adapt and would call out such mirth-ridden outbursts such as “More tea, Vicar?” and ‘there goes the elephant’ every time the chair worked its magic. This meant I managed to slyly disguise my own bad boys by mingling them in with the fart-chair’s chortles until people stopped caring. Which to be honest, did not take long.

What is wrong with me and length? But I was there about 2 years
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:36, Reply)

Probably should be in the Top Tips question, but...
Never drink the yeast from the bottom of a bottle of Belgian ale. You'll not only fart often, but the stench is enough to sear holes in your clothing and frighten livestock. And it lasts for days.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:27, Reply)

Die Deutsche Futzgeheimwaffe...
In my first month, back in 1999, of working here in Cologne, I discovered the delights of the German bakeries, which are far better than the english equivalent.

However, there is one delicacy that should not be taken lightly, especially for lunch. It is the infamous "Zwiebelkuchen" - onion quiche. Do not eat it. Avoid it. Leave it alone.

Unless, of course, you derive insane amounts of pleasure from being able to fart like an elephant - in both sound and volume - for the rest of the week.
( Stevedix http://www.stevedix.de/blog, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:22, Reply)

Pooflake has just reminded me ...
... of a bad mistake made in Cornwall. Was on holiday with the 'olds' and our two dogs. Staying in a SMALL camper van.

Went out one night and got a curry. Never never EVER feed two spaniels Tandoori Chicken if you have to spend the night in the same space.

The worst part was every time they let one go they'd stare at their backside in disbelief that they had managed to create such a stench!
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:14, Reply)

Pearoast time...
Yes, I used this answer before ( www.b3ta.com/questions/itsover/post36495/ ), but it's quite appropriate here as well.

I was a racetrack groom when I was 19. Got the job even though I knew nothing about horses, really- but all you really need to know is that they shit a lot, and you get to clean it up and take care of their racing harnesses. That, and that the guys who train the horses (and are usually your boss) are generally arrogant little fuckheads. Mine was no exception.

So one day my boss tells me to get one of my horses ready for training. This means that the horse will be doing basically a dry run for the race, rather than just a jog. No problem, I get her ready and he takes her out for her training.

When a horse has just done a training run, it's standard to give them a bran mash instead of just the usual grain feed. This means that you add a load of bran to it and add warm water until you get something resembling oatmeal. So I make this for my horse, only I add too much water so that it comes out soupy. The boss comments on this, and I ask how it could possibly do any harm. He snorts, makes a comment to the effect that I was a stupid college kid and walks off. I shrug and go back to what I was doing.

Next morning he wants to take that horse out for her jog, so I hook her up to the jog cart and send them off while I go take care of another horse. All is nice and quiet as I work...

What I didn't know, and obviously neither did he, was that the extra water in the bran mash acts like a laxative on the horse. I might as well have fed her a pound of Ex-Lax. Which is a vital piece of information when you're out exercising a horse by sitting in a cart with your feet on either side of the horse's arse and her tail directly in front of your face.

When the peaceful morning was shattered by my boss's voice screaming my name, when I came out and saw him with reeking green horse shit plastered all over his face, and when I had to hold onto a post to keep from falling over with uncontrollable laughter, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was over. And sure enough, about two days later I was unemployed.

But goddam, it was worth it. More than twenty years later it still brings a warm glow to my evil heart.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:05, Reply)

You can't hold your nose....2
I've just called FD for an accuracy check to the earlier post. He fondly recalled...


"We did stink"


The boy aint lyin'

I do remember a mates' dog fart making me physically wretch a few years back so I guess revenge was sweet - if sweet is the right word...which it isn't

And by the way, I realise I don't apologise for length but if you had my length, you'd be proud too
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:04, Reply)

damnit
anything with milk, anything with fruits, anything with nuts, all the same reaction.
bastard metabolism.
( Arsonade is saving up for a new box of hummus, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 14:01, Reply)

Not me but a "Lady" friend
Some years ago I was going out with a lady who who was not totally inhibitted in the Bottom Burp department. She also was not adverse to a bit of "How's your father" whilst she had the decorators in, and being quite young I took the attitude that if it washes off why not. After one particularly spectacular session of rumpy-pumpy I clearly remmber her rolling over, lifting a leg a spraying me with a mixture of Fanny batter, Jizz and bright red menstrual blood.
But it did wash off so why not.
(The Hooded Bean is in my pants Can't resist a Fanny/Tranny Joke, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 13:56, Reply)

Sadly, I now work for that company and yes ... they remember!
About 2 years ago I was in the control room for BBC1 on a Saturday evening getting the National Lottery lined up. MeColleague is not known for his subtlety. He is, however, famed for his 'musical trousers', so it came as little suprise when the person sat next to him suddenly burst out with "What the ... oh JESUS CHRIST!" and went an interesting shade of green.

