- Joined
- Apr 18, 2011
- Messages
- 1,086
- My XLR/V(s)
- 2009 XLR Crystal Red Metalic
This is just too funny to not post!
Like everything in life, farts havea time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place,flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it'sthe third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. IfGod destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans(that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five yearsago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That'swhen I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He likedme. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra,Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'mnot shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because Ididn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheelsand a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at therestaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. Ididn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry.Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoesthat he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened.Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shootingpains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, Itold Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in hisCobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn'thaving any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with abunch of tiny forks. Then I realized .
My God, help me. I have ahorrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, themore pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having toraise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
"Seriously, you needto hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad?What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man youjust started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you haveto fart?
Well, you can either tellhim, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There wasnothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was outof my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more itforced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was nosound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I gotaway with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. Ahorrific, fart cloud. Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort ofway. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I inhell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked."Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed itlike I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Robasked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down thewindows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's goingon?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ." then it hit him. Icould see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulateat the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down thewindows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. Iscratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable tosee either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipersinstead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We wereacting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, justnot by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hitthe right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air.I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on theman of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for therest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I nowdesperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to myapartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out,"Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" andran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door andran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and makenoises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob'svoice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left yourshoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to putthem?"
"Get away from thedoor!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
"Ok, I'm sorry. Areyou okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter**ungodly noise*
"I'm fine, Rob - justleave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sureyou're ."
"I'm fine! Get awayfrom the door!"
This man! I mean, I lovehim, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the frontdoor shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hearfrom him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after hescreams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did.A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's laying on the couchwhile I type this . "It was your rack that saved you," he justlovingly reminded me.
Well, thank youboobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
Like everything in life, farts havea time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place,flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it'sthe third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. IfGod destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans(that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five yearsago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That'swhen I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He likedme. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra,Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'mnot shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because Ididn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheelsand a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at therestaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. Ididn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry.Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoesthat he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened.Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shootingpains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, Itold Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in hisCobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn'thaving any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with abunch of tiny forks. Then I realized .
My God, help me. I have ahorrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, themore pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having toraise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
"Seriously, you needto hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad?What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man youjust started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you haveto fart?
Well, you can either tellhim, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There wasnothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was outof my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more itforced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was nosound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I gotaway with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. Ahorrific, fart cloud. Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort ofway. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I inhell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked."Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed itlike I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Robasked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down thewindows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's goingon?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ." then it hit him. Icould see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulateat the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down thewindows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. Iscratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable tosee either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipersinstead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We wereacting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, justnot by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hitthe right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air.I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on theman of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for therest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I nowdesperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to myapartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out,"Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" andran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door andran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and makenoises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob'svoice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left yourshoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to putthem?"
"Get away from thedoor!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
"Ok, I'm sorry. Areyou okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter**ungodly noise*
"I'm fine, Rob - justleave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sureyou're ."
"I'm fine! Get awayfrom the door!"
This man! I mean, I lovehim, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the frontdoor shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hearfrom him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after hescreams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did.A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's laying on the couchwhile I type this . "It was your rack that saved you," he justlovingly reminded me.
Well, thank youboobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
