Flatulence

Not a very pleasant subject to be writing about for some, I’m sure, but one that brings a smile to my face each and every time I lift an arse cheek to let rip.

Yes, that’s right. Today, I’m discussing the art of the fart.

“Why today?”, I hear you ask.

Because last night I had Indian food for dinner. Correct that, we had Indian food for dinner last night. Yes, my husband and I ordered take-away. Nothing particularly spicy for me, just a chicken tikka masala, mango chicken nowabi, pilau rice, sag aloo and onion bhaji, so actually, nothing spicy at all, but it seems to have had a rather nasty effect on my *ahem* bowels. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shitting through the eye of a needle from a hundred yards or anything, but the trumps being delivered from my behind pack some punch. In fact, they’re knocking me clean out.

I woke up this morning in the usual way, laid next to my husband. It’s generally only a matter (*snort* it starts already…filth head on, no apologies will be made) of time before one of us lets go and blows the duvet right off the bed. Well, I say that, but I’m more partial to letting a sly one go and blowing his face off rather than the duvet. This morning was no different and the foundations of the day began with audible tones of ring pieces being opened and slammed shut (my husband’s that, he got in first, mine is more genteel). My husband launches his gas and his arse gives him his own round of applause. I start with some evil puffs of green, rancid, nerve agent that gets louder as the morning progresses into something I can cope with (like 8.30am).

Anyhow, to cut a long story short, we made our way down into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the children (not kids – they are not goats, though they may eat like them, bleat like them and shit on the floor sometimes) and the farting continued, so much so that we had to open the kitchen doors and windows because we could actually taste the fruits of our efforts. Husband, who was stood at one end of the kitchen had begun to blame me for his own emissions. We had reached the point where the smells were mixing and he could no longer tell who was to blame (though I’m certain I have a better sense of smell than him…I know my own smell, my farts smell better worse than his). I realised it was getting really bad when my own fart power started to make me feel sick.

Now, I feel the need to write about my air biscuits today for two reasons, the first of which being I’ve heard, and most likely read, that flatulence is caused by what you eat. Makes sense, right? What goes in must come out and all that. So it should go without saying that the Indian we had last night would be a major player in our ozone destroying derrières, but I’m not so certain that its the main root cause for the way we sound and smell today. In fact, I know it isn’t, because I had started to stink rather badly before I ate the meal. Proof right there. No need to take that one any further except to say that the meal potentially, most probably, has exacerbated the situation.

The second reason I am writing about my near knicker shitting experiences (trust me, each time I trump I feel like I am touching cloth) is because I get to talk toilet humour without abandon, get to explore the different types of farts out there and perhaps even introduce some audio content…if we can catch it in time without risking damage to iPhones – there isn’t many ways to mitigate that risk if you wish to get clear sound from the hoop.

Without further delay, because if I do delay any further I’m definitely at risk of shitting myself, here are some fart descriptions…all have been experienced by my family.

1) The Knicker Splitter (AKA The Pant Splitter) – so called because when it leaves the safe confines of your anal passage it does so with such force and speed it could literally tear your undergarments. It also feels a little bit sharp. Doesn’t always smell, though it may have a slight aroma.

2) The Clap – singular of below. Launched on its own or with a bunch of its mates, this fart packs a powerful punch to the receiver, especially if trapped under a duvet, unless the giver is in a “can’t be arsed” mood and then it won’t smell at all. Pray for can’t be arsed.

3) The Applause – plural of above. Plenty of these babies will attack the nasal passages with a vengeance unknown to many humans. Unless “can’t be arsed” is in force. Pray for can’t be arsed.

4) The Guiness Guff – there are companies out there who will come to your home, pay you cash, collect what you produce and use it for laying roads once you’ve had a night drinking Guiness. The key to knowing the right time to call them is when you do the Guiness Guff. Signs are long, wet, rumbling trumps that makes you feel like you’ve shit yourself a million times over before you’ve made it to the toilet. You will be checking your undercrackers more regularly than you check your phone for texts. Rarely with aroma…unless you had a kebab on the way home.

