I had a conversation last week with a friend about farts.
Being a guy, I believe farts are rather funny. But there's a really fine line between humor and torture. One or two farts once in a while are funny, especially when you set a methane detector off at a coal mine, or you let one rip next to the octogenarian in the supermarket, or the old "Pull my finger" gag on my niece.
But the time when you cross that line it's not funny anymore. Like if you've got a two hour dive to Charleston and your passenger is ripping them out so bad your child who is clogged up with a nasal infection asleep on the back seat of the car is awakened by the stench...
I've only known two people in my life like that. The first one was my partner on the PD, who could drink a glass of water and get the nastiest smelling farts ever and my ex-wife, who I swear would fart to put to shame most guys... And LOUD... Her farts would trigger seismographs half-way around the world. The cats would run away not to be seen for days and the dogs would beg to go outside in a blizzard. I swear it was like something crawled up inside them and died. I never knew such noxious and poisonous vapors could emanate from one's ass in such a copious and endless amounts. But in spite of that fact, I still rode around eight to ten hours a day in a patrol car with him, and against my better judgment still married her.
It was that bad. Making your eyes water and the paint peel off the walls bad. I was trying to come up with ways to bottle that stench and sell it to the military, but I dropped the idea because I was afraid of being arrested by the International Court and being tried for crimes against humanity.
My partner would pull this shit on me for laughs. He thought it was funnier that hell. He'd stand next to me at roll call and whisper in my ear...
"Guess what I had for lunch today... I went to Taco Bell... I love those double bean burritos..."
One night we're cruising up the avenue. It's in the middle of February and it's cold... Really cold. All the windows rolled up and the heater set on "Broil" cold...
I hear a low, almost silent "Prweeet" and my partner giggling...
This green mist envelops the car... I lock up the brakes and as I'm leaning out the open driver's side door dry-heaving in the middle of an intersection, I hear my partner pissing himself laughing.
We'd go into Denny's for lunch. What would he order?
"I'll have the Tuna Melt Supreme and coffee.."
What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me? I actually gave him a econo-sized bottle of Beano one year for Christmas. This went on for the eight years he was my partner. It was even worse when he'd been drinking. I almost started to carry a gas mask with me on patrol.
At least I didn't have to sleep with him. My ex on the other hand felt that was the best time to torture me. Either in bed or some other place I couldn't escape from readily, like the shower or other small enclosed areas in the house where I'd happen to be. And she was proud of them.
So farts can be funny or they can be a torture device. They can be embarrassing too... I was trying to be romantic one night... Kissing goodnight and holding a lady friend after a nice evening, the moonlight shimmering off her golden hair, that little sparkle in her deep blue eyes...
Then, out of the blue...
"Oh, gee Tom. That's romantic..."
A perfect moment ruined by uncontrolled flatulence.
So they can be a double-edged sword. On one hand a source or mirth, and on the other a deadly toxin in the form of methane gas sure to singe eyebrows, destroy delicate mucus membranes... Cause global warming and an irreversible greenhouse effect...
That I'm positive that both my ex-wife and partner are both responsible for. All the cars and other polluters in the world won't even come close to the toxic vapors I inhaled over the course of the last twenty or so years that emanated from their bowels. Both their asses should be EPA Superfund sites. The Kyoto Protocol should be renamed the "Two Asses Treaty" on greenhouse gases in honor of those two.
I fart. Everyone farts. It's just that some people's farts smell worse that some others.
And of course we all know my shit doesn't stink... Now where did I put those pickled eggs and beer?
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden