Apologies in advance for the scatological nature of this post but sometimes you just have to deal with the crap as it hits you.
OK. I’ll just come out and say it. I seem to be retaining more wind as I get older. Or generating more wind. One of the two. Maybe even both.
Now I don’t want to give the impression that I am someone who drops their guts at the, er, drop of a hat. Because I am not. I am, in fact, legendary in my house for not farting. My butt is, by and large, a smokeless zone.
Tight as a steel drum. The Royal seal unbroken.
This is great. Because when someone drops a 10lb silent but deadly in my house no one dreams of accusing me of doing it because, well, hell would freeze over first.
There is a downside though.
See, I still produce gas. The methane seams are still there and rich in ore. The pressure has to be released at some point.
My wife, Karen, says I just save it all up for “proper” toilet visits.
And this is true.
Prior to the main performance the orchestra will tune itself up nicely and noisily – wind instruments first – and a great trumpeting clarion call will signify the commencement of the William Tell Overture.
I swear to God I could probably play a trumpet with my butt and hold a single note for a good 10 minutes.
And the older I get the longer the duration of the air exchange seems to get.
This is fine when I am at home. When the kids and the wife are busy downstairs and are deafened by the sounds of life. It is not so fine when I am in the toilets at work. Because at work I prefer to run on silent. It’s like an unspoken rule. Processes of the bum shall be neither seen nor heard. It is a brave man indeed who lets his ack-ack gun blaze away in earshot of his work colleagues and cares not a jot who hears.
I am not that man. Which makes my ability to store up vast quantities of methane gas a distinct disadvantage.
What I need, people, is for someone to invent a bum silencer or a butt muffler. Like the kind of thing assassins attach to their long range rifles so they may do their nefarious deeds without alerting anyone to their presence.
It needs to attach with an air-tight seal but be non-invasive.
It needs to be easy to clean and portable. The kind of thing one could keep in a man-bag (or even a handbag) without arousing smirking curiosity.
It needs to be affordable.
So. All you inventors out there. Consider yourself duly commissioned. Think outside the box. Have some fun.
Even better: have a blast.
So that, unbeknownst to my work colleagues, I can have one too.
Simultaneous coughing and flushing are my best suggestions. Followed by, buy an accordian and pretend that you are practicing in the bathroom stall. You could end up with a part in the next Riverdance performance.
English Rider: when I'm straining on the throne the last thing I want to be thinking about is river dancing or moving my legs that quickly.
Pregnancy also deals the same fate sadly. Thankfully, I don't have to use public loos that often so only my husband gets to hear my brass band of an arse tuning up. You have my sympathies.
Very Bored in Catalunya: it sounds like I have your music score too.
I think in Japan they have invented something that plays music as soon as you sit on the loo to 'hide' any noises.
Although from where I am it would seem to defeat the purpose as it just announces to everyone that you are busy about your business.
As long as you wash your hands properly afterwards, I really do not care!
LCM: does it play requests? I'd quite like "Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!" or maybe if I was feeling particularly high brow the 1812 overture.
Gosh, had a very similar conversation yesterday!
My Pa always says, if he has farted, 'better an empty house than a bad tenant..' or 'one less pound in the doctors pocket..'
Around these parts, we don't hold them in at home, but at work? ooh that can be a strain sometimes...can you take up loud whistling??
Libby: take up loud whistling? Yes, but only if I cross my legs together very tightly.
Get one of those party horns, stick the lip-end up your sphincter and blow out all the gas in one big whoopee. No one minds an old fart who reminds them of their birthday.
Gorilla Bananas: that could work... provided I could disguise the accompanying odour.
I reckon farting in the bog at work is sign of true self confidence. Go loud, go loud.
Mark: do I get extra points if I do it on my bosses swivel chair (while he's still sitting on it)?
Some random let one go on the bus this morning on the way into work it was gross and you could see the people looking around trying to see who it was :)
Reminds me of verses of
'The Good Ship Venus'...
'He could play anything from God Save the King to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata'
Go for it, Steve...give them some culture!
I've often pondered on why Rossini isn't my favourite composer and now I know the reason! By the way, playing a trumpet in such a manner is known as extended vocal technique!!
Well since you hate them anyway, I'd go loud and proud and to hell with them all.
Vicky: ah, the old drive-by pootin'.... that's a classic.
