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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74778 - 12/24/06 03:56 PM

Dabs story...


To The Bottom Of My Sole

Once was right before I got married. There were about 8 couples camping at one of the guys in-laws. It was the 4th of July weekend and we were frying fish and fishing and whatnot along with beer and more beer. The tents were set up in the backyard basically.

I am a woods shitter in the fact that just about everytime I go to the timber it is a laxative and just like griff, there is something about being with nature that just seems tranquill.

Well, it just couldn't be this time around. We had been eating fish and fresh tomatoes and potatoes and pickled eggs and hot peppers along with the beer and then went to bed. It hit me in the middle of the night and probably was the third wave and the first two didn't register in my drunkin stage. Anyway, as soon as I woke up I knew it was situation critical. I jumped up and the way the tents were arranged I could either run past all the tents and 75 more yards to the timber or I could head for the walk-in door to the unfinished basement where there was an indoor shitter. It wasn't no choice and here I go for the basement. For those of you who know me, I apologize for this but it is just me in a pair of fruit of the looms and flip flops.

I get down the steps and turn the knob on the door and it opens.....I am on the home stretch!!! About 3 steps inside the door the tomatoes can't take bein trapped no more and here comes wave number one. There aint one bit of solidness to the event and I think there was chit water shooting through my underwear. It was shootin out the back, running down my leg and I still thought I could make it for a finale at the toilet. I was wrong.

I ended up standing in the basement looking back at the door which seemed like 50 feet away and a chit trail across the concrete floor.

It was then it dawned on me that chit had ran down so far it was even between the bottom of my feet and the flip-flops.

I took the flip flops off and douched them in the toilet and then stuck my feet in the toilet water the best I could and got the front of them yet. I found a walmart bag and put my underwear in them. There was also a Mason jar I found and I took the toilet paper and smeared up as much of the chit as I could and then rinsed it with toilet water from the Mason jar. Luckily there was floor drain and I kinda used my feet as squeagies to get the placed cleaned up a bit.

Then, me in just a pair of flip flops, holdin my ruined shorts in the walmart bag headed back out past all the tents to the edge of the timber. I flung that damn walmart bag as far as I could and then headed for the pond.

I spent about 15 minutes in the pond getting cleaned up and back to the tent I went air drying the entire way. I layed back down on the air mattress and the now wife rolled over and says "God, it smells like you chit your pants" I said, nope....just a wet fart and went to sleep.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74779 - 12/24/06 04:00 PM

Uncle Duckins storys...


Tequila and Beaner Food Screamin? Squirts

Back in the mid 80's, when I was but a young buck, I was heading north to the Fresno area with a couple pals to pursue the fowl.....There was an Arctic Blast heading down the west side of the continent, and when the conditions are just right, multitudes of birds are on the leading edge of those ?blasts?, on their way to more hospitable surroundings...so, we wuz gonna catch some as they hauled assed south.

We stopped at a Mexican Restaurant somewhere?s around Bakersfield to get out of the weather, tip a few, and have us some vittles....I forget just what I ate, but I do remember having had a few Margarita?s, and several shots of Tequila...we drank, we ate, and then hit the road again.

Got up to our spot, dressed out, picked up all our gear and headed for the water in a freezing rain.
Well, I took maybe 10 steps and then got hit with THE URGE.....and it was an IMMEDIATE urge. My pals kept going, but I threw off my deke bag, dropped the rest of my gear, pulled down my canvas waders, my Levi?s, and the Long Johns I was a?wearin?, and squatted down ta pinch one off.....Didn?t end up ?pinching? off anything, as it turned out I had the ol? Tequila and Beaner Food Screamin? Squirts....
Did my business there in the dark and rain, cleaned up the ol? burnin? bung hole with the last of my T.P., pulled up my layers of clothes, and headed towards my gear whut was all strewn about...Maybe took a step, maybe two, and then realized that there was BIG WET inside my waders....figgered at first it was just rain, but then decided that just possibly, it was MORE than ?just rain?.
Got out the flashlight, dropped the waders and found that I had chit smack dab in my thermals...not just any ?chit? mind you, nope, kinda looked like one of them big ol? 10 pound Cow Pies ya see in the pasture...was all kinda green, slimy, runny, and stunk like something long dead....
And it was spread EVERYWHERE---- on the Levi?s, on the waders, and of course my thermals had taken the brunt of the assault........

Damn.....got no T.P left, and to be honest, it woulda took 4 or 5 rolls o? Brawny Paper Towels ta make a dent in the mess anyways....What ta do, what ta do????

Pulled off all my clothes, stood there shivering in my wool socks and pondered my predicament....yelled for my Bro?s, but they was LONG gone.....nobody else around neither....
Remembered that under my ?woolies? I had me a pair of cotton socks....I had on a forkin? T-Shirt, and I had me on a flannel long sleeve shirt whut had pockets AND sleeves....
As ya might could guess, I spent the rest of the day without no thermals, without no cotton socks, without no T-Shirt, and without no sleeves and pockets on my forkin? flannel shirt....
Worst part is, no matter how good I had tried to clean up my drawers and waders, I still stunk like a MoFo....none of my pals wanted ta sit next to me as we hunted, and all the way home they bitched until we found a forkin? store and bought me some new threads!!!

