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Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff
      #2797 - 12/17/05 11:45 PM

Flatulence 101


Where does fart gas come from?

The gas in our intestines comes from several sources: air we swallow, gas seeping into our intestines from our blood, gas produced by chemical reactions in our guts, and gas produced by bacteria living in our guts.


What is fart gas made of?

The composition of fart gas is highly variable.
Most of the air we swallow, especially the oxygen component, is absorbed by the body before the gas
gets into the intestines. By the time the air reaches the large intestine, most of what is left is nitrogen. Chemical reactions between stomach acid and intestinal fluids may produce carbon dioxide, which is also a component of air and a product of bacterial action. Bacteria also produce hydrogen and methane. But the relative proportions of these gases that emerge from our anal opening depend on several factors: what we ate, how much air we swallowed, what kinds of bacteria we have in our intestines, and how long we hold in the fart. The longer a fart is held in, the larger the proportion of boring, inert nitrogen it contains, because the other gases tend to be absorbed into the bloodstream through the walls of the intestine. A nervous person who swallows a lot of air and who moves stuff through his digestive system rapidly may have a lot of oxygen in his farts, because his body didn't have time to absorb the oxygen. Encyclopaedia Britannica offers the intriguing statement that some people's farts contain no methane. The reason for this is apparently unknown. Some researchers suspect a genetic influence, whereas others think the anomaly is due to environmental factors. However, all methane in any farts comes from bacterial action and not from human cells.


What makes farts stink?

The odor of farts comes from small amounts of hydrogen sulfide gas and skatole in the mixture. These compounds contain sulfur. The more sulfur-rich your diet, the more sulfides and skatole will be produced by the bacteria in your guts, and the more your farts will stink. Foods such as cauliflower, eggs and meat are notorious for producing smelly farts, whereas beans produce large amounts of not particularly stinky farts.


Why do farts make noise?

The sounds are produced by vibrations of the anal opening. Sounds depend on the velocity of expulsion of the gas and the tightness of the sphincter muscles of the anus.


How much gas does a normal person pass per day?

On average, a person produces about half a liter of fart gas per day, distributed over an average of about fourteen daily farts. Whereas it may be difficult for you to determine your daily flatus volume, you can certainly keep track of your daily numerical fart count. You might try this as a science fair project: Keep a journal of everything you eat and a count of your farts. You might make a note of the potency of their odor as well. See if you can discover a relationship between what you eat, how much you fart, and how much they smell.


How does a fart travel to the anus?

One may wonder why fart gas travels downward toward the anus when gas has a lower density than liquids and solids, and should therefore travel upwards. The intestine squeezes its contents toward the anus in a series of contractions, a process called peristalsis. The process is stimulated by eating, which is why we often need to poop and fart right after a meal. Peristalsis creates a zone of high pressure, forcing all intestinal contents, gas included, to move towards a region of lower pressure, which is toward the anus. Gas is more mobile than other components, and small bubbles coalesce to from larger bubbles en route to the exit. When peristalsis is not active, gas bubbles may begin to percolate upwards again, but they won't get very far due to the complicated and convoluted shape of the intestine. Furthermore, the anus is neither up nor down when a person is lying down.


How long does it take fart gas to travel to someone else's nose?

Fart travel time depends on atmospheric conditions such as humidity and wind speed, as well as the distance between the fart transmitter and the fart receiver. Farts also disperse (spread out) as they leave the source, and their potency diminishes with dilution. Generally, if the fart is not detected within a few seconds, it will be too dilute for perception and will be lost into the atmosphere forever. Exceptional conditions exist when the fart is released into a small enclosed area such as an elevator, a small room, or a car. These conditions limit the amount of dilution possible, and the fart may remain in a smellable concentration for a long period of time, until it condenses on the walls.


Is it true that some people never fart?

No, not if they're alive. People even fart shortly after death.


Do even movie stars fart?

Yes, of course. So do grandmothers, priests, kings, presidents, opera singers, beauty queens, and nuns. Even Yoda farts.


Do men fart more than women?

No, women fart just as much as men. It's just that
most men take more pride in it than most women.
There is a large variation among individuals in the amount of fart gas produced per day, but the variation does not correlate with gender. I have read that men fart more often than women. If this is true, then women must be saving it up and expelling more gas per fart than men do.


At what time of day is a gentleman most likely to
fart?

A gentleman is mostly likely to fart first thing in the morning, while in the bathroom. This is known as "morning thunder," and if the gentleman gets good resonance, it can be heard throughout the household.


Why are beans so notorious for making people fart?

Beans contain sugars that we humans cannot digest.
When these sugars reach our intestines, the bacteria go wild, have a big feast, and make lots of gas! Other notorious fart-producing foods include corn, bell peppers, cabbage, milk, and raisins. A friend of mine had a dog who was exceptionally fond of apples and turnips. The dog would eat these things and then get prodigious gas. A dog's digestive system is not equipped to handle such vegetable matter, so the dog's bacteria worked overtime to produce remarkable flatulence.


What things other than diet can make a person fart
more than usual?

People who swallow a lot of air fart more than people who don't. This can be cured somewhat by chewing with your mouth closed. Nervous people with fast moving bowels will fart more because less air is absorbed out of the intestines. Some disease conditions can cause excess flatulence. And going up in an airplane or other low-pressure environment can cause the gas inside you to expand and emerge as flatulence.


Is a fart really just a burp that comes out the
wrong end?

No, a burp emerges from the stomach and has a different chemical composition from a fart. Farts have less atmospheric gas content and more bacterial gas content than burps.


Is it harmful to hold in farts?

There are differences in opinion on this one.
Certainly, people have believed for centuries that retaining flatulence is bad for the health. Emperor Claudius even passed a law legalizing farting at banquets out of concern for peoples' health. There was a widespread belief that a person could be poisoned or catch a disease by retaining farts. Doctors I have spoken to recently have told me that there is no particular harm in holding in farts. Farts will not poison you; they are a natural component of your intestinal contents. The worst thing that can happen is that you may get a stomach ache from the gas pressure. But one doctor suggested that pathological distention of the bowel could result if a person holds in farts too much.


How long would it be possible to not fart?

As I understand it, a captive fart can escape as soon as the person relaxes. This means that a lot of people who assiduously refrain from farting during the day do so at great length as soon as they fall asleep. Having been on a great many overnight field trips, long bus trips, and trans-Pacific flights, I can personally vouch for the fact that lots of people do fart voluminously as they doze off. So the answer to the question would be, you can refrain from farting as long as you can stay awake!


Where do farts go when you hold them in?

How often have you held in a fart, intending to release it at the first appropriate opportunity, only to find that the fart has disappeared when you are ready for it? I asked several doctors where the fart goes. Does it leak out slowly without the person knowing it? Is it absorbed into the bloodstream? What happens to it? The doctors agree that the fart is neither released nor absorbed. It simply migrates back upward into the intestine and comes out later. It is reassuring to know that such farts aren't really lost, just delayed.


Is it really possible to ignite farts?

The answer to that is yes! However, you should be aware that people get injured igniting flatulence.
Not only can the flame back up into your colon, but your clothing or other surroundings may catch on fire. A survey done by Fartcloud (the site, alas! is not more) indicates that about a quarter of the people who ignited their farts got burned doing it. Ignition of flatulence is a hazardous practice. There have also been cases in which intestinal gases with a higher than normal oxygen content have exploded during surgery when electric cautery was used by the surgeon.


Why is possible to burn farts?

Farts burn because they contain methane (usually) and hydrogen, both of which are flammable gases.
(Hydrogen was the same gas that was used in the ill fated Hindenburg dirigible.) Farts tend to burn with a blue or yellow flame.


Is it possible to light a match with a fart?