The fly in the web: I may have to start insuring my instrument...
TimeWarden: if I extend my vocal technique anymore I'll need a colostomy bag.
Heather: it would be the ultimate critique, wouldn't it?
May I suggest this:
Have you seen THUNDERPANTS ? The very device is exhibited therein.
Or may I suggest applying for a wind farm grant for your nether regions. Then your emissions, far from being an embarrassment, could run a few dozen office laptops and you would be a double blessing to your fellow workers.
I just stumbled in here, have nothing to add, except that after reading your post and the comments, I have tears in my eyes from laughing so much!
Trish: nice. Potpourri underpants. Wonder if they do chocolate flavour?
Keith: Thunderpants? Is that the one with Rupert Grint being very BBC English? I haven't seen it but have seen the trailers. I will now need to acquire purely for research purposes.
Stickup Artist: I'm perversely pleased that my guff has made you cry...! ;-)
Swallow a bottle of Poo~Pourri bathroom spray. Then when you fart in front of the wife you'll come up smelling of roses.
Marginalia: should make for interesting confetti too...
You and Pepper. Mind you, my old dog is about 124 in human years, so she's got a good excuse I suppose.
As ever, I leave your blog confused as to whether you are a gentleman or... not. Proper toilet visits, my my, how polite.
Being Me: let's clear up any confusion right now. I am most definitely not a gentleman.
I think you just need a box of matches. Exhale and light. The sight should shock everyone into avoiding you at delicate moments.
Nota Bene: with the added advantage that I'll be able to watch the earth-rise from the surface of the moon. Thank you.
Have you tried a harmonica? You could play the blues as you turn the air green, failing that just save it all up and then next party you have you can be in charge of filling those annoying Chinese lantern things...parp!
Joe: a harmonica? I reckon I could power a church organ. Which has got me thinking... maybe there's some money to be made here. I could hire myself out as a wind farm.
The list of labels following your post made me laugh as much as the post!
Fran: the label that I always laugh at the most is "don't boil wash". Like these people have even seen my underpants!
Okay…in for a penny in for a pound –
a) The simple approach – Plausible deniability – Enter WC booth. Stick fingers in ears. Close eyes tightly and eject eject eject. Exit booth. Wash hands. Plausibly deny having heard anything whatsoever to co boggers present.
b) The lockout approach – Place an ‘out of use’ sign on toilet door - Enter toilet – check you’re alone – ram a small wooden wedge under bottom of door – enter WC booth and indulge yourself with great gusto and gay abandon whilst drinking a good coffee.
c) The insertion approach – Enter WC and booth – Insert a ‘pea whistle’ up your annus horribilis – put fingers in ears again for reasons of safety and…squeeeeze a really long shrill one out.
d) Insertion approach 2 – Ditto most of above but change pea whistle for a dog whistle – when done, leg it outside and try counting how many barking dogs you can hear in the neighbourhood.
e) The personalised ringtone approach – pre-record your loudest and longest onto your mobile phone as your latest incoming call ring tone – give it a week for everyone in the office to get used to your latest vulgar sounding ring tone – enter WC & booth and let rip with your best work – then simply pretend to start talking to your wife on the phone – as a precaution, be sure to set your phone to ‘silent’…just in case your wife really does call you. A sudden symphony of stereo farting coming from your WC booth might take some explaining to your audience.
f) The Islamic disguise approach – covertly slip into a full body and face ‘Burka’ – glide silently into the ladies toilet and enter a booth – brace yourself and ‘unleash hell’ – exit booth – bow respectfully to incredulous female boggers and say “Praise be to Allah” in a convincing girly voice – leave toilet and remember to shed Burka again.
g) The 'get another job!! approach' – get another better paid job!! in any endoscopy department of any hospital – the staff of these departments are completely immune to the sounds and various odours caused by loud and uncontrollable flatulence, so at last you will be truly amongst your most worthy of company as well as a better class of workmate peerage.
Phil: b,e,f,g definitely work for me. And for Roald Dahl too... wasn't that the title of one his books?
*snort* Okay Steve. I just totally choked on my coke here. I'm sending you and your trumpet butt a pair of 100% guaranteed Fart Absorbing Underwear. Overnight.
Let me know how it all comes out...
Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip: they've inflated like a pair of water wings. My wife is hooking them up to the gas fire.
Post a Comment