Funny thing is, no matter how bad the situation seemed ta be, it was never so bad that I even considered for a minute NOT HUNTING that forkin? storm.....


Laundry On The Rocks....


'Nother one happened when I was hunting a steep inclined bank along a slough....my huntin' partner and I decided to get up maybe 20 yards above the water on the aforementioned steep incline to pass shoot the birds level with where we were hiding, as they flew along about "yay high" ('bout 20 yards or so) over the water...
As usual, not unlike my forkin' Chessie, I got me all excited an' sech and got THE URGE again...
Well, in my infinite wisdom I decided that it was too much trouble to climb outta the "hole" and chit on flat ground, so's I dropped my drawers (no waders this time), and noted that if I faced DOWN HILL, gravity was wreaking havoc on my ability to chit without falling face forward....so I faced UP HILL, drawers down, and seemingly outta the way.
Well kids, as ya'll know, gravity and mathematics can play tricks on ya...I had figgered the turds ta drop vertically, which they did in a manner of speaking, BUT, me being at a 45 degree angle when I dropped the bombs, "vertical" just happened ta be downhill from me, and 'zactly where my drawers was all piled up where I thunked they would be outta the line o' fire...
Again, weren't no solid turds in the explosion, and again I done chit all over my forkin skivvies and camo pants....
The next thing my pal saw was me, running bare assed DOWN HILL to the waters edge, and scrubbing the chit off'n my clothes, not unlike a pioneer woman doing laundry on the rocks....
I still hear about that 'un from Bob (The Witness), as does EVERYBODY else he can think of ta tell....


Magic Of V.A. Hospital Food


Back in around 1980 or so I was in the V.A. Hospital out here in Long Beach gettin' some chit fixed that the Military owed me for....so there I was, all stoved up an' sech, bedridden more or less....A Doc stopped by to look me over and informed me that they needed a "stool sample"....Then a bit later an Orderly dropped off a forkin' little blue pan thing, kinda looked like a Banana Split dish, and told me to "sample it up" and when I was done to ring the Nurses Station and they would come get it and run it to the lab....

Well boys, tell ya, there weren't no way I could chit in that little dish a'layin' there in my bed, so I dragged my ass off to the bathroom, and yup, I had me a forkin' private room/bathroom at the V.A....go figger huh?
Anyway, I chit a GIGANTIC forkin' turd in that pan, honest ta God, it was a real Trophy!!! Was hanging off both ends, and for some dang reason it didn't break on the edge of the dish there....It was the first chit I had taken in DAYS, and maybe some of you fellers have experienced the Magic of V.A. Hospital Food--it is even nastier comin' out, than it was goin' in...talk about stink!!
So, I closed the bathroom door, and almost wanted to put a towel under it so's the stink wouldn't permeate my bedding an' all..., I hobbled my ass back to my bed, rung up the Nurses Station---bout two hours later a big ol' Silver Back Groid comes in my room, asks where the sample is, and I pointed to the bathroom....When he opened the door to retrieve the TURD there was an audible forkin' GASP, and the room was immediately filled with a horrible stench....The fowlmouther came flying outta there, Turd Pan balanced delicately, a shocked, ashen look (ever seen an ASHEN Groid??? I have!!!!)on his face, and he literally flew out the door and down the hallway-- almost sounded like he was running away by the tempo of his fast disappearing footsteps...with the TURD held firmly out front (two hands on the pan, as far away from his body as he could hold it-- kinda leading the way to the Lab seemed ta me!!!!
Whatever the outcome was, I never heard no more 'bout the Turd Sample, and as a matter of fact, nobobdy ever asked me for another neither...


--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Edited by SwampFox (12/24/06 05:10 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74781 - 12/24/06 04:05 PM

Dabs has another one...


Moon Over The Bridge

Alright, let's say it was in 1989. I had worked as a firefighter medic for about 5 years then. We had one station that wasn't staffed with fulltimers and a couple of paid guys actually lived at the station. It gave us a response out of that station if they were home at low overtime costs.

Anyway, it is about 2 in the morning. Our station gets called out to the Missouri River at a railroad bridge on a report of multiple victims that had fell off. My and my partner head that way in an ambulance and an engine is coming behind us. We figure that the guys at the unstaffed station will beat us there as the bridge is only 1 mile from them and 6 miles from us. As we get closer, we can hear them calling us. We answered and the one was on his walkie talkie. Seems the kids goofin around had went out on the bridge and climbed down over the side down a pillar ladder to a spot that looked like a flat ledge from the top, but it was angled and had moss growing on it. One of them had got of the ladder and stood on the ledge but fell off of it, prolly a 35 foot fall to a sand bar at the bottom of the pillar. The river was low and luckily there was a sand bar at that pillar. Well...even worse, this was back before everyone had a cell phone, so the other kids ran back and got their car and went to the fire station for help. The two at that station decided they would go and check it out before they called. You guessed it, one of the two had superhuman powers and decided he would climb down on the ledge to talk with the kid on the sand bar, who by the way, had a broken leg was all. When the superhuman firefighter hit the same ledge he fell too, only head first. So, we now have a minor injured kid and a severely injured firefighter.