No, even strike-anywhere matches have their limits, unless the fart has the consistency of sandpaper! Any fart that rough I would hesitate to call a fart. Also, farts have the same temperature as the body from which they emerge, and aren't hot enough to initiate combustion.


Are there any books about farting?

There are several! My favorite is the new book, Who Cut the Cheese: A Cultural History of the Fart by Jim Dawson. This book provides an entertaining and thought-provoking history of the fart in literature, language and society. It is very informative and very funny! Ben Franklin's classic Fart Proudly is still in print. There is a collection of suggestive photographs called Who Farted Now? by St. Martin's Press. Most of the photos come from old movies and political shots. For children, we have the famous The Gas We Pass : The Story of Farts by Shinta Cho, and Amanda Mayer Stinchecum (Translator), and the Canadian picture book, Good Families Don't , by Alan Daniel and Robert N. Munsch, about a highly visible fart infesting a proper middle class family.


Is it possible for a talented person to earn a living through flatulence?

Few people earn their living directly via flatulence. But a friend of mine says that he saw a carnival act in which the performer whistled tunes with his farts, blew out candles on the opposite side of the stage, and sent flames all the way across the stage. A famous performer who earned his living this way was Le Petomane, who performed in France at the beginning of the 20th Century. However, my friend isn't old enough to have seen Le Petomane, so maybe he had a chance to see Mr. Methane. Mr. Methane lays claim to the distinction of being the world's only performing flatulist. However, people may also earn a living through the prevention of flatulence (as do the manufacturers and sellers of Beano and other products), through the practice of medicine specializing in the treatment of flatulence and other gastrointestinal problems, by writing books about flatulence (see the question before this one), and through the production and sales of various fart gags such as whoopee cushions and farts in a can. Fartypants sells a fart filter and a number of other fart-related products. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll be able to find a copy of Le Petomane's biography by searching at alibris by clicking on the link below. Last time I checked, they had two copies available!


Why do dog and cat farts smell so bad?

A carnivore's protein-rich diet produces relatively small amounts of intensely stinky gas because proteins contain lots of sulfur. A dog's or cat's farts are rarely audible, but the odor is overwhelming. I have asked biologists why dogs and cats generally fart silently, and their theories
include: (1) the amount of gas produced is small, but potent, (2) the horizontal orientation of their gastrointestinal system puts less pressure on the anal opening, so the gas is expelled more slowly, (3) their anal sphincters don't close as tightly as humans' because it takes less force to hold in the contents of the colon -- again because of the horizontal orientation of the gastrointestinal system -- and a loose anus makes less sound, and, my favorite (4) dogs and cats don't feel embarrassed about farting, so their sphincters are more relaxed, leading to less noisy flatulence. Mike F. points out that many dog foods are soy-based, so on top of all the above factors, add beans and stand back! Large herbivorous animals such as cows, horses and elephants, on the other hand, produce vast quantities of relatively non-stinky fart gas. The farts of these animals are noisy and can go on for astoundingly long periods of time. Cows in particular are productive, in part because they swallow huge amounts of air. They need oxygen in their guts for the various protozoa employed there as digestive aids.


Do fish fart?

According to our ichthyologist at the University of Guam, fish flatulence per se has not been studied, although people have investigated fish digestion. They find that although most fish have alkaline intestinal environments like our own, coral-eating fish have acidic intestinal contents. The acid serves to dissolve coral skeletal material. Coral has the same composition as Tums (calcium carbonate). One product of the reaction between acid and calcium carbonate is carbon dioxide gas. Therefore, it is logical to assume that coral-eating fish fart a lot. The other fish probably fart also, for the same reasons that we do. However, Mike Pulte, a great fish enthusiast, said that he has never seen a fish do it. I asked our ichthyologist if it were possible that fish gas would go into the swim bladder instead of out the anal opening. He said that modern fish have an air bladder that is independent of the gastrointestinal tract. The gas comes from enzymatic activity and not from the intestine. Older models of fish have their swim bladder connected to the gastrointestinal tract, but it is attached high up, closer to the mouth than to the other end, and these fish come to the surface and gulp air to fill the bladder. Therefore, we can assume that intestinal gas leaves the fish through the anal opening. We also pondered the possibility of fish making noise via flatulence, but apparently most fish noises are made through belching rather than farting. Lisa P., an aquarium enthusiast, reports that she has seen her fish fart: "I have four aquariums and many fish, and I have personally witnessed fish farting! My goldfish used to do it all the time! You'd see a little bubble come out of his anus and stay there, trapped in the mucus of a long string of poop. (Ugh!) And my opaline gourami does it too. Neither of these are coral-eating fish. I have only owned two coral-eating fish so far, but I have never seen either of them fart. It seems most likely to me that much of this gas comes from air swallowed during eating. Also, goldfish have a very simple digestive system and their food is absorbed inefficiently, so possibly the bacteria have more to feed on?"


Do turtles fart?

Yes, turtles do fart, and their farts smell incredibly bad, as do the farts of snakes. In fact, it is my opinion, based on personal experience with reptiles and not on any formal research, that many reptiles use farts as a weapon. Reptile farts smell so bad that sometimes you can tell that one is nearby in the woods, even on a windy day, before you can see the animal. One day I was hiking through the woods in Arkansas with a friend and I told my friend, "I smell a snake fart." A second later, the snake crawled across the path. Astounding but true!


What kind of animal has the highest worldwide output of flatulence?

Believe it or not, the animal that wins this honor is the humble termite. Because of their diet and digestive processes (with more than the usual microbial assistance), they produce as much methane as human industry. Termite farts are believed to be a major contributor towards global warming.


Is there any kind of animal that doesn't fart?

If we define a fart to be an anal escape of intestinal gas, then it follows that animals that lack intestines or an anus cannot fart. Most animals possess intestines and an anus, but there are some that don't. These include: Sponges: These organisms lack true tissues and organs. They have just a few types of cells organized into a bag with holes in it. Water flows into some holes and out other holes. Sponges are so different from other animals that some biologists think we shouldn't even call them animals. Cnidaria: This phylum includes the jellyfish, corals, sea anemones and hydra. Their tissues are organized into a bag with a mouth surrounded by stinging tentacles. Food enters the mouth and is digested inside the bag, after which the leftovers are expelled via the same opening. In effect, the same hole serves as both a mouth and an anus. Any gas expelled by a cnidarian would be more appropriately termed a belch rather than a fart, since the animal lacks intestines and separate anus.

Pogonophoran worms: These remarkable animals, who dwell on the sea floor near active volcanic regions associated with mid-ocean ridges, possess no mouth, no stomach, no intestines, and no anus. Apparently they retain their svelte, worm-shaped figures by giving up on eating completely! They survive by means of a mutualistic relationship with chemosynthetic bacteria that live in their flesh. Anyway, these animals cannot possibly fart.

A second category of animals that probably don't fart are animals that live very deep underwater. At high pressures, gas remains in solution rather than forming bubbles. So there is a good chance that all those clams, echinoderms, fish and other animals living near the sealer don't fart because their farts stay in solution and never emerge as bubbles, even though the animals possess perfectly good intestines and anuses.


Is it possible to leave a brown spot on your pants because of a fart, and if so, what causes it?

Judging from what I see when I do the laundry, I'd say that the answer to the first question is definitely yes. As for the causes, we must remember that what we call "fart" and what we call "poop" are just end-members of a continuum. That is, we can have a pure fart, or a pure poop, or anything in-between, depending upon the mixture of the two. If a sample consists mostly of poop with only asmall fart component, you get such things asjet-propelled bowel movements and spongy, floating fecal masses (you know, the ones that refuse to be flushed down the toilet -- they keep popping back up). If the sample consists mostly of fart with only a small poop component, you get what is known as "skid marks" or "fart art." These can also result from inadequate wiping, but the shape of the stain is different in the two cases. Inadequate wiping leads to elongate marks parallel to one's crack, usually with well-defined edges, whereas fart art is generally more circular and has an air-brushed look.

