* PFFT *I've been pretty farty all week, but 2 large helpings of sausage and lentil stew last night have really tipped things over the edge. I swear you can see these ones.
I'm here at work trying to hold them in so I (a) don't have to keep nipping to the loo like a madman and (b) don't gas half the office, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. I might rupture something if I'm not careful.
Tell us all about your own fartiness.
(
chthonic, Fri 13 Jul 2007, 14:01)
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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.
(, Mon 16 Jul 2007, 15:54, Reply)
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