Monday, April 28, 2008

how long WOULD a fart stay in a spacesuit?


So I’ve mentioned that my office is the official Land of Misfit Toys but as of late they also seem to have an enourmous amount of gas. On Friday, my secretary was talking to me in my cubical [yes people cubical = small closed in area where I do my work] and she just let one rip. I don’t even think the expression on her face changed. I almost said “what was that?” but then I was scared at what her answer might be. Then, this morning, the guy in the cubical next to me farts his ass off right after I got here at 9:37am. Who gasses it before 10am? And WHY dear internets, do these people think it’s acceptable to fart around me? Apparently my office mates forgot Rule #1 of office farting: ASK YOURSELF IF YOU HAVE A PRIVATE OFFICE.

I decided to do a little gas research this morning and I must admit I laughed out loud at my desk at the amount of sites dedicated to Gym Farting Etiquette.

FACT: In the middle ages, loudly breaking wind was an act of appreciation to the housewife. Wow. FI must REALLY appreciate me...

FACT: The average man releases enough flatus in a day to blow up a small balloon. [just don’t pop it!]

FART THESAURUS: breaking wind, passing wind, southerly wind, morning thunder, cutting the cheese, stepping on a toad, cutting loose, air bubble, gassers, stinkers, air biscuits, low-flying ducks, barking spiders, rotten eggs, wet ones, poots, pooter, pip, bleep, blip, SBD, tootsie, fluff, sqeeker, shit-vapor, and the proverbial combo-meal of the bunch... shart.

STORY: When we were in grad school FI and I went with a group of friends to a Columbus Clippers game. The only reason to EVER go to one of these nauseatingly boring games was “dime a dog” night. They allow you to start out with five each. I can never eat five, although I totally heart baseball dogs, my limit is three. FI has no limit on 10 cent hot dogs or any other food that costs less than a quarter. As he enjoyed his five, my two, and any other random dog that someone surrendered, his belly began to grumble. Apparently he felt it would behoove him to let some of these steamers rip. Keep in mind, this was a muggy, 90-degree August night at the ballpark and the only evident breeze was the one generated between the bat and the ball. Our group of friends were seated 2, 3 even 5 rows behind us. Suddenly someone says, “OMG can you smell that?! It smells like something died up someone ass!” Of course my darling FI is the first to be called upon with pointed fingers and accusation in situations such as this. He quickly replied “No, I didn’t fart!” As people begin to pass out two rows behind us he leans over and says, “Seriously babe, I think I might have let some out like ten minutes ago but not *just* now.” Well apparenlty it takes 600 seconds for a silent stinker to form into a putrid cloud [write that down] because it eventually had strangers in section 112 rows A-X yelling and covering their faces. That damn thing lingered for about three innings and assaulted at least three dozen unsuspecting baseball fans. It eventually got out that FI was the one who dealt it, which lead to us never going to dime-a-dog night with friends again. Thank god we still have friends, we just don't eat massive amounts of hot dogs with them... True. Story.

POETRY: (From the history of farting)
There was an old fellow named Art
Who awoke with a terrible start,
For down by his rump
Was a terrible lump
Of what should have just been a fart.

From my late grandmother
[who BTW NEVER held a tooter in]
It’s better to let it out and bear the shame, than to hold it in and bear the pain.

3 comments:

Jennie! said...

Maybe you can just read that poem at your wedding.

Tam said...

you're not going to get him off the hook. but good try.

Jennie! said...

It was worth a shot, I guess.