Fart art is most likely to occur if (1) a person is suffering from diarrhea, (2) the person is trying too hard to fart, and (3) the person mistakenly perceives the pressure against his sphincter to be gas pressure rather than liquid pressure. Again, that last situation is most likely to occur if the person is afflicted with diarrhea.


How can we tell when it's only gas needing to come out, rather than something more serious?

Our ability to distinguish between the need to fart and the need to poop is something that we learn gradually in the process of toilet training and early childhood. With the tactile nerve endings in the ****** area, we can actually feel different sensations depending upon what is waiting by the exit. Of course, sometimes we are fooled, especially if the substance at hand is extremely fluid in nature, and that is when we have the unfortunate accident of venting a squirt of diarrhea rather than an innocent fart.


Why do chicks always deny farting?

I suppose I should start by saying that only some chicks deny farting. The rest of us acknowledge our gaseous accomplishments with pride. However, a great many sisters do deny farting. The reason is that they have been misled into thinking that farts are not ladylike. It is a great mistake to say that farting is not ladylike. The reason is that all people fart, including ladies. Anything that ladies do is by definition ladylike, and that includes the emission of anal gases.


Is is possible that, by inhaling other people's farts all day long, my own farts will smell more?

No, inhaled farts would go into the lungs rather than into the digestive system, and would simply be exhaled again, although it might be possible that some of the fart components might be absorbed into the blood. If you wanted to benefit from other people's farts in the way you describe, you would have to swallow them somehow.


Is it possible to get stoned after inhaling two or
three farts in a row?

I am not aware of any intoxicating agents in flatulence. However, most farts contain very little oxygen, and you may experience dizziness if you are inhaling overly concentrated fart essence, simply from lack of oxygen. On the other hand, if you are inhaling farts in the open air and are breathing rapidly in order to inhale as much fart as possible, you may be hyperventilating, which also induces dizziness.

Then there is the intrinsic hilarity factor: farts are so funny in both sound and odor that you might feel high just from the basic entertainment value of farts.


Is it possible for a fart to kill you?

A great many of you have asked if farts can be fatal, or if you can die from smelling a particularly bad fart. My initial response to this question was "no," but I thought I'd better ask a doctor. So now it is official, the medical opinion I received is no, a fart can't kill you. However, if you really work hard at it, you can manage to kill yourself with just about anything. I recently read of a man who hooked up his nose to his anus with a system involving a gas mask, rubber tubing and a hollow wooden post. He died of suffocation. This story comes from the Darwin
Awards, and I personally cannot attest to the overall veracity of their stories. The story of the bed-bound obese man who died from inhaling his own flatulence (and whose farts almost killed the paramedics) is an urban legend that has been in circulation for some time.


Can excessive farting cause impotence?

That depends on the tolerance level of the person with whom one is trying to be potent! Fortunately for humans, farting doesn't cause tissue damage. Other animals aren't so lucky. Soldier termites can actually turn themselves into bombs by detonating themselves via the explosive release of gas and feces, a process called "autothysis."


Is it possible to inhale (suck in air) via one's anal opening?

Yes, but it's a rare talent. The great early 20th Century French flatulist, Le Petomane, was able to do this, and in fact was able to suck up an entire bowlful of water (just the water, not the bowl) into his colon and expel it again with considerable force. By sucking in large quantities of air, he was able to perform lengthy shows on stage, and could imitate musical instruments, farm animals, and bird songs, whistle melodies, and play the ocarina. His productions were said to be virtually odorless, which is to be expected from air obtained directly from the outside. Here is a message I received recently (November, 1999) regarding the skill of inhaling via the anus:

"I would just like you to know that i am part of a trio, who can suck in air in our anal openings. we are somewhat air-bandits. we can let the longest farts you have ever heard. our record holder, chad, stands at 24 sec. the record for most farts in a row is derek, at 492. and i, robert, have earned such nicknames as: Mad Crapper, gurglemeister, and old wetful. We have followed Le Petomane example, and have mastered the art of farting."


What causes the burning sensation that sometimes accompanies a fart?

This is generally caused by a recent meal of hot peppers or related spices. The oils associated with these foods remain intact and active all the way through one's gastrointestinal system.


If you fart in the bathtub, is the water polluted and should you refill the tub?

As long as what comes out is only fart and no poop, our bath water should not be significantly polluted. Most of the gas just bubbles up and contaminates the air rather than the water.


Is it true that a woman can fart out of her, shall we say, frontal opening, and if so, where does the gas come from?

Yes, it is true! The gas that emerges is simply trapped air, for there is no gas production in the genitalia of a woman. The air can enter because the system is open to the outside. This highly specialized kind of fart is sometimes called a *****.


Can a man fart out of his genital opening?

I have asked various men this question and they all deny it emphatically.


Is it possible to capture a fart in a jar and save
it for later use?

It should be theoretically possible to do this, but there would be lots of logistical problems. I would suggest using a plastic bag instead of a jar. You might try the following as a science fair experiment: Fart into several plastic bags and seal them carefully. Then fill several other plastic bags with ordinary air. Wait 24 hours. Then get volunteers to smell the contents of the bags to see if they can correctly identify which ones contain the farts. This should tell you if it is possible to store a fart in any useful way.

Malachi and Megaera have come up with a way to capture a fart in a jar. They say to do it in the bathtub while bathing. Fill the jar with bath water and then hold it with the open end downward. Lean back in the bathtub so that your fart bubbles will emerge in front of you rather than behind you where you can't see them. Catch the bubbles in the jar, and put the lid on the jar while it's still underwater. This way, you capture a fairly pure fart uncontaminated by atmospheric air. To enjoy your captured fart to the fullest extent, make sure that your jar does not already smell like whatever was it it before, like pickles or peanut butter.


Is it weird to enjoy farting?

It is not unusual to enjoy farting. I believe that enjoyment of farting is a healthy attitude, since everyone has to fart. If a person is farting to the extent that it creates problems and unhappiness, then a visit to a doctor is in order.


What color is a fart?

Farts are, alas, colorless. All of the gases that make up farts have no inherent color. But just think of how interesting it would be if farts were bright orange like nitrogen dioxide gas! It would certainly take the mystery out of who farted. Never-the-less, a high-personality gas like fart gas suggests color to people. Some people envision farts as brown, others as green or yellow. I have always thought of farts as brown, presumably because poop is brown. When someone farts in our car, that person might say, "You better not breathe through your mouth for awhile, or your teeth will turn brown." I knew a toddler who used to draw pictures of farts as yellow rectangles full of holes, like a slice of Swiss cheese. She thought of farts as yellow, and said that she knew they were rectangular because she could feel the sharp corners scraping against her on the way out!


Do other people smell a fart better than the farter?

The fart should smell just as much for the person who created it as it does for other people. However, the farter is somewhat protected by having the fart propelled away from his body in a direction opposite to his nose. Farting upwind nullifies this advantage.


Why is it that when you scratch your ass through two layers of clothing (your underwear and your jeans) your fingers still stink?

As pointed out by Barb F., who contributed the term listed below, a fart can be regarded as "aerosolized poop," which means that microscopic fragments and droplets of poop are actually distributed throughout the gaseous matrix of the fart. When delivered from the anus with some force, the components of the fart can penetrate one's clothing and these tiny particles can be trapped in the fibers of the cloth. The particles are transferred to your fingers and then your nose when you scratch and sniff.


Where does the word "fart" come from?