I'm still on the phone to Lotto HQ when the wall of ... well ... it should be banned as a chemical weapon ... reached me. I tried to put on a brave face, but had to swallow my pride and say "I do apologise, but you're gonna have to wing it tonight - My colleague has just dropped one! Goodbye!"

I now work for said broadcaster. In my second week here someone recognised my name. "Are you *Dionysian* from the BBC? Have you recovered from Chris trying to gas you yet?" Apparently they had a good laugh at my expense that Saturday evening.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 13:39, Reply)

You can't hold your nose with your fingers in your ears...
I’m in a band that mostly plays in pubs around Cov but every now and again we’re hired to ruin, sorry entertain people’s private parties, weddings and the like. Unfortunately, our guitarist (who shall be known as ‘Furious D’ because that’s his name) and I are not known for our professionalism and as preparation for a certain la-de-da birthday party in some posh village, decided to get absolutely trollied before we started. Because we had left it so late before arriving at this party, we decided to stop off at Maccy-D’s for something to line our stomachs with. This, however sparked a chemical reaction of the foulest proportions which began to fester in our respective crap-factories. As we arrived at the party, we were instructed to set up in a marquee in the grounds of the house. As a warning of things to come during the sound-check FD dropped his guts which honked to such biblical proportions that we had to stop there and then and order him to either empty his ringpiece or at least have a tactical wipe at the earliest opportunity. The party then began but as most of these bashes go, they don’t liven up until everybody is reekingly steaming. By this time however, both FD and myself had gone into cheese-squeezing overdrive and a cloud of dirtbox-gas was quickly developing in the marquee. Noise wasn’t a problem as the music easily disguised the veritable fanfare of trouser-trumpeting that was going on at a remorseless rate. However, by about half eleven there were about 30-odd tipsy young ladies who were gagging to dance round their handbags and moved closer to the band. Whereby FD revelled in it, I could only gaze in total shame as smiling girl after girl danced towards us, sniffed, gulped, slowly turned green, and backed off quickly, sitting down with their faces dropping in disgust / borderline horror. Fair to say the night was not a resounding success. However the worst was yet to come because when we had finished and began to pack up, we realised that they had locked up the family dog in a stable behind where we were playing all night and as if the noise wasn’t disturbing enough it appears the dog caught the majority of the evening’s guff-crimes and we could hear him softly whimpering as we made our hasty exit. We didn’t get any other bookings from that gig….funny that.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 16 Jul 2007, 13:30, Reply)

Bubbles in the bath
I was having a bath with my then girlfriend and concentrating hard on the task of shaving her fanny. Without warning she dropped a sizeable fart and the resultant bubbles caused a splash of water to enter my left nostril!
( Vambo, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 12:30, Reply)

I need only say
this

EDIT: SFW, unless your workplace objects to sounds of cartoon flatulence.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 12:28, Reply)

I saw this movie once?
Where this horse did this incredibly huge fart - and everyone was all like, 'oh my God, what the hell is that smell?', holding their nose and stuff? It was hella funny. Then it turned out it wasn't the horse at all, it was this guy called Gordon Brown? And the smell was the decaying social security system. Yeah, it's called 'The Working Class Demand A Bigger Slice of the American Pie'.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 12:19, Reply)

More foreign farts
Despite being on my best behaviour, having never worked with this particular crew before, I unfortunately succumbed to the delights of Czech lager whilst on a business trip to Prague. It was getting late, we were nicely oiled, and so decided to join one of those “Ghost Tours”, you know, where they wander round the streets making up nonsense and getting their mates to jump out on you with skeleton masks on to scare you.
Well, we tagged along (not paying, natch) and it became clear very quickly it was a dismal tour, but we stuck at it.
Soon, we found ourselves in a deserted alleyway somewhere in the winding backstreets and the guide gathered us round to tell us her spooky tale. She wittered on, and came to the point :

“…and so, the snow was falling, and ze wind vos howlink..”

At that precise moment, God intervened, froze time and space, pointed his erm, God-like finger, and commanded me :

“Do it now, my son, NOW!!!!”

I obeyed, leaning against the whitewashed walls of the covered alleyway, shifted my buttocks mere millimetres and dropped the loudest sheet-tearer you have ever heard, a real comedy fart. Apart from the fact it went on for 5 seconds, I swear it echoed round that alley for a further 15.
The whole tour wheeled to face me, as I vainly pointed at the poor sap standing next to me, but was obviously the culprit because
a. it hadn’t totally tailed off yet.
b. I was howling with laughter.

Well, that killed that particular part of the tour, and my attempt to create a good impression. As the tour continued on it's way, me still lying on the ground laughing, I did notice the only other people who found it the least bit amusing were the British participants. Hmmm.
(Rsoles, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 11:58, Reply)