My unit, the engine and our chief pull up at the same time. We had called water patrol to come in from the boat ramp 1 mile upstream but it would take them 30 minutes or so to get there this time of day. We decided we would put all of the rapelling stuff and medical stuff we could on the stokes basket and away we go. It was darker than the inside of a cow and we had about 1/2 mile to walk out across the bridge till we got to the spot. We get maybe halfway there and it hits...the pang that doubles you. I knew it wasn't going to be a good thing and hoped it would be one of those one time things that the adrenaline would take over and be alright. About 20 yards later I came to the conclusion it wasn't going to be that case.

I looked at my chief, who was walking beside me holding a flashlight, and said, You are going to have to take the stokes basket so I can stop here for a minute. He replied, you are shitting me!!! To which I replied, I am gonna be if you don't take this stokes basket.

Anyway, he wasn't all that happy, but he did it.

I pull my bunker pants down and then my uniform clothes and wedge my ass in between the bridge rails and start lettin her loose on the downstream side. It just kept coming and coming. Now i already said it was darker than the inside of a cow. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't hear the footsteps coming up on me and all of the sudden a voice right in front of me says, "I sure hope everything is coming out alright". I strain to focus and a black sheriff deputy is walking by me. At that point there was no chit left cause that dude done scared it out of me.

He goes by and the next problem then hits me. I aint got no shitpaper at all. I think about it for a second and there is only one alternative. I have ten fingers and that gives me ten protected finger swipes with my firefighting gloves. I pull the right one out, since I am left handed, and put it on. I start finger sweeping and something else don't seem right but it isn't registering either. About on the fourth finger it hits me. The other thing that doesn't seem right is the noise I am now hearing. About the time it hits me, it comes around the bend in the river bed. A medical helicopter that we had called was flying up the river bed and around the bend they come.

By the time I can finish, the spotlight finds it way up the river bank, to the sand bar and then up the bridge....right to my ass hanging between the railings. About 7 million candlepower lightin up ole one eye. I did keep a radio with me and that is when the helicopter pilot came on and reported they would be making one circle and landing on the sandbar...and then reported seeing a full moon on the bridge.

I got done and made it to the rest about the time the first two were going over the side to rappell down. I had to hold the bellay line as they went down and we ended up running that rope through a washing machine and putting it in the training stock after it got chit stained from my gloves.

The next Christmas everyone pitched in and bought me an additional helmet with a toilet paper dispenser mounted to the back of it.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74786 - 12/24/06 04:31 PM

Dungslingers tales...


Mirror Ornament

It was 1999 and colder than a well diggers ass out in the Henderson bottoms.We waded into a slough and were killin a few when the pain hit.I was about 300 yards fro mthe truck and 200 of it was pretty deep water.My cousin had been on my ass all day about one thing or another and was pissed that I was walking to the truck during "prime time action" I struggled through the muck and mire with the occasional pause to let some ducks work.I finally made it to the bank and proceeded to climb up the damn near straight up and dowm bankline to get to the field were the trucks were.Well,to make a long story short,I attempted to climb the bank and in the struggle,I managed to leave a miller light from the night before and bisquits and gravy concoction in my drawers that reaked like nothing I have ever smelled or felt in my life.I waddled to the truck and changed the necessary clothes and left the soiled drawers as a rear view mirror ornament for my mouthy ass cousin....For some reason he didn't think it as funny as the rest of our crew did.

Possum Style

We were wood duck hunting about five years ago in the local slough in Henderson(Anderson Pond).Now as a few of you may know this particular slough is very wooly around the edges and has mud that will suck neoprene off of you.We had just got set up nest to one of the many cypress clumps when one of my friends with the spastic colon screams that he has to go RIGHT NOW!!!And as we were about 150 yards,or 30 minutes away from the bank he does the only thing he can think to do.He saddles his gun on a low branch,carefully shimmies his waders to water level,grabs the next branch upwith one arm and pulls his drawers down and slings himself,Hanging possum style over the branch and begins to blow a chex mix/chocolate ice cream spackle on the water and cypress knees below,all the while we were shooting around him.Now if that wasn't funny enough, he rips off a sleeve does his buisness and continues to hunt.As we were walking outwe were met by the friendly local conservation officer who witnessed the whole ordeal.He siad he could hardly contain his laughter as he counted the times we "allegedly" shot past shooting time.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Edited by SwampFox (12/24/06 04:49 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74789 - 12/24/06 05:05 PM

Jdots story...


Lil Dusty Head

Last week I got off work on morning and had to get dog food. Now the only place around this dump to buy Pro Plan is about 35 miles ONE WAY!!!! So, I've been doing it for months and just don't think about it anymore.

By the time I get my chit loaded in my truck, leave work, and drive to this vet's office it's around 7:45 and they open up at 8. I sit there flippin' through a Delta Waterfowl mag till they unlock the door. Let me back up and say that I have a certain routine that I have been in for years concerning leaving work and getting home, i.e. leave work, ride home, run in door tearing at my belt and pants, and barely making it EVERY morning and then shitting my guts out!!!

So as I'm flippin through the mag my guts rumble. Now their supposed to know that we aint home and to hang on just a bit. But the deep guttural rumble that I hear and feel tells me they aint gonna cooperate!!!!

Well, it passes and I breath a sigh of relief. Vet opens, I step in, buy the food, and haul azz.