According to Eric Partridge in his excellent book of word origins (Origins: A Short Etymological Dictionary of Modern English), our word fart comes from the Old English word feortan, presumably of echoic origin, meaning that the word was chosen to sound like the object named.


When it is cold outside and you fart, can you see it like you can see your breath?

Now, that's an interesting idea! My guess would be yes, since farts are nice and moist like our breath, but this is one question that I'm not in a position to answer. I live in the tropics, and it never gets cold here. So all of you who live in cold places, try it out and let me know. I'd guess that there are really two questions here: can you see the fart with no pants on, and can you see the fart even with pants on.

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"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]
      #2798 - 12/17/05 11:46 PM

HOW TO POOP AWAY FROM HOME

We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back at work and suddenly felt something brewing. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the TAKING A DUMP AT AWAY FROM HOME is inevitable.


For those who hate pooping ANYWHERE other than home, the following Survival Guide may come in handy.


CROP DUSTING - When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

FLY BY - The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

ESCAPEE - A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK - When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH - The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME - Emerging from the bathroom after you have just stunk it up. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER - A colleague who poops at work and is dern proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.

THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N) - A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS - A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that a re predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR - Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH - A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE - A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

WATERMELON - A poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

--------------------
"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]
      #4519 - 12/21/05 01:40 PM

I hope you cut & pastes this stuff, if not you have WAY too much time on your hands, or have a Government job in which case I understand.

--------------------
Goin huntin, yep, yep goin to get me that wascly wabbit.

Edited by Fudd..Elmer Fudd (12/21/05 01:41 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Fudd..Elmer Fudd]
      #4732 - 12/21/05 06:19 PM

I can't believe I actually read that whole thing!
Ok, I was bored......but that's WAY to much fart information.....


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: chief3]
      #12616 - 01/11/06 09:50 AM

This guy wants to be a proctologist, and he wants to be a really good proctologist, so he decides to go down to the morgue after class and practice a little. Well, he uncovers the first guy and there is a cork in his butt! He thinks it's a little strange, so he pulls it and music starts playing!

"...On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again..."
The guy really freaks out! He runs and gets the M.A. and drags the poor guy back to the table.

"Look!" he says, and pulls the cork out again "...On the road again..."

The M.A. is totally unimpressed... "So what?" he says.
"Isn't that the most amazing thing you've ever seen? "the guy asked,
"Are you kidding?" says the M.A. "Any asshole can sing country music!"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #20480 - 02/02/06 04:42 AM

A bear and a rabbit were taking a s**t in the woods. The bear says to the rabbit "Don't you hate it when s**t gets stuck to your fir?" and the rabbit replies "No, not really." So the bear picks up the rabbit and wipes his butt with him.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #20496 - 02/02/06 05:28 AM

Simon and Bubba were out hunting in the woods when Simon decided he couldn't wait to go to the bathroom anymore.
"Man, Bubba, I've got to use the bathroom", he said, "but I don't have any toilet paper".
"Just use a dollar", said Bubba.
So Simon proceeded around a tree to do his business. A few minutes later, he came from behind the tree with brown stuff all over his hands.
"I thought I told you to use a dollar", exclaimed Bubba!
"I did", said Simon, "but have you ever tried to wipe with three quarters, two dimes, and a nickel"?

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #20497 - 02/02/06 05:29 AM

A guy was telling his friend about his recent hunting trip to Alaska.
"We were out in the woods all morning and our guide decided that we should take a break along the river bank. I wasn't feeling tired so I went for a stroll while the others were resting.
As I was walking, a grizzly bear burst out of the undergrowth in front of me. I turned and started running like hell through the woods with the bear after me. The bear almost caught up with me but slipped and fell down. I kept running and the bear almost caught up with me again twice, but slipped and fell each time. I finally reached the river bank. The guide saw the bear chasing me and shot it dead."
"Wow!" replied his friend, "That's incredible. If I were you, I would have chit myself."
The first guy answered, "What do you think the bear was slipping on?"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #24131 - 02/13/06 12:57 PM

A little boy blows up his balloon and starts flicking it all around the house with his finger. His mother tells him to stop it as he's liable to break something. The boy continues. "Johnny!" mom screams. "Knock it off. You're going to break something." He stops and eventually mom leaves for a short trip to the store. Johnny starts up with the balloon again. He gives it one last flick and it lands in the toilet. Mom comes in and while putting away the groceries gets the urge. A diarrhea run. She can hardly make it to the toilet in time and SPLASH, out it comes.

When she's finished she looks down and can't believe what she's seeing. Diarrhea everywhere! She's not sure what this big brown thing is in the toilet! She calls her doctor. The doctor is baffled as she describes the situation, but he assures her he'll be over shortly to examine everything. When he arrives she leads him to the bathroom and he gets down on his knees and takes a long, hard look at the thing. Finally, he takes out his pen and sort of touches it to see what it might be and POP! The balloon explodes and diarrhea is everywhere. On him, the walls, etc. "Doctor! Doctor! Are you alright?" she asks. He says, "I've been in this business for over 30 years, and this is the first time I've ever seen a fart!"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #24183 - 02/13/06 04:43 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #26341 - 02/21/06 07:09 PM

Don't Shave That Butt Hair!!!

I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble pooping.

No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my butt-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my buttcheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my butt of hair. Occbuttionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My butt was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two ascheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to clbutt. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic poop- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky poop/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. HOT-darn, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.

Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my butt off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering poop/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my butt cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own poop blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my butt at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for butt-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my buttcheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your butt having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR BUTT-HAIR!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #26350 - 02/21/06 08:45 PM

Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahha.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #26927 - 02/24/06 01:44 AM

And a short video...

Be Quiet

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #31342 - 03/16/06 05:52 AM




--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #34513 - 03/31/06 08:25 PM

In the beginning was the plan.
And then came the assumptions.
And the assumptions were without form.
And the plan was completely without substance.
And a darkness fell upon the faces of the Employees.
And they spoke amongst themselves, saying "It is a load of crap and it stinks."
And the Employees went to their Supervisors, saying "It is a bucket of dung and no one can bear the odour."
And the Supervisors went to their Managers, saying "It is a container of excrement and its smell is so strong that none can abide it."
And the Managers went to their Divisional Directors, saying "It is a vessel of fertilizer and none can abide its strength."
And the Directors went to their Executive Directors, saying "It aids plant growth and it is very strong."
And the Executive Directors went to the President, saying "Our plan promotes growth and it is very powerful."
And the President went to the Board of Directors, saying "This new plan will actively promote the growth of this organization."
And the Board of Directors looked upon the plan and saw that it was good and the plan became policy.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #34515 - 03/31/06 08:36 PM

Some of this ain't no joke, Folks. Seen it in action. Every layer you go up, the political spin gets worse.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #34552 - 04/01/06 05:23 AM

If you have more than one layer it's called 2-ply.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #34614 - 04/02/06 12:51 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
If you have more than one layer it's called 2-ply.




I would have thought it would be a brace of hens.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #34625 - 04/02/06 05:17 AM




--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #36058 - 04/11/06 01:37 AM

Stolen (without regret) from another forum

THE BIG Job

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.

As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1. Occupied.

2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3. Crap smeared on seat.

4. Crap and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped my trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Crapper. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Dumper was blathering to Mrs. Dumper about the crappy day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:

(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My dump-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous dump-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to crap in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the latrine.

And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #37554 - 04/21/06 04:41 AM

A man, while playing on the front nine of a complicated golf course, became confused as to where he was on the course. Looking around, he saw a lady playing ahead of him. He walked up to her, explained his confusion and asked her if she knew what hole he was playing.

I'm on the 7th hole," she replied, "and you are a hole behind me. So you must be on the 6th hole."

He thanked her and went back to his golf ball.

On the back nine, the same thing happened and he approached her again with the same request.

"I'm on number 14, and you're still a hole behind, so you must be on the 13th hole."

Once again he thanked her and returned to his play.

He finished his round and went to the clubhouse where he saw the same lady sitting at the end of the bar. He asked the bartender if he knew the lady.

The bartender said that she was a sales lady and played the course often.

He approached her and said, "Let me buy you a drink in appreciation for your help. I understand that you're in the sales profession. I'm in sales also. What do you sell?"

"I'll tell you, but you're going to laugh," she replied.

"No, I won't."

"Well, if you must know," she answered, "I work for Tampax."

With that, he laughed so hard he almost fell off the bar stool.

"See," she said. "I knew you'd laugh!"

"That's not what I'm laughing at," he replied, "I'm a salesman for Preparation H, so I'm still a hole behind you."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #38066 - 04/25/06 02:03 PM

A manager at Wal-Mart was given the task of hiring an individual to fill a job opening. After sorting through a stack of resumes he found four people who were equally qualified.

He decided to call the four in and ask them only one question.

Their answer would determine which of them would get the job.

The day came and as the four sat around the conference room table the interviewer asked, "What is the fastest thing you know of?" Acknowledging the first man on his right, the man replied,

"A THOUGHT."

It just pops into your head. There's no warning that it's on the way; It's just there. A thought is the fastest thing I know of."

"That's very good!" replied the interviewer.

"And now you sir?" he asked the second man.

"Hmm.! Let me see. A BLINK ! It comes and goes and you don't know that it ever happened.A BLINK is the fastest thing I know of."

"Excellent!" said the interviewer. "The blink of an eye, that's a very popular clich? for speed."

He then turned to the third man who was contemplating his reply.

Well, out at my dad's ranch, you step out of the house and on the wall there's a light switch. When you flip that switch, way out across the pasture the light in the barn comes on in less than an instant. Yep, TURNING ON A LIGHT is the fastest thing I can think of."

The interviewer was very impressed with the third answer and thought he had found his man. "It's hard to beat the speed of light," he said.

Turning to Bubba, the fourth and final man, the interviewer posed the same question.

Old Bubba replied, "After hearing the three previous answers, It's obvious to me that the fastest thing known is DIARRHEA."

"WHAT!?" said the interviewer, stunned by the response.

"Oh I can explain." said Old Bubba. "You see the other day I wasn't feeling so good, and I ran for the bathroom, but, before I could THINK, BLINK, or TURN ON THE LIGHT, I had already crapped in my pants."

Old Bubba is now the new greeter at a Wal-Mart near you!!!!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #40126 - 05/10/06 09:46 AM

Manure: In the 16th and 17th centuries everything had to be transported by ship and it was also before commercial fertilizers were invented, so large shipments of manure were common.
It was shipped dry, because in dry form it weighed a lot less than when wet, but once water (at sea) hit it, it not only became heavier, but the process of fermentation began again, of which a by product is methane gas. As the stuff was stored below decks in bundles you can see what could (and did) happen.

Methane began to build up below decks and the first time someone came below at night with a lantern, BOOOOM! Several ships were destroyed in this manner before it was determined just what was happening.

After that, the bundles of manure were always stamped with the term "Ship High In Transit" on them, which meant for the sailors to stow it high enough off the lower decks so that any water that came into the hold would not touch this volatile cargo and start the production of methane.
Thus evolved the term "S.H.I.T." , (Ship High In Transit) which has come down through the centuries and is still in use to this very day.

You probably did not know the true history of this word. Neither did I.

I had always thought it was a golf term.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #40129 - 05/10/06 09:53 AM

Bryan came home from the pub late one Friday evening stinking drunk, as he often did, and crept into bed beside his wife who was already asleep.
He gave a peck on the cheek and fell asleep. When he awoke he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed wearing a long flowing white robe.
"Who the hell are you?" Demanded Brian, "and what are you doing in my bedroom?".
The mysterious Man answered "This isn't your bedroom and I'm St Peter".
Brian was stunned "You mean I'm dead!!! That can't be, I have so much to live for, I haven't said goodbye to my family.... you've got to send me back straight away".
St Peter replied "Yes you can be reincarnated but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog or a hen."
Brian was devastated, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen.
A flash of light later he was covered in feathers and clucking around pecking the ground. "This ain't so bad" he thought until he felt this strange feeling welling up inside him.
The farmyard rooster strolled over and said "So you're the new hen, how are you enjoying your first day here?"
"It's not so bad" replies Brian, "but I have this strange feeling insidelike I'm about to explode".
"You're ovulating" explained the rooster, "don't tell me you've never laid an egg before".
"Never" replies Brian
"Well just relax and let it happen"
And so he did and after a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg pops out from under his tail. An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time.
When he laid his second egg, the feeling of happiness was overwhelming and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that ever happened to him... ever!!!
The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head and heard his wife shouting "Brian, wake up you drunken bastard, You've just chit yourself"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #41641 - 05/22/06 04:39 PM

The new supermarket near our house has an automatic mist machine to keep the produce fresh. Just before it goes on, you hear the sound of a thunderstorm.
-
When you approach the milk cases, you hear cows mooing.
-
When you approach the egg case, you hear hens cackle.
-
So far I have been too afraid to go down the toilet paper aisle.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #41652 - 05/22/06 05:13 PM

Now, this last one was funny!!!!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #41829 - 05/23/06 08:07 PM

WATER...... It has been scientifically proven that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli bacteria found in feces, in other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop!

However, we do not run that risk when drinking beer because alcohol has to go through a distillation process of boiling, filtering and fermenting.

WATER = Poop

BEER = HEALTH

Free yourself of Poop, drink BEER!!! It is better to drink beer and talk chit than to drink water and be full of chit.

There is no need to thank me for this valuable information, I am doing it as a public service.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #41846 - 05/23/06 11:20 PM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
Free yourself of Poop, drink BEER!!!




As a brewer, I've gotta say that ain't right.

The part about drinking water is correct. The Federal standard for safe drinking water is that it have no more than 1.1 colonies of e. coli (sewage bacteria) per liter. So, we're drinking a lot of that.

But in making beer, the long molecular starch chains in grains get broken down into simple sugars by "mashing" at certain temperatures.

In fermentation, those sugar molecules are then "eaten" by brewer's yeast, which is a fungus. Big fungi are mushrooms and toadstools, small fungi are yeast, the stuff on your wet basement wall, and the critters that make your feet stink and give you toe jam.

Yeast consumes sugar and changes it to glycogen, ethyl alcohol, and CO2. The glycogen is a protein that is used to grow more yeast, but the alcohol and CO2 are waste products that are excreted and discarded by the yeast cells.

So - drinking beer and avoiding water may keep you away from Poop, but the alcohol in beer is yeast Pee, and the carbonation is yeast Farts.


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Ozark]
      #41933 - 05/24/06 02:16 PM

Whew!!! I'm glad we got that straight.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Ozark]
      #42384 - 05/28/06 03:50 AM

Quote:

Ozark said:
Quote:

SwampFox said:
Free yourself of Poop, drink BEER!!!




As a brewer, I've gotta say that ain't right.

The part about drinking water is correct. The Federal standard for safe drinking water is that it have no more than 1.1 colonies of e. coli (sewage bacteria) per liter. So, we're drinking a lot of that.

But in making beer, the long molecular starch chains in grains get broken down into simple sugars by "mashing" at certain temperatures.

In fermentation, those sugar molecules are then "eaten" by brewer's yeast, which is a fungus. Big fungi are mushrooms and toadstools, small fungi are yeast, the stuff on your wet basement wall, and the critters that make your feet stink and give you toe jam.

