I was not the perpetrator in this one, I was the victim. The time period was sometime in the mid to late 90s. I was visiting a buddy who was enrolled in college at Northern Kentucky University.

For those unfamiliar with Northern Kentucky University (which basically means everyone), it is a relatively small state college in a wide spot in the road, near the Kentucky suburbs of Cincinnati. The college is really only memorable for one unfortunate feature - the campus buildings must have been designed by the same Soviet architects who built all of those Moscow apartment buildings you used to see in cold war spy movies. Back then at least, every campus building was a gray slab of concrete with a few occasional windows randomly sprinkled in. It is the most depressing college campus I've ever seen. I have no idea how the student population manages to keep from offing themselves in that horrible environment.

But I digress. This story is not about schitty architecture. It is about the worst fart in the world.

My buddy and I were going to go eat dinner and grab a couple of beers, but he wanted to run by Blockbuster on the way (this was the 90s, remember). Why? I have no memory of why. We weren't going to watch a movie so I really don't know why we ran into a Blockbuster. I think he may have been perving on one of the chicks working the counter but really can't remember. So anyway, my friend wants to go in this Blockbuster and I wander in as well, and am aimlessly browsing through the shelves. My buddy and I were the only two people in the store, except for Nascar Guy.

Nascar Guy stood out as odd to me from the moment I saw him. Like me, he was rambling around the shelves of movies. What struck me as odd was he was all alone, looked kind of disheveled (his hair was greasy and messed up), and he was wearing the oddest jacket. This is the 90s, remember, and Nascar was at the height of its popularity.

Nascar Guy was wearing some kind of promotional racing jacket; something like would be given away by Nascar for winning a contest, or something a fan would pay a fortune for at a trackside souvenir shop. It had a driver's name and car number on it. I can't remember who the driver was, but his sponsor was, of all things, a furniture store.

At the time it struck me as a ridiculous thing to wear and think you were cool in - a Nascar jacket that advertised a fugging furniture store? So, Nascar Guy stuck out in this Blockbuster like the proverbial turd in the punchbowl. But what came next was sure to burn Nascar Guy into my memory until the day I die.

While wandering around the shelves, without really meaning to, I ended up in the same aisle as Nascar Guy. I paused to look at a movie, about ten feet away from Nascar Guy. While looking at a movie, I noticed in my peripheral vision that Nascar Guy very suddenly made for the exit and left the store. I didn't think much about it, and continued browsing down the aisle.

And that's when it hit me. Let's say you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Now, let's say you spend an entire week drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and eating pickled eggs and baked beans. And then as a final touch, you eat an entire sausage and onion Pan Pizza from Pizza Hut. If you did all of this and then farted, it would still only be about a tenth as bad as what Nascar Guy left behind for me in the aisle of that Blockbuster. It was the worst smell from a still-living creature I have ever encountered.

I grew up on a hardscrabble hog and cattle farm, and have been literally knee-deep in warm pigshit on several occasions. I have had the rotted, liquified guts of a dead cow spill out of its mouth and fill my Wellington boots to the tops before I was a teenager. Nasty smells don't bother me. Except this one did.

My eyes watered and I started to gag. I ran for the exit, about to vomit. My buddy who was up front near the checkout counter (I really do think he was hitting on the counter girl, more I think about it) followed me out and asked what the hell was wrong. I told him, in between gagging fits, that Nascar Guy shat out the worst fart in the world on me back there in the aisle of the store.

Nascar Guy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was behind the store, squatting down and schitting nuclear waste beside the dumpster. Maybe he made it to a car and raced for the nearest emergency room. I don't know, but I have never forgot the present that he left for me in that fugging Blockbuster.

And that, gentlemen, was the day that I stopped being a Nascar fan.

Signs of Terminal Flatulence..........

peeling wall paper and plaster in the bathroom,

localized cloud formations,

lack of friends and acquaintances,

unaccountable pet deaths..........

TF, it's not to be sniffed at.

(Courtesy of National Lampoon, circa 1970)

ya!

GWB

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 thanks for the funny story.

I looked it up - in 1999, Michael Waltrip was sponsored by Klaussner Furniture

during that time period other drivers drove the Cheerios car, the Cartoon Network car and some equally interesting sponsors.

The little company I was working for was one of the sponsors for Jeff Gordon and Terry Labonte. I didn't even realize it back then.

Little company?

a good fart never hurt anyone. i'd bet you puke when gutting a deer.

Nah dressing a deer doesn't bother me. This was a special kind of hellish scent. Imagine a really, really bad sulfur rotten-egg smell, ramped up with the smell of fresh diarrhea and bad BO, and you will get close to it. And imagine being ambushed out of the blue by it, which was probably the worst part.

There was something seriously wrong with that guy.

