Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire A fart story.

When I was a kid, I was combining oats in late summer, for my Uncle. I roaded the old John Deere combine back to his house and parked it, noting a dead bovine in his pasture, not a huge distance from his house. A day or two later, I was back at his farm, this time dumping off a blade from my Dad's tractor, that we'd borrowed. He had an old fenced in lot in back of his hog house that wasn't used anymore and the lot was now used for implement storage. I noted this string of something heading into the lot and back a ways. I followed it on foot and discovered my Uncle's dead Angus bull, all bloated up back there. It was the worst smell I've ever encountered. Dead stuff smells bad enough, but this was much worse for some reason. I didn't examine the bull but went back and took the blade off, managing to smash my finger with the three point hitch's upper arm. My nail came off and when it came back it grew in weird-looking, which it is to this day.

A couple of days later I talked to my cousin. He said my Uncle said the bull hadn't been struck by lightening (as anybody would figure) but had been killed. It had been mutilated. Somebody had taken the bull's testicles, scrotum and penis as well as a strip up where his horns would be, if he had been a horned breed. Some other stuff too. He had been drained of blood, so I don't know what the mysterious, stinking liquid was.

It was all done by coyotes, ravens, and ants. (He says sarcastically - not at EE, but at all those who know everything.)

College....Sunday mornings...after a Saturday night party...drinking copious Old Style...from a keg.

Farts can't get worse.

I was working at the solder factory. I'd only been there less than a year and already gotten myself up to my eyeballs in controversy. Luckily, it wasn't my fault. The owners gave me a break, and I got moved to Engineering for 2 years while they cleaned out the IT department. I was still on a 6-month probation in Engineering and needed to keep my nose clean at all costs.

One day, I was walking across the plant floor and got waylaid by intense abominable cramping. The closest restroom was the men's locker room. I headed there. Yikes! It was one of those trips that make you wish for a rope to hold onto. The gas was spectacular. I was on my 3rd flush when the bell went off at the end of shift, and everyone started piling in to change and go home. I'm back in the stalls, and I hear one guy after another start gagging. Finally, one guy had enough!

"Denny! You SOB! I'm sick and tired of this! This is your last $HI! you M@$@$ F#$@#! " My name's not Denny, btw.

It turns out the 1st shift supervisor was a bit of a prankster. Denny was known for farting prowess and frequently did things like farting in small conference rooms and out in the booth attached to the casting platform. Folks had obviously gotten tired of it-- this guy in particular. Mind you, I was a soft, squishy office type by comparison. These guys were some of the hardest men I ever worked with. I expected to get my soft squishy a$$ beat to a pulp. This guy got increasingly worked up and started pounding on the stall door. I finally decided that I was not getting anything done in the stall. It was time to take what was coming.

I think it was the uniform. If you worked on the floor you had the gray 100% cotton uniform with your name on it. I had those, but I was working in the office that week and worn the engineer's uniform that had a powder blue oxford cloth shirt. You had to wear 100% cotton if you were around the casters, because polyester burns easier and sticks to the skin. The blue uniform marked me as management, even though I wasn't. Anyhow, I brought my trousers up, tucked in and met my fate. I opened the stall door. Mind you, I'm 6'4" and this guy was rather small. I probably outweighed him by 75 lbs and was a head taller. I was probably going down, but it was going to be a tough chore for someone.

There were gasps from everyone. I was not Denny. I was just the new office schlump in Engineering. Most guys just turned away and acted like they were uninvolved. The guy who had been doing all the threatening fell limp. He was sure he was getting fired or getting his a$$ beat.

"I thought you were Denny," he said.

"Don't worry," I replied. "I really am sorry for the trouble for the cloud. I got caught short coming back from Aluminum."

From then on, work was filled with rumors of the big confrontation in the Men's Locker Room, and how I'd subdued the angry mob-- nothing of the sort, but when the legend is better than the truth and all that. They said I looked ready to kill. Denny came to me later and acknowledged that I was the new King of Farts, and he was stepping down. My guess is that he had pushed to the point where he really was going to get his a$$ beat if he let fly again. I acquired a strange kind of street cred in the plant that stuck with me for the next decade.

Just last week, I had a seconds on refried beans. Now I'm genetically designed to survive on beans but hadn't had any for a couple months. My wife had gone to bed and I'm laid back in my recliner. One of those electric recliners. Oh how convenient right?
So in full recline I let one fly and it felt a little heated, then the stench. I don't remember the last time I had to bail from my own fart. It turns out my wife had used the last of the battery power for the recliner. I'm trying to get out of the blast zone and I'm stuck. My feet are up, my head is up and my ass is in the bottom of the chair. It has kind of high arm rests and while it took a couple seconds to find my way out of the chair that won't decline, it took a lot longer than I wanted it to.
Next time I'll just sit on the couch.

My grandmother had an old dog who was prone to some of the vilest farts, their church was up the block from grandma's house and the pastor had to walk past it on his way back and forth from his home and the church. It was his custom to stop and visit every so often. well the dog headed straight for the preacher's lap just as soon as he sat down and proceeded to produce some of the nastiest gas. Grandma embarassed by this would try to coax the dog from the minster's lap, all the while the old gent was telling grandma of his love for animals.

That story really stunk . . .

I was 9 or 10, sitting in a small Baptist country church. 30-35 people, tops. I felt the pressure building. I pinched up. It built some more, I pinched up tighter. The hell fire & brimstone preacher was in one of those lulls, talking low, quiet & reverent. That meant one of 2 things he would then say; let us pray, or.... slam his hand down on the pulpit & scream out his point, the punch line I guess, & to wake the sleepers of the crowd.