Yeast consumes sugar and changes it to glycogen, ethyl alcohol, and CO2. The glycogen is a protein that is used to grow more yeast, but the alcohol and CO2 are waste products that are excreted and discarded by the yeast cells.

So - drinking beer and avoiding water may keep you away from Poop, but the alcohol in beer is yeast Pee, and the carbonation is yeast Farts.





That's why I drink whiskey.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #44396 - 06/14/06 05:18 PM

I was barely sitting down when I heard a voice from the other stall saying: "Hi, how are you?"

I'm not the type to start a conversation in the restroom but I don't know what got into me, so I answered, somewhat embarrassed, "Doin' just fine!"

And the other person says: "So what are you up to?"

What kind of question is that? At that point, I'm thinking this is too bizarre so I say: "Uhhh, I'm like you, just traveling!"

At this point I am just trying to get out as fast as I can when I hear another question. "Can I come over?"

Ok, this question is just too weird for me but I figured I could just be polite and end the conversation. I tell them "No........I'm a little busy right now!!!"

Then I hear the person say nervously, "Listen, I'll have to call you back. There's an idiot in the other stall who keeps answering all my questions."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #44414 - 06/14/06 08:00 PM

So, SF, how stupid did you feel?

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #44679 - 06/16/06 11:11 PM

Once Mel was a little boy who lived in the country. For bathroom facilities, he had to use an outhouse. The Mel hated it because it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and it stank all the time.

The outhouse was sitting on the bank of a creek, and Mel determined that one day he would push that outhouse into the water.

One day after a spring rain, the creek was swollen so Mel decided that today was the day to push the outhouse into the creek. So he got a large stick and pushed. Finally, the outhouse toppled into the creek and floated away.

That evening his dad sternly told him to sit down. Knowing he was in trouble, Mel asked why. The dad replied, "Someone pushed the outhouse into the creek today. It was you, wasn't it, son?"

Mel nodded meekly. Then he thought a moment and said, "Dad, I read in school today that George Washington chopped down a cherry tree and didn't get into trouble because he told the truth."

The dad replied, "Well, son, George Washington's father wasn't in that cherry tree!"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #44681 - 06/16/06 11:16 PM

We all know those cute little computer symbols called "emoticons," where:



means a smile and


is a frown.

Sometimes these are represented by


:-)

:-(

Well, how about some "ASSICONS?"
Here goes:



(_!_) a regular ass



(__!__) a fat ass



(!) a tight ass



(_*_) a sore ass



{_!_} a swishy ass



(_o_) an ass that's been around



(_x_) kiss my ass



(_X_) leave my ass alone



(_zzz_) a tired ass



(_E=mc2_) a smart ass



(_$_) Money coming out of his ass



(_?_) Dumb Ass



You have just been e-mooned!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #46670 - 07/05/06 01:05 AM

Not the brightest of ideas.....

Doctors Remove Lightbulb From Man's Anus

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #53153 - 08/17/06 05:06 PM




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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #54123 - 08/23/06 01:34 PM


Farting Preacher Video

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #55059 - 08/28/06 11:32 AM


Toot-Tone

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #56937 - 09/06/06 05:31 PM

What do the star ship Enterprise, and toilet paper have in common?

They both circle Uranus in search of Klingons.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #57641 - 09/11/06 06:45 PM


For Her Future

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #57838 - 09/12/06 08:52 PM


Beans, broccoli and crab cakes (video)

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #57997 - 09/13/06 07:27 PM

It was a hot Sunday mornin',
Middle of July
The choir was a singin'
'Bout the sweet by and by.

Everybody was a swayin'
And sweatin' in the heat,
We all bowed our heads down
As the preacher took his seat.

My sister and my brother
Stood next to my mother
In the quiet at the close of the verse.

That's when daddy cut the big one....
At the Horn Lake Mississippi
Missionary Baptist Church.

My sister rolled her eyes back,
My brother bit his lip.
My cousin just behind us
Whispered, "Hey, who let it rip?"

I stuck my face in my shirtsleeve,
Stared down at my shoes.
Lord, you could hear a pin drop,
As we stood there in the pew...

Heads were turnin',
Eyes were burnin',
Momma stuck her nose in her purse,

After daddy cut the big one
At the Horn Lake Mississippi
Missionary Baptist Church.

He cut the big one,
It was a stinker.
Then he broke the silence ~
With a snicker

And us kids started laughin',
'Til I thought we was all gonna burst....
After daddy cut the big one,
At the Horn Lake Mississippi
Missionary Baptist Church.

He said, "The devil made me do it..."
Momma said it was the liverwurst....
And that's why daddy cut the big one,
At the Horn Lake Mississippi
Missionary Baptist Church.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #58624 - 09/18/06 07:38 PM


Audio: Brown Bakededed Beans

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #61520 - 10/02/06 09:49 PM


Video: A Mensroom Monolouge

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #67412 - 11/02/06 09:28 PM

Friends are like butt cheeks.
chit might separate them,
But they always come back together.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #70132 - 11/20/06 12:12 PM

Don't watch this one if you are squeemish...

The Hot Tub

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #70358 - 11/21/06 06:55 PM

A teacher was doing a study testing the senses of first graders using a bowl of Lifesavers. The children began to say:

"Red................cherry",
"Yellow..........lemon",
"Green............lime",
"Orange.............orange",

Finally the teacher gave them all honey Lifesavers.
After eating them none of the children could identify the taste."Well", he said, "I'll give you a all a clue; it's what your mother may sometimes call your father."

One little girl looked up in horror, spit her Lifesaver out and yelled: "Oh My God!!!! They're assholes!"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #72487 - 12/09/06 05:24 AM




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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74685 - 12/24/06 12:07 AM

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.
Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom.

Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good chit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a chit. I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of chit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over chit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death.

My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of chit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The chit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the chit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of chit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in chit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid chit. All while thick chit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no forking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being.

She left. The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #74771 - 12/24/06 03:44 PM

Here's the classic Griffin story that I'll call, as he did...



My Finest Hour



For about 6 years I hunted the same place almost daily. It was in the late 80's so there was only 30 days anyway. I hunted with the same guys day after day, 4 of us.

Usually I'd show up from just getting off work or just getting home from being out drinking.....so someone else drove and I slept the 2 hours it took to get to this particular spot.

When we got there, religiously, I'd take a nice healthy chit in the ditch next to where we parked. There was a Johhny on the Spot there...but I always like to just chit in the grass when I'm hunting.

After shitting, I'd get my hunting gear on and then join the boys for the mile walk down the levee and then the 1/4 mile waist deep wade out to where we liked to hunt.

One day, even after I stood waiting for it to happen, I didn't have to chit. The boys were antsy because it was cold as hell and the wind was howling out of the North.....it was gonna be a good day.

I didn't figure to make them wait anymore so I got dressed and off we went.....I felt good.

We waded out to our spot, set up the decoys, and I settled in with the first cigarette of the morning. I smoked back then.....and I miss it now....but I quit 6 years ago after my 1 year old son padded up to me with a butt in his mouth. Right then I figured fork this....he ain't learning it from me....and never smoked again.....but I digress.

As I stood there enjoying that cigarette and the quiet of the dark morning I felt the first rumble.....DAMN!

I waited a minute and sure enough....I've got to chit. Standing in waist deep water ain't conducive to a comfortable chit.....so I told my buds, "I'll be right back"...and headed for the levee.

I guess I'd made it about 100 yards or so....maybe 1/4 of the way....when I realized that I wasn't going to make it. I was already at the point where I was having to stop every 20 steps or so and take a deep breath, pinch my ass cheeks together, and wait for the cramp to pass......and I was beginning to panic.

