-10

i remember: farting

i have been a decent farter throughout my life, true i was no la petomane and never saw a career as a fartist, but i could let rip with the best of them. alas as with all things bodily as age draws on physical abilities wane and now i enjoy the farts but they are no longer humdingers.

there was the time at the london school of economics when after a particularly bad lunch that involved a salmon sandwich i was searching out an obscure article on sociology in the library. searching out the journals i was bending down to pick up a copy of the american journal of sociology i felt a rumble. standing up to check the contents page i felt the explosion and as i turned to the article i needed i puckered up my arse and let slip a note that miles davis would have been proud of. long, low and piercing.
relief.
pressure removed.
time to get back to the journal and the assignment in question.
oh my fucking good googly moogly what is that smell. it was like all the demons in hell had defecated on to a giant george foreman lean mean grilling machine and let is sizzle….
it was the most foul smell i had ever smelt, and there was a fleeting shame that this smell had come from me.
now the library was quite busy, and for anyone approaching the journals it would be so obvious that i had just let fly with eu du sewage. i did the only thing a sensible man could do: i legged it. the problem was it meant that i had to walk through the miasma that was my fart.
i went to the second floor and waited the smell out.

the next fart i did that was of a similar potency was years later when i was working in the warehouse. thanks to the interference of her majesty’s customs we would sometimes have to work a long night and have an early start. the joy of working late was the company stumped up for food. that meant a late night curry.
the next day was always a succession of lads letting fly with farts of varying sounds and smells. we were living in a benny hill show.
this particular day i was packing.
and i was farting.
all around me the lads were wilting and complaining. oh well i had to suffer their house music they had endure my arse music.

now i will have a little digression here. at this time our general manager was a posh rotund chap, who gave the impression that he was a captain of industry rather than the jumped up used car salesman that he had been (ok they had been classic used cars). aside from the bellowing blustering voice, the other thing that jd was noted for was his large hooter. jd was affectionately known as bnfc or big nosed fat cunt.

so there i was packing away. as soon as i packed a box i would slip a parp out. a few gasps from my fellow workers. their exclamations of horror would be met by an apologetic smile from me. slowly the lads either side of me moved as far as way from me as they could.
i continued packing.
another box was finished, at that point i let rip with a killer fart, it wasn’t loud but it did announce itself. it wafted out as a shock wave of smell. even as it exited me i felt a sense of pride. imagine my surprise as i heard the voice of bnfc wailing “good god what is that smell.” jd had walked straight into the slipstream of the fart his hooter had hoovered up more than a lungful of the pat perfume.
his normally ruddy face had taken on a little green sheen.
it was a moment of pure triumph for me.

it was also at the warehouse where i met maybank. he was one of the young lads who got the job because one of his mates also worked there. now maybank was notable for many things (i will forever be in his debt for the term “wankbank”) but he was probably most famous for his ability to drop farts that hans blik would have described as weapons of mass destruction. if saddam had known of the existence of maybank he would have kidnapped him and used him in experiments in order to discover to the ultimate in toxic warfare.
judging by what came out of his arse one could only believe that maybank was fed ripe road kill. he was at his worst in the early morning when he would just drop farts as if he was a b52 unloading over vietnam.
he once told a story of how he felt sorry for his mum who would wake him up in the morning by lifting up his duvet to catch a full face of his morning guffs.
just hearing that brought tears to my eyes.
as good as i was at farting i had to take my hat off to maybank (mainly to cover my nose).


but i can’t complain i have had many good years of cutting the cheese.