On the way out of town I see a store that has gas about a dime cheaper than where I'm from, so I decided to stop and fill up the killa Nissan. As I'm pumping, my guts decide to really let me know the coffee is percualting again. It hits, and I double up beside the truck, breaking a cold sweat. This chit aint gonna wait, it's here, right forking NOW!!!!

I get the nozzle slammed back in the pump and do that baby step, ass all knotted up, walk across the parking lot. I thought one time that I was gonna have grab my ass cheeks and squeeze. I had done got nauseated and broke a cold sweat at this point.

I bust up in this mofo, sweatin' marbles, and just KNOWING some jackass is gonna be piled up in the shitter. I had already planned on hitting the womens or shittin' by the chip rack. One of the two!!!!

Luck prevails and the mens is empty!!!!!!!!! Lock door, RIP down my pants, and all hell breaks loose. I looked like the dude on Dumb and Dumber that got fed the Turbo Lax!!!

Horrific is not even close to being able to describe the funk!!! Maybe a stumphole full of dead armadillo's would be closer!!! I mean, I had my shirt all balled up around my mouth and nose trying to breath through it , and my eyes were stlll watering. I had to give MYSELF 2 courtesy flushes to even sit there.

Well of course, some fork... goes to rattling the knob. Never fails!!!

I get done and eeeeeease out. I notice the big groid over at the drink cooler with this lil dusty head of about 5 yrs old wif him. As I'm heading to the counter to pay for my gas I see them heading toward this living cess pool I just eeeeeeased out of.

As I'm writing a check for the gas I hear this lil dusty head go to screaming at the top of his lungs!!!!! Lil mofo is going...

"Nnnooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I look up and the big groid has got him by the arm trying to drag him BACK up in the chitter and he's puttin' up one helluva fight. Big groid finally wins and he pulls lil man back to the door. Lil groid is screaming

" sssssssttttiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnkkkksssssssss!!!!!!!!!"

and has started to squall bad.

He gets him back in the bathroom for about 3 seconds, and the door bust open. Lil dusty head comes boiling out with the groid right on his ass.

This is were the lil dusty head stops mid stride and.........



forking VOMITS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Big groid is weezing and cussin'!!!!!!!!!!

I was standing there at the counter with tears rolling down my cheeks. I paid and hauled ass home.

I needed a shower!!!!!!

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74876 - 12/25/06 06:33 PM

Test

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #75979 - 12/30/06 11:28 PM

A fart can be quiet,
A fart can be loud,
Some leave a powerful,
Poisonous cloud

A fart can be short,
Or a fart can be long,
Some farts have been known
To sound like a song......

A fart can create
A most curious medley,
A fart can be harmless,
Or silent, and deadly.

A fart might not smell,
While others are vile,
A fart may pass quickly,
Or linger awhile.....

A fart can occur
In a number of places,
And leave everyone there,
With strange looks on their faces.

From wide-open prairie,
To small elevators,
A fart will find all of
Us sooner or later.

But, all farts are all bad,
Is simply not true-
We must never forget.......
Sweet old farts like you!

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #77999 - 01/09/07 05:50 PM

From across the big pond, real science footage.

Research

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Edited by SwampFox (01/09/07 06:04 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #80764 - 01/23/07 09:33 PM

Some days defy description....

After finding out that the local FFL doing a transfer on a S&W M&P pistol for me STILL has not gotten the package (making me wonder if the package is lost or stolen at this point...) I get a call from the family saying they want to go grab something to eat.

So I says to myself, "Self", I says...."A nice dinner out will be relaxing and will take your mind off of your MIA handgun for a while. Let's do it!"

So I meet everyone at the restaurant and look forward to a nice relaxing hour or so....but as soon as I walk in I see Jimmy Carter's mug on a TV where they are running CNN. At that moment some part of my brain said "You should probably just turn around and go home. Nothing good can come of this." ...but being the rational person I am I dismissed this instinct because it was, after all, just a former President on TV...not an omen.

So we are seated and place our order. Across the roughly four foot aisle there is another group of people seated, mostly middle-aged. It's still early so the college kids haven't infected every restaurant yet. They are sharing a large pizza and a couple of them have salads along with the pizza. The man sitting on the outside corner of the table is positioned so that he is facing me...he also has a couple of beer bottles on the table.

Time passes with the usual small talk that happens among family as our drinks and salads begin to arrive. The folks across the aisle, apart from being a tad louder than I would have preferred, seem to be relatively nice folks. As I look around (I am always on the lookout when in public....it pays to be safe) I notice a slight irregularity in the clothing of the guy sitting across from me and so I begin paying very careful attention to him in as discrete a manner as possible, thinking that he might have a weapon. I wasn't panicked because there are a large number of CCW holders around these parts and this guy didn't seem to be any sort of threat, but I always like to know who around me is packing heat.

As I am doing my clandestine recon, I glance at his salad and see movement. "That's not right..." I thought...so I looked harder. And there, climbing up one of his cro?tons, is the biggest damn cockroach I have ever seen.

So much for my appetite.

Before the revulsion can begin in earnest, however, I notice that his fork is coming down into the salad plate...heading right for the cro?ton. I realize what is about to happen and begin to get up and approach his table as quickly as I can....everything goes into slow motion.

