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!