I've stumbled into isles at the store that were uninhabitable, but nothing such as you've described.😂

I dunno about the worst, deadliest farts in the world, but my squadron had its own little gedunk (something like a broom closet transformed into a snack bar) where some brilliant soul decided it would be good to make pickled boiled eggs available for a quarter. I don't know how many of these things some of my squadron mates would eat, but I know they could run some salty old farts out the door and down the ladder of a P-3C.

Not all farts are bad. Heavily loaded chopper attempting to make a takeoff after picking up wounded in a hover hole in the trees. Probably 10-15% over gross on a hot day, hot meaning temperature and hostile fire. Everything was redlined and we were just light on the skids, so I farted, big time. We went upward like a winged chariot. Rocket propulsion has its place.

It sounds like that fart was capable of driving a lame badger out of it's hole from 50 yards.

The wife and I were grocery shopping at Walmart when the pain hit me, so I went down the frozen food aisle, where I was the only shopper, and let her rip. It would have gagged a maggot. As I was walking away, a Black women with a flock of kids came down the aisle and I heard her say..........."whew chilluns, somethings spiled (spoiled) in here".

Something indeed was "spiled" in there, but it was nothing from the freezers.

I remember as a young teen when us three kids were still at home. My older brother exited the bathroom and nudged my elbow with a "watch this" look. He calmly asked my sister if she had spilled perfume in the bathroom. Curious, she walked in. Took a deep breath and turned green. As a thirteen year old, I thought it was about the funniest thing I had seen in my lifetime.

Ha...he “crop dusted” you. I do it to my wife all the time in the house. Then she starts throwing things at me,

Haha that reminds me of my cousin who is 2 years older than me and 3 years older than his younger brother. Older brother farted a raunchy one into a pringles can and quickly put the lid back on. Then he walked into the TV room and asks his brother to smell the pringles as they didn't smell right.

The look of pure horror on that kids face and the subsequent gag / shriek noise that came out of him will make me laugh out loud every time I think about it!

as in they let us put our logo on his A Pillar of their cars, not on the hood. I think they cut a break because we designed their cars

Had a friend who had a penchant for farting in bed and then pulling the covers up over his wife's head.

Also, one time they were working on their income taxes at the kitchen table. Wife was deep in thought. Friend let fly a blast that reverberated for a couple of seconds off the seat of the wooden kitchen chair. Wife, broken from her reverie, got up and went to answer the door.

As a college student many years ago, I got a summer intern job covering the supervision of a small plating department while the regulars took their vacations over the summer. I was the youngest there, responsible for "supervising" some pretty "real" guys. I learned quickly that to get good work from them I needed to tolerate certain things. One of those things, unfortunately, was from a long-termer whose daily lunch was pepper sandwiches. His lunch box was full of them - bread, mayonaise, and home-grown peppers. He thought he could get to me by eating them in my small office/lab and stay until he cut a good one, after which he promptly left the office. I knew I had to find a way to deal with it, since they were all in on it, expecting me to act like a young gun and throw a fit. Once I'd paid my dues and he learned I could handle it, things went pretty well. I even got the job the next summer as well.

I've told this before, so I apologize, but I love to tell it.

We had a cat who lived in the house when anyone was home, outside when no one was. He loved to sleep lying on his back, behind the sofa, propped up between it and the wall. He also loved liver. Local grocer used to have a "dig through it for scraps for your pet" box (stuff that sells for $5.00 a pound now). Dad was in on a Saturday night and noticed a chunk of liver that had outlived its meat case life in the box. Took it home for the cat. Cat was in ecstasy. Moving ahead a day to Sunday night. Folks had people over after vespers for cake and coffee. Living room filled with people balancing dessert plates on their knees drinking coffee. Cat (unbeknownst to assembled multitude) snoozing away behind the couch. Air suddenly filled with what I swear was some sort of yellow/green mist permeated with smells guaranteed to knock a flock of buzzards off a tchsidt wagon. Straight-laced people all sitting around attempting to breathe through their mouths (if at all), wondering which of their fellow congregation members was capable of such stupendous effort. Dad, entering from the kitchen with the coffee pot, instantly assesses the situation, marches over and reaches behind the couch, grabs cat by scruff of neck, spins, opens front door, tosses cat into the night, and goes about dispensing coffee. No one laughed nor mentioned anything out of the ordinary about the whole situation.

Oh geez, the fart stories- I could tell them all day long.....

One time I was shopping in the local BiMart and I had to use their public restroom. So, as I'm going in the door, a kid about 10 years old comes in right behind me. As I sit down on the throne I can hear the kid tinkling in the urinal and I start one of the longest, squeakiest farts the world has ever known... must have gone on for at least 10-15 seconds. I was so impressed I didn't even realize the kid at the urinal was laughing so hard he almost fell on the floor. That darned kid was laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to hurt himself and I was going to get the blame . Can you imagine the conversation?
So, "the kid" walks out of the restroom still laughing his ass off and I finish my call of nature about 10 minutes later. After washing up and buckling my pants at a leisurely pace I walk out of the bathroom and I can still hear that kid laughing all the way across the store somewhere. Haunts me to this day....

Bob

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