I see his fork stab the cro?ton and he pulls the fork toward his mouth...with it's disgusting passenger on board. I am now standing up and moving toward him saying "NO!! WAIT.." but because of the noise he doesn't hear me. I see half the cro?ton disappear into his mouth and then....

CRUNCH

He has just bitten the cro?ton and it's hideous little passenger in half.

His demeanor changes. He realizes something is wrong. He looks at his fork and sees the front half of a very large and very nasty looking cockroach on half of his cro?ton. He makes a gasping noise as he drops his fork and shoots upright all in one quick motion. Even in the miserable lighting in the restaurant I can see him go pale instantly and grab at his throat.

"Oh crap...He's choking!" I thought to myself, so I continued my approach in preparation of doing the Heimlich if it was necessary.

His dining companions are puzzled..."George, what's wrong?" "Honey are you alright?" "Oh my god, he's choking!"....George is hunched over with his hands in the classic "I'm Choking!" position.

I am right next to him now and grab him by the shoulder, spin him around to look him in the face and say in a loud voice "ARE YOU CHOKING??" apparently remembering my first aid training.

George looks up at me, and I think the guy is in real trouble. I begin to move around him to perform the Heimlich, when George turns his head towards me.....

....And vomits.

Now when I say that George vomited, I don't mean that he burped up a little. I mean he let loose a stream of vomit so powerful it felt like it was coming from a fire hose....

...You'll notice I say "felt" in that previous sentence and you might start to wonder about the meaning of that word in that context. I assure you, dear reader, it means exactly what you think it means. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, George's powerful stream of projectile vomit impacted yours truly right on the side of the face at point blank range.

This impressive stream of vomit splashed a mixture of used pizza, salad, beer and roach guts right into the side of my face, and from there it went into my hair, down my shirt, and some of it even went into my ear. I tried to throw up my hands to block the stream and managed to deflect some of it....

I am backing away from George as he continues to retch and as I am trying to come to grips with the fact that my entire upper body is now covered in some foul smelling vomit. To be honest, my brain is not really functioning at this moment in any conscious way because of the horror of what has transpired. But, sadly, I don't have much time to come to grips with what just happened.

Remember when I said that I threw up my hands to deflect some of George's vomit? Well I did a hum-dinger of a job, because some of it landed right in the plate of a diner behind me. I was unaware of this, of course, because I was simultaneously trying to get the vomit out of my eyes and out of my right ear as I tried to create distance between myself and the human volcano.

I only became aware of what happened to the other diner when I felt myself bump into something as I backed up, and I whirled around, still blinded by the vomit. That's when I felt it.

Apparently all of this had been too much for diner number 2. For when the vomit I deflected landed in his plate, he fell out of his chair onto his knees. Immediately after he hit his knees, I backed into him. The "something" I bumped into was his head. Ordinarily I would have been very concerned about someone bumping into my right side because that's where my 1911 is being carried in a Blade-Tech IWB holster. My Smith 442 is also riding in the right front pocket of my pants.

Diner number 2, however, didn't notice any of this. Immediately after his head made relatively minor contact with my handgun, he let loose.

I, still blind from vomit, feel a bump on my right side and then I feel a hot stream of chunky liquid proceed down my right hip and leg.

Yes, ARFCOM, diner number 2 yakked all over my right side. Apparently for lunch he had egg salad and tuna salad sandwiches, and his dinner salad was full of feta cheese and big black olives, along with the requisite tall glass of beer. He heaved a mighty heave and belched forth an even fouler and chunkier substance down my right side.

Some of it went into my holster.

Some of it went into my right front pocket.

Some of it went into my cell-phone pocket.

Some of it went into the INSIDE of my pants and began running down my leg.

Then as suddenly as it began, it was over. There I stood in the middle of a relatively nice restaurant among a horrified group of diners covered in so much vomit it is literally dripping off of me and making large splatting noises on the floor.

The smell......is indescribable. I won't go so far as to say it is the worst smell on earth, but as a man who has gutted all sorts of animals including gut-shot deer, I can tell you that it is among the worst smells I have ever encountered. As the old saying goes, it could gag a maggot.

My mind is blank as I stand there dripping with vomit. Time seems to stand still as I can see the foul mixture dripping off of me....

And then it happens.

Diner number 2 is apparently ready for round 2. He lets go again, but this time I can see it coming. Unfortunately I don't react quick enough to be missed entirely. Round 2 hits me square in the boots, soaking my socks and filling my boots with what seems to be the foulest smelling vomit I have yet seen on this horrible night.

I am now standing in the middle of a relatively nice restaurant....

With vomit dripping off of my nose....off of my chin.....

With vomit in my right front pocket.

With vomit in the cargo pocket of my pants.

With vomit in my right rear pocket.

With vomit in my wallet.

With vomit inside my pants.

With vomit running down my leg.

With vomit soaked socks.

With vomit pooled in my boots.

I take a step to try and escape this horrible hell, and I notice that there is hot vomit squishing between my toes.

The restaurant is at an absolute standstill. Half of the diners within eyesight are staring in absolute horror with their mouths agape....the other half look like they are about to go Krakatoa any second. The wait staff is in the same boat, half staring in horror, half barely keeping their lunch down.

As I take another step the realization that The Smell is coming seems to strike the diners and the wait staff alike, and they begin to scramble to get the hell out of there before THEY loose it. Drinks are spilled. Plates are turned over. Dishes shatter.