I was shining my flashlight back and forth looking for ANYTHING that I could crawl up on and chit.....and then I saw it...about 40 or 5o yards away. A big old tree was laying on it's side.....a log really.....it hadn't been a tree for quite some time....but it was big enough to get up on and chit. So I headed for it.

I was taking small steps and having to stop and pinch and after about 30 or so yards the sweat was beading up on my forehead and I was in dire straights. I guess I got within about 20 feet of that big ass log when I felt a huge wave coming on from my bowels. I stopped and fought it for all I was worth.....but I was not man enough....and I chit in my pants.....now once it started, it felt so good, I just went with it. I mean, fork it, you might as well just go at this point....and go I did!!! Hell.... I filled my underwear and then felt it run down my right leg as I just stood there shitting....and it felt good!!!

Once I was done....admittedly...I was a damn mess. I had no idea what I was going to do but I waded over to that log and crawled up on it.

There really wasn't much I could do at that point so I figured I'd strip down and use my undershirt to clean myself off. Now it ain't easy taking all your clothes off on top of a log....but it was about 2 foot wide and provided ample room to get the job done.....but I still had to be careful.

I can tell you that chit had run all the way down to the top of my sock on my leg. It had filled my underwear and then ran down my long underwear and just soaked me and my jeans and covered me in chit.

I got my waders off and then took off my pants and long underwear and threw both of them in the damn water. My right sock had to go as well.

Then I took off my jacket and the couple layers I had on and got to my long undershirt...which I peeled off and tore into strips and began to clean my ass off.

Now there I stood, naked from the waist down, except for the left white cotton sock, and a white t-shirt on my upper body. I was cold....but it felt kinda good since I had been sweating so much trying not to chit.

So I'm dipping the shirt in the water and wiping the chit from my ass and leg when I catch the first ray of light cutting across the marsh.....and I watch it as it searches back and forth...and then I hear the voices...and hear the splashing of them men behind the voices in the water....and I begin to panic again!!!!

Unfortunately.....as I'm sure you have figured...there ain't no place to run and hide when you are standing naked on a log in 30 degree weather on top of 3 feet of water....so I did what any scared animal does....I froze where I stood and waited to see what would happen next.

And it was the worst.

The light got closer and the voices got louder until I could plainly hear one of the forkers say, "I know that log is right up ahead". The light was panning back and forth and on about the fourth pass it stopped right on my naked ass. And then the splashing stopped.....and then one of them said...."GODDAMN!!!!!...are you alright???"

"DO I forking LOOK LIKE I'M ALRIGHT????? GET THE forking LIGHT OFF OF ME!!!"

"I chit my pants"

The next sound I heard was basically....BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA X about 1,000,000.

Those forkers laughed at me for about 10 minutes it seemed. I just kept on cleaning and eventually put my waders back on and walked on by them. I was not sheepish......fork 'em....as I have said....I'm a man....at times I chit my pants.

I hunted the rest of the morning....luckily it was a fast shoot....most were at a two mallard limit.

I rode home with my waders on....and my buds laughed at me the whole way as I pounded beers and laughed with 'em.

It was my finest hour.

--------------------
"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]
      #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...

--------------------
"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]
      #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."

--------------------
"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]
      #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".

--------------------
"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]
      #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.

--------------------
"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]
      #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

--------------------
"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]
      #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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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #105615 - 07/19/07 11:37 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #106543 - 07/27/07 03:44 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #107287 - 08/02/07 12:47 PM

The House Behind The House

One of my fondest memories
As I recall the days of yore
Was the little house, behind the house,
With the crescent o'er the door.

'Twas a place to sit and ponder
With your head all bowed down low;
Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
If you didn't have to go.

Ours was a multi-holer, three,
With a size for every one.
You left there feeling better,
After your job was done.

You had to make those frequent trips
In snow, rain, sleet, or fog--
To that little house where you usually
Found the Eatons catalog.

Oft times in dead of winter,
The seat was spread with snow.
Twas then with much reluctance,
To that little house you'd go.

With a swish you'd clear that wooden seat,
Bend low, with dreadful fear
You'd shut your eyes and grit your teeth
As you settled on your rear.

I recall the day Ol' Granddad,
Who stayed with us one summer,
Made a trip out to that little house
Which proved to be a bummer.

'Twas the same day that my Dad had
Finished painting the kitchen green.
He'd just cleaned up the mess he'd made
With rags and gasoline.

He tossed the rags down in the hole
Went on his usual way
Not knowing that by doing so
He'd eventually rue the day.

Now Granddad had an urgent call,
I never will forget!
This trip he made to the little house
Stays in my memory yet.

He sat down on the wooden seat,
With both feet on the floor.
He filled his pipe and tapped it down
And struck a match on the outhouse door.

He lit the pipe and sure enough,
It soon began to glow.
He slowly raised his rear a bit
And tossed the flaming match below.

The Blast that followed, I am told
Was heard for miles around;
And there was poor ol' Granddad
Sprawled out there on the ground.

The smoldering pipe still in his mouth,
His eyes were shut real tight;
The celebrated three-holer
Was blown clear out of sight.

We asked him what had happened,
What he said I'll ne'er forget.
He said he thought it must have been
The pinto beans he et!

Next day we had a new one
Dad put it up with ease.
But this one had a door sign
That read: No Smoking, Please

Now that's the story's end my friend,
Of memories long ago,
When we went to the house behind the house,
Because we had to go.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #107322 - 08/02/07 02:57 PM

Dr. Brady Barr, a reptile specialist with the National Geographic TV channel, needed to get close enough to Nile crocodiles in Tanzania (length: up to 20 feet) to attach data monitors to their tails and decided to dress up as a croc and crawl to them. With a crocodile suit, a prosthetic head and a metal cage (and hippopotamus dung to mask his human scent), he was able to apply tags, with video to prove it (according to a June report in London's Daily Mail), with the scariest moment coming not from crocodiles but when a hippo wandered by, attracted by the dung scent. [Daily Mail (London), 6-13-07]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #112998 - 09/03/07 04:11 PM

From Chuck Shepherds "News Of The wierd"...

Life-Saving Properties of Sewage

In April, a woman hanging out laundry on the sixth-floor roof of a building in Nanjing, China, fell off but was only slightly injured when she happened to land in a shallow pool of the contents of the building's septic system, which workers were cleaning. [Reuters, 4-4-07]

A fiery auto crash in July near Augusta, Ga., had killed the driver and would likely kill the passenger, too, if the fire were not immediately smothered. Firefighters were still minutes away, but passing by was a pump truck from a local plumbing company, whose quick-thinking driver extinguished the flames with 1,500 gallons of raw sewage from a septic tank-cleaning job he had just finished. [WJBF-TV (Augusta), 7-9-07]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #116885 - 09/20/07 08:23 PM

"Did someone write STOOPID across my forehead when I was sleeping?"

"It wasn't me, I swear. So, are you coming?"

"No Paul, I'm referring to your invitation. You've got to think I'm a Kentucky Fried Idiot to show up for another dinner at your house. Without a gun."

"Awwww, man! Don't be like that. It wasn't that bad."

"For three days, I could have laid on my stomach and chit into a martin box. Three. Whole. Days. Yeah, it was that bad."

"So you're still pissed."

"Pissed? Pissed?? Now, why would I be pissed? Every time I even look at red beans and andoullie sausage, my sphincter threatens to rebel. I spent three days stapled to the toilet seat, Paul. Three days of volcanic, canned-chili-through-a-leaf-blower shits. My ass was literally chapped. I prolapsed my anus on the second day and had to tuck it back in myself. Do you know what it's like to perch on the toilet like a cat and hold your innards in with one hand while you direct fire by sound? It's messy, Paul. Very messy."

*sounds of stifled giggles*

"Hey man, I'm sorry. Really." Insincerity oozes through the phone receiver.