I had a 50/50 chance. He said; let us pray. How could it have gotten any quieter in there?

The pressure started leaking, I could pinch up no tighter, or so I thought. It came out a fairly high pitched squeal amplified buy the thin wooden pew. I pinched up tighter still. That just made it louder, the pitch higher & prolonged it. My red faced mother looks at me & continuing to get redder as I continued to fart. She tuned nearly purple & tears started to well, both hers & mine. I just knew the old man was about to slap the taste out of my mouth. He never blinked or even looked my way. Quite possibly the longest, loudest fart I've let in my life. And trust me, that's sayin something.

I didn't get a whipping, but it was a long assed 9 mile ride home & getting yelled at all the way. Mother said she'd never been so embarrassed in her life, & dad said boy, if you didn't look so much like me, I'd swear you wasn't mine.

A while back we were doing the flooring in a dave and busters at the mall. I took my bottle of liquid ass and spray in the area of the two sets of doors you had to walk through to enter the mall, provided for some good entertainment.

Used to have one of those little gag devices that would emit loud fart noises, had lots of fun with that in different situations.

College. Summer class, Intro to Thermodynamics. I had a test that day, and had also eaten a salad bowl full of oats for breakfast. Normally I would try and wait until after class to pass the gas. But...

I was sitting in the back row, the guy directly in front of me starts reading the test without passing one back! 30 seconds or more, finally passes it back. Halfway through the test the pressure builds, well it is Intro to Thermo right? I scoot to the edge of the seat and ease one out. The guy in front of me acts like someone hit him with a shovel. Stiffens up, jerks his head back and forth, makes little whimpering sounds. I am dying laughing (on the inside, the Professor is a hard ass), the scent dissipates, I hit him a couple more times before it was all over, same reaction every time. Dude never sat in front of me again.

At work one day with a mixed group of people. The topic of "The oldest trick in the book" was being discussed.

After several different suggestions, I asked someone to "pull my finger". Nobody took the bait.

One old gal, who was very sweet, but naive as hell, didn't get the joke. When we explained cause and effect, She believed it was true. We started giggling.

She continued going on and on about how when you are bloated and gassy that little trick could come in mighty handy. We started laughing.

During our laughter, someone accidentally farted. Everyone just roared louder.

Good times. Nice lady. She was a pretty good sport about it.

Had a third-grade student - very quiet little blond guy. One day while the class was taking a test he gave a soft little cough. This was followed by a series of coughs that increased in frequency and volume as he tried to clear his throat of some small irritant. Everyone stopped working on the test to see how this played out. He finally gave one last, loud cough that got the job done. Unfortunately, his effort also produced a resounding fart that pretty much rattled the windows and blew test papers off of desks. We all tried, unsuccessfully, to contain ourselves.

A few months ago my son was working part-time at the post office. One night he dropped a bad fart and they spent the next 20 minutes discussing whether they needed to call in the hazardous waste team to do an investigation. He finally fessed up because they were seriously considering shutting the location.

I've done electrical work at Intel for close to 40 years off and on as contracts came up with the contractors I worked for at the time.

We were working in a clean room installing some equipment and they had just installed the "Sniffers" in this area. They use a lot of very dangerous gases and chemicals at Intel, so the sniffers would sample the air and sound an alarm if something hazardous was detected. One of the guys was working close to a sniffer and they hadn't warned us they were being turned on that day. He cuts this outrageous fart and within 30 seconds there was hazardous waste response team at our location all suited up in bunny suits with emergency equipment, first aid kits designed for specialty gas inhalation, etc... they were pretty pissed when they realized it was just a fart....

A couple of stinky stories:

When I was a teenager my father and I were playing pool at a friend's house with his dad. I developed and expelled the worst smelling little silent burps. Talk about a rotten egg smell!!! To this day I have no idea what caused it but it was BAD and cut short what would have been a good evening. I thought there was something terribly wrong with me.

One of my good friends told me a funny story of when he was dating his now wife and they attended a contra line dance (the things we do when courting). He had some bean (I think lentil) meal that left him in a gassy way. He told of how he let a real vile one go as they were dancing in a circle and he noted the expressions of the other dancers as they moved thru his invisible cloud of stench. I was in stitches as he mimicked the facial expressions of the other dancers as they went from big smiles to twisted faces of disgust.The beauty of that situation is you have plenty of moving people so no one has a clue who did it. Since he was with his girl he wasn't going to fess up.

two words

gun show

Lmao. I wonder if “NASCAR Guy” was related to Sgt Belcher.
When I was in the Army, I was a 3rd shop mechanic. We’d quit about 4:45 and get cleaned up and put on our BDUs to head home. We weren’t allowed to leave the shop before COB (close of business) at 1700. (5:00 pm)
There was a little hallway between offices, where we’d stand and talk, waiting for the clock to hit 5. Sgt Belcher was our NCO.
So we’d be standing there, BSing, waiting on the clock, andBelcher would let one rip. God, I think the man ate possums smothered in buzzard gravy! They was usually the SBD type, so you didn’t know it was coming.
Suddenly, someone would start gagging and bitching. About then, it’d hit the rest of us. We’d clear the hall, back into the locker room. Belcher would stand there laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
I can still see him standing there laughing, the paint peeling from the walls, and the rest of us running away!
7mm