The manager comes to see what in the heck is going on and walks up to a scene that is probably the closest thing to the Mr. Creosote sketch in Monty Python's "The Meaning Of Life" that any human being has ever experienced.

"It's only waaaafer thin!"

He is startled for a moment, but the man is a real pro.

"Sir" he tells me calmly "We can help you clean up around back. Everyone remain calm, and we will get all of this cleaned up. Sir, this way." The manager leads me toward a side door that is close by as I am still drippingly covered in vomit. As he walks quickly he begins barking orders to the wait staff on the other side of the restaurant who had not been witness to the horror.

"Sandy! Get a mop now! Jake, get all those people out of there NOW! Get them all gift certificates! Jodi, don't let anyone with puke on them go out the front door! This way sir." as he leads me out the side of the restaurant. After we get through the door he makes a hard left and leads me to the back of the building and begins getting out a hose pipe.

"I'm afraid this is the best I can do, sir..." he says as he starts to connect the hose. "If you want to try and use this, I can go get you something to dry off with."

I don't even answer him. I just start taking off my boots so I can pour the vomit out of them. Then I spray them out. I take off my socks and it is just about then that I notice something. It is January. It is 29 degrees outside, and I am spraying down my bare feet with a hose filled with cold water.

Goodie!

About this time the family shows up looking more than a little green around the gills. I remove my weaponry as clandestinely as I can and instruct them to hurry and wrap the guns up in my coat so nobody can see them...Then I have a decision to make...Do I start stripping or do I try and clean off with my clothes on?

I decide that stripping to my boxers just isn't an option, so I put the nozzle of the hose inside my waistband and begin to hose off the inside of my pants. The water is unbelievably cold right now and I can feel my entire lower body going numb. Then I spray out each of my pockets, and then I move on to my upper body. spraying inside and outside my shirt, and finally spraying down my head and hair, then working my way back down to my feet to make sure all the putrescent fluid is gone.

So there I stand in bare feet soaked from head to toe so cold my teeth are chattering...but at least I can't smell the vomit anymore. Perhaps the vomit is all gone...or perhaps I am on the border of hypothermia and no longer care about smells. Either way, despite being a human popsicle I feel better. The manager returns with some towels that I use to dry off as best as I can.

As I dry off the manager asks me what happened. Through chattering teeth I manage to explain the roach situation as the root of the evil that had transpired in our midst.

"Sir, I am so sorry! Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? A free desert? A free meal?"

God bless the guy, he is trying...but honestly...is anyone actually going to take him up on that offer under THESE circumstances?

I tell him to just forget about the entire thing (as we hadn't gotten our main course yet). I just wanted to go home and take a long hot shower. Still wet and very cold, I got the old blanket I keep in the trunk of my car and put it in the seat of the family car so I could sit down without getting vomit on the seats.

The only sound as we drove home was the loud chattering of my teeth.

It's over now, and I am sitting near the wood stove. I am beginning to get feeling back in my toes. I am looking at my 1911...an expertly crafted weapon....that is covered in dried vomit. There are dried bits of what I think is tuna all over it. I am looking at the leather pocket holster for my Smith 442....I don't know if it is ever going to be usable again. My Smith...poor little thing...there is vomit in a couple of the chambers. I have quite possibly the single most disgusting cleaning job ever attempted on a firearm ahead of me tonight.

Joy!

So the next time you are at a restaurant and you think that you are having a bad experience, remember my tale of woe and be thankful.

Now if you will excuse me, I think there is still some used pizza sausage in my ear...

--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #84773 - 02/15/07 05:23 PM

Ok, which one of you boys...



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #86048 - 02/24/07 07:25 PM


Burning Ring Of Fire

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87839 - 03/11/07 12:57 AM

Guy sits down at the bar and smells something foul. He looks at the only other guy there and asks,"What id you do? chit your pants?"

The guy said, "Yup."

"Well, why don't you go home and clean up!"

"I'm not done yet."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87840 - 03/11/07 01:03 AM

What's the difference between an epileptic corn shucker and a prostitute with diarrhea?

An epileptic corn shucker shucks between fits!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87847 - 03/11/07 05:13 AM


Game: Catch The Crap

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87848 - 03/11/07 05:17 AM

There was a young fellow from Sparta,
A really magnificent farter,
On the strength of one bean
He'd fart God Save the Queen,
And Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

He could vary, with proper persuasion,
His fart to suit any occasion.
He could fart like a flute,
Like a lark, like a lute,
This highly fartistic Caucasian.

This sparkling young farter from Sparta,
His fart for no money would barter.
He could roar from his rear
Any scene from Shakespeare,
Or Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado.

He'd fart a gavotte for a starter,
And fizzle a fine serenata.
He could play on his anus
The Coriolanus:
Oof, boom, er-tum, tootle, yum tah-dah!

He was great in the Christmas Cantata,
He could double-stop fart the Toccata,
He'd boom from his ass
Bach's B-Minor Mass,
And in counterpoint, La Traviata.

Spurred on by a very high wager
With an envious German named Bager,
He'd proceeded to fart
The complete oboe part
Of a Hayden Octet in B-Major.

