Acute Flatulent Technique
Written by Fletcher “ Butchwax” Ferguson
Having a reputation for processing a skill is one thing. Consideration as a talented athlete or craftsman is a note worthy honor. Rising to an elite or professional rank puts one in the highest significant percentile. If in fact, farting was a professional sport, I would have been inducted into the hall of fame long ago. In my minds eye, I should have been and according to those who have a nose for such skill admittedly agree. I am or was a professional farter. A skill, that unlike most older men, has dissipated with age. Primarily due to a trendy change to an almost ubiquitous organic diet including the drinking of raw milk. This diet change has permanently placed me on the disabled list and forced me into early retirement.
Holding a social faux pas world record carries with it an automatic degree of respect. I am the only person known in my wide circle of influence to have cleared out an entire section of spectators at an outdoor, open air, division one football game. Unfortunately, there was no wind that day. Had there been just a gentle breeze the devastation would have spread around a good third of the lower level. Twice in an outdoor setting, I have induced asthma attacks in previously undiagnosed victims, at a world record distance. You got to catch the wind just right in those circumstances.
In order to be considered a pro, one must be able to fart on demand. Not always for entertainment sake, but for the cause and effect results a well timed fart can have, say… during an argument with you wife for example. Another classic skill is to fart with directional auditory volume and skillfully blame it on someone else. Kind of like anal ventriloquism. Like the time I was in line behind a troublesome older female customer at the grocery store. “God lady change your diaper.”
Crowded parties are my favorites. Mingling in an uncomfortable social situation puts my game in high gear. Not only could I saddle up on a unsuspecting sole, I could change flavors and cause a multitude of suspects to be considered. On one occasion there were so many different retched plagues released from my sphincter, the caterer was blamed, for it was concluded by the many guests that the food caused the malady.
Quality farts when used to entertain or torture my three boys should not go without mentioning. After saying prayers and a sincere good night hug and kiss. There’s nothing like hearing the combined complaining laughter heard after closing the door behind a loving wisp of methane. They would be forced to get up in the dead of winter open the windows and turn on a floor fan they kept handy for just that sort of bed time story.
Hall of fame farts, I have had many. The three epic farts that I care to share with the readers of this manuscript credit me as Worlds Greatest. Each of these single efforts have unique features to them and could be classified as new life forms do to their residual residency.
Several years ago I was asked to be a stand in for a buddy who had entered a drawing for a brand new Chevy Malibu. The catch was that he had to sit in the car with six other people until only one person remained, resulting in that person winning a new car. My friend needed a car badly and was acutely aware of my rare skills. I sat in the back seat with three woman. I just had to out last the other contestants. There were no bathroom room breaks allowed.
I sized up my competition. One of the women, a house wife and mother of three, had experience with diapers which gave her a strong tolerance of odors. The practical nurse might be able to with stand a certain amount of methane, but the female mortuary employee looked to be the toughest of the three women.
The other male competitors, sitting in the front seat consisted of an elderly gentlemen of eighty some. A Mexican American plumber, and a male librarian.
My pre game meal was comprised of a couple of healthy stewed cabbage quarters, some raw broccoli, a refried bean dirty rice pilaf, six pickled eggs, followed up by a quart of milk. The milk was a risk, as bladder concerns might cause me to exit the car prematurely. I didn’t think it would take me that long. We were in the car a good hour when the build up of methane began collecting in my descending colon. Now an average person can produce one to three pints of methane a day. I could hold better than a pint in my colon and release all of it at a given moment. I had to time this perfectly. I needed to release the effort right after one of the other competitors slipped one out that got the attention of the olfactory senses. I waited for just such an opportunity. As the amateur’s methane caused some mild discomfort and before the affected could recover I passed a pint or better. The competition was over as my six competitors fled the scene due to their inability to breathe.The only real draw back of the strategy was that my buddy’s wife could not deal with the remaining odor the car held. Thus, he was forced to sell it at far below the market value for the same odd reason.
The second world class effort occurred at a poker tournament in Reno, Nevada. I was a member of a professional business organization that held a yearly poker game for charity. The 700 members stayed at a large high rise hotel. The entry fee was one hundred dollars. Each player had fifty dollars in chips to start the tourney. The game was Texas Hold-em. There was a simple elimination process. After two hours at a table who ever had the most chips advanced to the next round. That winner took every one’s chips at the table with him. The place winner’s received the proceeds in the form of a tax deductions to a charity of their choosing. All in all a fun weekend.
On this particular year I had managed to make the quarter final round. During the games when the appropriate number of competitors were reached the ante went up as did the maximum bet. Now at the end of the time period, the top three at each table plus the best fourth in the bracket, advanced to the semis. The time limit was strictly enforced. Maintaining a constant vigilance I determined that I was in the top three positions and easily made it to the semi final. In the semi’s I was again successful achieving top three status and I advanced to the final table. At the final table I had to fall back on a very devilish tactic. I had won a pot that put me in the chip lead, when it was my turn to deal and the bet came a round to me I went all in and before I could be called by any other player, I immediately farted, clearing the room. The room remained void of any players other than myself, until the time period elapsed. The judges adhering to the rules were forced to award me the winning hand and thus the tournament.
The two prior efforts were deliberately planned premeditated acts, executed with perfection. The last hall of fame effort I am sharing with you was purely an accident, having not intended to be the cause of the utter chaos that followed my ill timed release.
The personal training client I was seeing was the most high and mighty of all the residents in a 36 story condominium that was home to a collection of retired multi-multi millionaires. She was the matriarch of the building. Of course any one that she used as a personal trainer would in fact be the “must have” if nothing else than for a one up’s on the person they were bragging to. Accordingly, I was well known through the building and I knew most of the residents by their first name.
On this particular morning I had finished with the old she boar and was making my way down the elevator. I had been holding in the plumes of methane that collected during the course of the work out. Because it was early and I never ran into any one at this hour say for the security guard Gary who was most likely at his post and due to the fact that I had reached my storage capacity I released the beast. Just as I had completed the lengthy project and as I was just catching a whiff of what appeared to have been a real paint peeler the elevator door opened.
To my surprise there stood the old Korean women with her walker. The old Korean woman was a very nice lady that lived with her daughter and son-in-law who was a famous cardio vascular surgeon. They lived in one of the four, three floor penthouses the building had. The old girl got in, just smiled at me as I quickly exited the elevator. About the time he door was closing --it hit her. I could hear, as well as Gary the guard, what sounded like muffled but displeased Korean poignant commentary. Keen eyed Gary caught my grin and asked what was so funny. I told him. He was laughing and drawing the possible domino effects that might result, i.e. someone else is getting on the elevator thinking she did it-- when the phone rang at the front desk.
It was another resident of the penthouse cluster that had discovered the fainted old Korean woman on the thirty-fourth floor. Her comment to Gary over the house phone was, “we need an ambulance and a maintenance person up here.” It seems there was an awful sewer gas emitting from the elevator and Mrs. Wong had passed out.” Gary, barely able to control his laughter, looked at me and said you better go and you better be glad that the old women can’t speak English. I left thinking proudly of the two milestones; a fart that caused a woman to actually faint and the fact it had traveled thirty-four floors and still packed a punch upon arrival. Worthy.
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