5) The Trump through the Flump – when a lady/woman/girl lets one slide from the hide and it ignores Shatalite Navigation and re-routes through the minge and up through the flaps. Means she gets first sniffage, it feels a little bubbly, and it is a little difficult getting it out if she’s wearing jeans. Can absolutely stink to high heaven. Trust.

6) The Destroyer – leaks out of the ring unnoticed and BAM! A little bit like the SBD (Silent But Deadly) The Destroyer is more potent because once it takes hold it ain’t ever letting go of its victims. Silent on exit, it attacks with a chokehold grip, burns the throat. Likely to leave warm, wet poo prints in your pants though – this fart destroys all parties involved.

So there we have it. A few examples of the pumps in this here house – audio content omitted I’m afraid…sorry about that, I know you’re disappointed. I haven’t even explored this post in its entirety. I know I could have delved a lot deeper as there is plenty more that could be discussed about botty burps and I intended to, I really did, but I need the loo and I didn’t think you’d appreciate reading a post you knew had been written while I was taking a dump.

Bye for now!

Mastication

This is a topic I hold dear to my heart and one so important to me I feel I must kick start my brand spanking new blog with it. Cool really too, considering it’s a topic about food.

I’m not certain why I haven’t written about it before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been able to stomatch it, the simple fact being the mere mention of the subject irritates the fuck out of me enough to want to punch someone right in the gullet, but I’m going to bravely wander into the matter (no, not that you dirty sod!) and deal with my fears and annoyances head on.

Here we go!

Mastication.

It’s a natural thing. We all have to do it. We learn it from an early age. Us mums and dads spend painful (and joyful!) minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years weaning our precious babies from freshly prepared, hand puréed, fruits and vegetables (or jars of foods if you’re a lazy bastard *snort!*…come on! It was a joke! Don’t get all defensive! You know there’s a little bit of can’t be arsed involved if you’re honest with yourself…I know there was with me when I reached for a jar of Heinz…babies don’t get to taste what you don’t put in their mouth after all) onto the chunky finger foods, including toast, crudités (that’s chopped up veg like carrots/peppers, et al) and onto full on meals that we all eat. It takes an age before we stop having at least one child gagging induced heart attack a day, but finally we stop staring at our babies while they eat and actually get to eat our own dinners before they turn stone cold.

Hopefully, somewhere along the way, alongside teaching correct table manners, you know, elbows off tables, cuttlery round the right way (fork on left, knife on right), not reaching across someone, not boulting their food down, eating slowly etc, someone will have taught them that it is polite to eat with their mouths shut and to not talk with their mouths full of food.

*sigh*

I heard an adult, lets call him ‘Retard’, say once,

“I eat with my mouth open because it lets more air into my mouth and makes the food taste better”.

My response?

“You’re rude and you’re a fucking cretin”.

In fact, I think my response was quite rude too, but I was so angry by that point that I was either going to prison for murder (I was ready to stab the arsehole for yamming on his dinner in my ear) or he was going to get a verbal slamming. I didn’t want to go to prison so he got the verbal. Fair dos I say.

Thing is, I don’t think it takes a huge amount of effort to eat with a bit of, hmmmmm, hush. Is it really necessary to smack your lips every time you eat something that tastes divine? Do you really have to suck the fuck out of your fingers just because they have some Kentucky Fucking Chicken left on them? I mean, Dude, ever heard of a wet wipe? Oh, and this is guarantee’d to grate on my tits every single time…

Peppers. You know, capsicums, bell peppers, red ones, orange ones, green and yellow, purple if they take your fancy. Eaten cooked, eaten raw. I love them (except the green ones, they’re wrong and should be illegal the bitter tasting bastards) though I’d certainly prefer it if other people would eat them cooked because then I wouldn’t hear them crunching on them. Peppers are meant to be cored and sliced, right? Everyone on this planet knows that, so DON’T. FUCKING. EAT. ONE. OF. THOSE. CUNTS. WHOLE. NEXT. TO. MY. EAR. UNLESS. YOU. WISH. TO. BE. STABBED. WITH. A. SPOON.