His repertoire ranged from classics to jazz,
He achieved new effects with bubbles of gas.
With a good dose of salts
He could whistle a waltz
Or swing it in razzamatazz.

His basso profundo with timbre so rare
He rendered quite often, with power to spare.
But his great work of art,
His fortissimo fart,
He saved for the Marche Militaire.

One day he was dared to perform
The William Tell Overture Storm,
But naught could dishearten
Our spirited Spartan,
For his fart was in wonderful form.

It went off in capital style,
And he farted it through with a smile,
Then, feeling quite jolly,
He tried the finale,
Blowing double-stopped farts all the while.

The selection was tough, I admit,
But it did not dismay him one bit,
Then, with ass thrown aloft
He suddenly coughed...
And collapsed in a shower of sh*t.

His bunghole was blown back to Sparta,
Where they buried the rest of our farter,
With a gravestone of turds
Inscribed with the words:
"To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr."

--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87849 - 03/11/07 05:18 AM

Two "effeminate" young men were hithchiking when a truck driver picked them up. After riding an hour or two, one of the young men said to the truck driver, "Excuse me, but I have to fart."

The truck driver said in a gruff voice, "Well hell, boy, just open up the window and lean it out."

The young man did so and let out the faintest "pfffffft".

After another hour of riding the other young man said to the truck driver, "Excuse me, sir, but now I have to fart."

The truck driver said, "Go on, buddy. Just lean it out the window and let'er rip!"

The young man did so and also emanated with the faintest "pffffftt."

After a while the truck driver spoke up, "Watch out, fellers, I gotta let one go." With that he let out a huge resounding, "BRRAAAAPPPPPPP!"

The two young men looked at each other knowingly and spoke in unison. "Virgin".

--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #87850 - 03/11/07 05:18 AM

I sat next to the Duchess at tea
Distressed as a person could be.
Her rumblings abdominal
Were simply phenomenal?
And everyone thought it was me!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #89771 - 03/23/07 01:42 PM

In August 2005, New Scientist magazine reported that inventors Michael Zanakis and Philip Femano had been awarded a US patent (U.S. Patent 6,055,910 ) for a "toy gas-fired missile and launcher assembly". The abstract of the patent makes it clear that this is, in fact, a fart-powered rocket:

"A ... missile is composed of a soft head and a tail extending therefrom formed by a piston. The piston is telescoped into the barrel of a launcher having a closed end on which is mounted an electrically activated igniter, the air space between the end of the piston and the closed end of the barrel defining a combustion chamber. Joined to the barrel, and communicating with the chamber therein, is a gas intake tube having a normally closed inlet valve. To operate the assembly, the operator places the inlet tube with its valve open adjacent [to] his anal region, from which a colonic gas is discharged. The piston is then withdrawn to a degree producing a negative pressure to inhale the gas into the combustion chamber to intermix with the air therein to create a combustible mixture. The igniter is then activated to explode the mixture in the chamber and fire the missile into space."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #90009 - 03/25/07 07:43 AM

A Saharan Dump

A cold and starry desert night,
wondrous setting in which to shite.
No traffic noise,
not even birds,
just the flopping of juicy turds into a hollow on the dune,
glistening brightly under the moon.
Ringpiece wiped with satisfaction,
the proud results of bowel action
are covered over
with cold sand
to lie below this foreign land, drying slowly into pieces...
My lonely, far away feces.

--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #99905 - 06/05/07 08:54 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #100677 - 06/10/07 05:35 AM

You are my arch nemesis. I see you wandering around as I go about my IT Computer Nerd business: Tall. Middle Eastern. Pot Belly. We catch each others eye every now and then and give each other a slight nod. I know you, I know what you do and I am on to your games.

I saw you this morning, we made eye contact. You nodded and took another bite of whatever Death-Ass producing garbage you fuel up on that makes the bathroom, smell like the inside of a dead monkey's colon, and nodded at me. I got you this time, fork....

I give you my icey grin and nod back, then hurry back to my office. It's almost noon, and that's the time you like to run to the toilet and preform your daily ASS JIHAD on all the people just trying to wash their hands.

Maybe in your country there is no common sense that would tell you that lunch time = hand wash time. People want to get clean and eat, not be fumigated with the high octane liquid chit attack you subjugate them too.

But I got you this time. Yeah fork... I GOT SOMETHING COOKING UP FOR YOU! Two egg sandwiches with cheese. Greasy sausage patties. A couple glasses of Tang. Some leftover Chinese food. A Twix. Root Beer Soda. Some steamed brocoli I had in the fridge. A Hot Pocket with peperoni and cheese. A Chocolate Poptart. And like a cherry on top ... a McDonald's Quaterpounder with cheese.

I never eat this chit, it's all greasy and forking nasty, but today is the day I fight back. I go out for a quick mile jog and almost die. My stomach feels like there are two midgets fighting to the death inside there.

I walk back to work, ass clenched tighter than a virgin's thighs at Church.

Great. The hot chick from next door wants to chat. She assumes the sweat on my face and arms is from running. She doesn't realize that it's a cold sweat induced by my severe sphicter trauma. She finally shuts up and I stagger to the Death Ass Arena.

You are there already in your favorite stall: The one right next to the forking sinks. You stupid, socially retarded fork. Fine. You have yet to begin your daily purge of Middle Eastern Ass Stew. I enter the stall next to you and drop my pants in preparation of the upcoming battle.

