Fart Story, volume MCVIII

Fart Story, volume MCVIII

Erica had a fun feature on flatulence over on her fine, fine blog this morning, and I'd like this post to serve as rebuttal and as a launching point for a fine fart story of my own.

I have only a couple points to make in rebuttal.

First, I laughed at the description of Erica's personal emissions as "SBSLRP: Silent, but smells like rose petals..." Mostly because my own, especially here lately, are either OIBSAS: Obnoxious in both sound and smell, or alternatively, LASLATF: Loud, and smells like a tire fire.

If I eat a lot of chicken, that tends to happen.

I would like to post this video that Erica posts.



And I'd like to tell this story.

When I was in college, I took an Astronomy course. I took it as an elective, mostly because I was interested in the subject, and everybody who'd taken the class from the professor teaching raved about it. And it was a good class. Learned a lot of interesting stuff in there, none of which I've used in my life since college.

The professor in question, Dr. White, was a helluva a guy. Funny, entertaining. Set the world on fire smart.

You know the old George Carlin bit about talking to somebody, and realizing halfway through that they're full of crap? It was pretty much the opposite with Dr. White--you not only realized how blindingly smart this guy is, but you also came to realize just how full of shit you are.....

The building they held the class in was the old science building on MTSU's campus, and the toilets held a particular fascination for me. I can't even really describe my fascination with the flushing process, except to say that the sheer power of these commodes was astounding to behold. I never experimented much beyond what you usually put in a commode, but I had a feeling that I could probably put a 20 lb. bag of compost, and the suction on this commode (which flushed with a sound akin to a jet taking off) would have happily wisked the entire mess away and asked for more.

Anyway, these toilets fascinated me so that if I was anywhere near that building and had to lay a deuce, I'd go to those bathrooms.

Maybe it's needless to say that I always made a spare 15 minutes to see if I could take the kids to the pool before my Astronomy class.

Well, one fateful morning, the various foods and potent potables I'd consumed had combined to form a noxious, gaseous stew in my guts. I went to the restroom, not really sure what was going to happen when I sat.

I sat, and proceeded to emit some of the most powerful "bangers" ever put forth on the campus of Middle Tennessee State University. Some lasted a good four seconds in duration, and they seemed to come from deep within the recesses of my body. Like my guts had become a backlog warehouse for flatulence, or something.

After about the fifth or sixth such spurt, each amplified by the shape of the porcelain bowl, I heard from another stall, three or four stalls down, this:

A muffled giggle.

I clench up. I'm not the type that needs silence when crapping in public, but laughter at my attempts unsettled me to a degree.

But the monster in my bowels wasn't to be denied. Without much warning, I turned loose again.

Another giggle, verging on full-out laughter.

At this point, I let a quiet laugh out myself.

Another small explosion.

And within seconds, there are two guys on opposite ends of a men's room in the bottom of the Science building at MTSU, laughing about a series of loud farts one of them is letting loose.

Well, I finish my business. I do the paperwork, and leave the stall to wash up.

Who walks out of that other stall, as I'm getting ready to leave the rest room?

That damn-near genius Astronomy Professor I spoke of earlier. For extra credit, please write a 3-5 page report on Tommy's ham-handed use of foreshadowing in this post. Compare and Contrast with your favorite episode of Golden Girls.

I have no real way to end this post, except to say that this is much funnier than my second-place funniest fart story, which mostly revolves around the mystery fart that was the cause of much debate one Sunday. The other ushers and I (at the church I went to growing up) were subject to somebody's fart, when handing the collections plates to the minister.

There was no way to collect on the bet, but I was betting money that it was the preacher who'd let go.

Can you use bleach to get a tiger stripe out of a preacher's robes? That's probably neither here nor there.

Anyway. I think I've done enough good. Y'all go have a good day.