It’s a little bit annoying. They are NOT apples. Slice them up. Eat them prettily. Remember this mantra and you will be fine “Eat like a bird, not like a pig”.

Now, not everyone understands that people like me exist, but I promise there are more like me out there. It’s true. So, I’m going to help you by listing a few offending food stuffs and then I will help you out even further with detailing the ways to avoid being murdered and the hideous ways in which you might die if you eat these food stuffs with your mouth open (you rude mother fucker). But, really, if you eat like this, you don’t deserve to be helped, I’m simply giving people like me ideas on how to eradicate people like you from the planet, so, watch your back…hmmmmm!!

Offending Food Stuffs

Pringles

Crisps – of any kind. However, Pringles are in a league of their own because of their stackability. Guarantee’d to piss one off if you crunch them in any way. Mouth open, mouth closed. Avoid death by first sucking the flavour off of the crisp, then suck said crisp into a pulp and then swallow. Quietly.

Death by Potato Peeler – this won’t be a straightforward stabbing. Oh no, this will involve poking you in the gums and hooking out those pesky teeth that did the crunching of the crispies and making you wish so hard for death that you actually just may die. Or just wish you didn’t crunch the crisps.

Carrot

Raw Carrots – Christ Alive! If you DARE wrap your porcelains around one of these orange offenders near my audio receivers, you have got it coming to you BIG style. Obviously, I’m talking about whole raw carrots here, though you must still tread carefully with sliced, be them cut lengthways or widthways.

Death by Cheese Grater – Ooooooo, nasty way to go this one! We’ll show you how we prefer you to eat your carrots…grated food of any kind makes less mastication noise, but oh, how you will sing when its your bollocks (or cliteronion) being grated!

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Whole Peppers – Don’t. Just…don’t, mmmmk?

Death by a Proper Knife – you’ll actually be knifed, in the heart. Once. Probably twice. Cunt.

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Peanuts – noisy little buggers these. I suppose in way you can’t help but make noise either. So just don’t eat them at all. Simple really when you think about it. Pretend you have an allergy.

Death by Anaphylaxis – if you weren’t allergic to peanuts before you ate them, an allergy will be induced. With a pick axe. To the mouth.

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Popcorn – eeeeeeeeeek. This nasty, horrid, hellish stuff squeeks against teeth and it really gets on my tits. Plus it rattles in bags and boxes and its just generally awful. Though it does taste fucking awesome.

Death by Microwave – you’ll be put in a microwave, on full power, and cooked. POP-DI-PING!

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Anything sloppy – tricky one this. Covers mashed potatoes, yoghurts, porridge, ice cream…lots really. If you slurp it, or allow it to stick to your teeth, see the following outcome.

Death by Straw – no, not a bale of straw that’s found in a field (though this would be heavier and more useful for crushing someone in large quantities) but a straw used for drinking. Said straw will be inserted into the rectum and vast amounts or air pumped into the pumper until you burst.

So there we have it. You fuck me off when you eat like a bastard. Don’t do it or I’ll cut you up with a sharp crisp.

*edit*

BUT WAIT!!!

I have heard whispers I have missed a food stuff.

Shock horror! How can I have done this to my poor readers, especially the ones who share in my dislike, no my pure hatred of all things noisy in the mouth region?

I apologise and herewith broach the issue of…

celery

Celery – barely even a food. 99.9% water and the rest is probably dirty slug shit. These worthless sticks of pale green stiffness leave stringy bits in your teeth and taste as bitter as your granny’s fanny. Not that I’ve tasted your granny’s fanny *ahem*. With or without cream cheese squirted down the centre, these horrible fuckers are not allowed. Celery Soup however, is *slurp*.

Death by Celery Hearts – with the stalks chopped off, celery hearts make fucking good throwing implements. I have a good aim. The target is the back of your head.

Any further suggestions for food stuffs I have missed?

LEAVE ME A COMMENT!!!