Your opening salvo is fired: A sloppy wet fart with a solid-shot closer. I laugh and show you the power of Advanced American Foodstuffs.

The tuba fart I unleash echos off the walls and shrinks my waistline about an inch. The guy at the urinal laughs as I slap the wall between you and I and say "Back to YOU, Kajid!". You are silent, I assume you know who I am and that the time has come for us to battle. I know you are summoning your intestinal fortitude for full out war.

You do not disappoint me.

With a hissing "SSSShhhhhzzzzzzzzz!" you squirt out a deadly spray of ass juice that pollutes the air and makes my head swim. The pisser at the urinal is no longer laughing, he quickly zips up and runs for the door. He did not stop to wash his hands, instead opting to head for the hills. I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and the black spots disappear from my vision. My head clears. I am ready.

"AAaaaaaaaRRRRRGGGHHH!" I yell, as I drop Big Tim. That's short for "Big Timber" ... AKA "Mississippi Butt Log".

Quick-fire farts stutter out of my ass, as I push the monster log from the chit Dimension into our reality. The beefy, yeasty stench easily overpowers the Indian Ass Gutter odor of your previous attack. Mega Turd hits the water in the bowl with a mighty splash, the reek is that of a dead whale slowly ripening in the hot, tropical sun. I catch my breath and wipe my brow, and start to pat myself on the back. I should have known the battle was not over.

The only thing I can think of is that you must has completely unzipped your ass to your elbow. That's the only way I could begin to explain the lumpy, creamy splashs falling out of your ass into the toilet. It sounds like you are pouring a gallon of strawberry shake with whole strawberries in it into the shitter. I see the hairs on my arms start to curl from the horrid stench wafting up from under your stall. I shudder and sway on my throne, unsure if I will survive.

I have no choice. I must employ the Deal Breaker. I hunker down and clench my hands together. My fingers twitch and entwine like a nest of snakes, almost like I am running through a series of ancient Ninja Hand Symbols. My feet lift up onto the toes and my legs start to shake.

"You want to play??" I growls. A low moaning comes from my stomach, like a dinosaur calling into a swampy, foggy night. "YOU GOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Like Cloud summoning The Knights of the Round in Final Fantasy 7, I summon the Excalibur of Turd Demons to destroy my enemy. Hot magma-like chit rockets out of my ass, releasing a noxious, sticky cloud of deadly recall perfume. I hear you gag and see your feet shuffle around, but you can't get away, can you? No. You can't.

Veins throb on my neck and temples as the turd monster tears itself from my bowels. My lips skin back from my now clenched teeth and I try not to scream. Your roll of toilet paper rolls into my stall. You must have torn it from the wall with numb fingers in an attempt to "Wipe and Scoot". Too late. MUCH too late!

Odors pound you with merciless fists: Rotten Fruitcake stuffed with boiled chicken assholes. Hammered chit-logs served on a bed of week old white rice. Rosie O'Donnel's rancid crotch farts. The smell of your mom's dank, hairy Middle Eastern armpits.

Your stall door bangs open and you stagger out. You take three unsteady steps to the door and can barely open it wide enough to slip out. I laugh at you before you leave. "Yeah! RUN, fork...!" I yell, and laugh again. You say nothing.

It's all over except for the clean up. fork with me again, you chit filled Anal Terrorist. Me and my ass will be waiting.

--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #100741 - 06/11/07 11:00 AM

Flaming Asshole Cocktail Recipe

Ingredients :

- 1/2 oz grenadine syrup
- 1/2 oz green creme de menthe
- 1/2 oz creme de bananes
- 1/2 oz overproof rum

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Use a "In glass" for Flaming Asshole drink recipe


Layer in this order: grenadine, creme de menthe, banana liqueur, white rum. Ignite rum before serving. Server with a straw.

Thanks to MissBudwiser

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #100763 - 06/11/07 12:36 PM

Giga-Farts, Global Warming & Gore

Posted on 06/11/2007 1:27:15 AM EDT by computermechanic

Giga-Farts, Global Warming & Gore

1. Since "global warming" is an new "science", we need to expand the way we measure it's sources & effects.

I propose the following new metric units to be used in global warming study:

MFz = MegaFarts = 1 Million liters of gas from a SC (Standard Cow)

GFz = GigaFarts = 1 Billion liters of gas from a SC (Standard Cow)

2. Since there are many more people in the world than cows, then beans in the human diet should be either banned or taxed. For example, a special flatulence fee would be added to your restaurant-dining bill if there were any bean products in the meal you ordered. This money then, would be used to purchase carbon-offsets. Billions of farts (GFz) could be kept out of the fragile global-warming eco-system.

All the taxes & fines collected should be sent straight to Al Gore's carbon-offsets companies, since only Al Gore has the needed knowledge of human and cow flatulence & the global warming wisdom to save the earth from certain doom.

Send all monies to this address:

Former Next President Al Gore
Flatulence & Carbon Offsets Co.
1 Global Warming, The Only Way
Washington, DC 00001-0001

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #103294 - 07/03/07 03:56 AM

Flatulist...

Yep, you can hire him for your next get together.

The world's only performing "Flatulist".

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #103732 - 07/06/07 02:07 PM



--------------------
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