"Do you have any idea what undigested rice looks like when it passes out the other end? No? It looks like tapeworms, Paul. That's very disconcerting to a dog trainer. I even started wearing shoes again."

*more giggles*

"Hey man, it wasn't my idea. Old Coot did it. And I promise I won't pull anything this time."

"Then Old Coot has an ass-whipping coming. I don't care if he's a senior citizen with one arm. I'll circle to his left and throw lots of right hooks. He won't stand a chance."

"You'll never get close enough. He's so paranoid that he sleeps with one eye open. He keeps that Detective's Special in an ankle holster, and you know how quick he is."

"You're right. So maybe no ass-whipping then. I'll just pour dish detergent in his windshield washer reservoir or something. But that still leaves you."

You ain't got a chance of whipping my ass!"

"Don't be so sure. But I'll get you back one way or another, and when you least expect it. I've got those suture kits the vet gave me for stitching up the dogs. You'll pass out one day and wake up with your forking earlobes sewn to the mattress."

"Dude, are you coming or not? It's gonna be a good fight."

"No!"

"Jerkoff."

"Dipshit."

"Asshole!"

"Dick cheese!"

"Bedwetter!"

"Dog masturbator!"

"Paul, that was a joke. I can't believe you fell for it. Do you actually believe I'd whack off a dog as a reward?"

"Dog masturbator," he repeats. Doggedly.

"If I actually had whacked off the dog, he'd be begging you for a hand job after every retrieve. That oughta tell you something."

"ARE YOU COMING OR NOT???"

"ALL RIGHT DAMMIT, I'LL COME TO YOUR FREAKING PAY-PER-VIEW FIGHT! ASSHOLE!"

"Click."

Thus goes the story of how, against my better judgment, I agreed to show up at Paul's for the Mike Tyson-Razor Ruddick rematch. I fully intended to stiff him on my share of the fee, though. I have my principles.

On the night in question, I showed up at Paul's to find everyone already there. Long-Suffering Wife greeted me at the door and kissed my cheek.

"Come on in, DT. We're having gumbo."

I went by Dog Trainer in those days. I warily stepped across the threshold, looking for tripwires. Paul greeted me at the kitchen door with a full bowl of gumbo.

"Hey brother, make yourself at home! Grab yourself a brew and the gumbo's on the table."

"You eat it first."

"Jesus Christ! Paranoid bastard." He rolls his eyes and eats a few spoonfuls. "Satisfied?"

"Nope. Now eat a few spoons right out of the pot."

"Goddamn! I told you I wasn't going to pull anything!"

"Goodnight, Paul." I turn to leave.

"Okay, okay, okay." He eats a few spoonfuls from the pot. "Satisfied now?"

"I will be if you get me an unopened beer from the fridge and give me that bowl you're holding."

"Deal."

I take my un-tampered-with gumbo and beverage and settle into a recliner a safe distance away from Old Coot and Paul. I still don't trust the bastards. After a few fights on the undercard, I'd had a few brews and another couple of bowls of Long-Suffering Wife's famous chicken and sausage gumbo - all opened and dipped by Yours Truly, of course. I stopped drinking beer after a six pack or so and started drinking tea.

Halfway through the main event, Tyson is beating Ruddick like he stole something, and I feel my guts rumble. I clench my butt cheeks and look around to see if anyone is watching. No one is.

Again with the gut rumbling. There's some magma down deep in those bowels, and it's beginning to rise to the surface. I break out in a cold sweat and try to keep my expression neutral as I start to mentally retrace every step since I entered Paul's house. Then it hits me.

The tea. The forking tea. They knew I'd cut myself off after six beers, and the gumbo is spicy. The tea was already made. I surreptitiously look around the den. Not a forking tea glass in sight besides mine.

*sigh*

June 28, 1991. Mark that date down, folks. The day Ambulance Driver fell for the same forking gag. Twice.

Manfully retaining my composure, I casually get up and saunter to the bathroom. Slowly. Behind me, someone stifles a giggle.

I barely get the door closed and get my pants down before I evacuate my bowels in a virtual torrent of chit. It was one of those feet-straight-out, all-over-body-spasm, water-splashes-out-of-the-toilet dumps, people. I must have been in total body tetany for five minutes. I could feel myself mummifying as my body purged itself of all fluids. My anus was the Old Faithful of feces.

After it was over with and I felt like I could break contact with the seat without triggering another spasm, I reached for the toilet paper.

There was none. Not even the little cardboard tube.

Okay, don't panic. They just forgot to replace the roll. Look under the sink.

Nada. Not a single roll. Not even a scrap of facial tissue, makeup sponge, printed douche directions...nothing.

Okay, NOW it's time to panic.

I feverishly scan the bathroom for anything absorbent and foldable. Not only are there no paper products, there are no washcloths, no hand towels, not even a loofah. I whimper just a little bit.

Bastards. They got me good. I'm going to have to sacrifice my shorts.

I fight back tears and cast my gaze around the bathroom, steeling myself for what is to come, and then inspiration strikes. I smile beatifically, duck-walk across the bathroom and Do What I Have To Do.

I flushed the toilet afterwards, opened the door and moseyed back into the den. I said my goodbyes and ignored the guffaws of Paul, Old Coot and just about everyone else in the room. Everyone refused to shake my hand. Long-Suffering Wife hugged my neck before I left. I strongly suspect she wasn't in on the joke.

Fast forward a few days and the phone rings at the office.

"Chauvin Kennels," I answer.

"&*^%*$# son-of-a ^&%*$#!"

"Well hello, Paul! And how are you this lovely Sunday afternoon?"

"$%#^!!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, boy?"

"^&%$^&***"

"Put your wife on the phone, Paul. Wipe the slobber off the mouthpiece first." I hear the receiver bounce off of something, and a stream of profanity is cut off abruptly by the slam of a door.

"Hey DT, how are you?" Long-Suffering Wife inquires. She's trying not to giggle loudly enough for Paul to hear.

"Thinner, LSW. How's the hubby?"

"You heard him. He's really pissed. How did you do it?"

"You should tell him that the next time he gives someone a boxful of laxative and hides all the toilet paper, that he should remember to lock his closet door first."

*more giggles* LSW says something else.

"You were running late this morning, so he just grabbed a shirt and put in on as he was running out the door?"

"Yep. He looped a tie over his neck, threw on a jacket and we went straight to church."

"When did he notice?"

*openly chortling now. maybe a snort or two as well*

"Later, in the fellowship hall. He took off his jacket when he got hot. You know how much he sweats."

"Even better," I grin evilly.

"The best part was, the chit had dried on his shirt so it didn't smell. When he got to sweating, though..." LSW dissolved into a fit of laughter. I can barely make out the rest of what she says.

"What's that? Oh, someone else noticed the smell first. And they pointed it out to Paul. Who noticed?"

"The rector."

"I'll bet that was an interesting conversation."

"It was. You got him back good, I'll say that."

"My pleasure, LSW. By the way, you want to be careful when you go back into that closet. There are three more shirts in there just like that one."
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #128031 - 11/25/07 02:51 PM


The answer to a nagging question...



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #129986 - 12/06/07 05:52 PM

There are 60 seconds in a minute. That?s 3600 seconds in an hour, and 43,200 seconds in a twelve-hour shift. Given the fact that our parish has a population of roughly 150,000, and there are usually at least four ambulances on duty at any one time, dividing a daily call volume of fifty or so calls between them, the chances seem infinitesimally small that I would constantly get called out while I am on the toilet. Yet here I sit, wrestling with a pager and my pants, desperately tearing one square at a time off a toilet paper roll that refuses to live up to its name ? roll ? trying to get back to my rig where my partner eagerly awaits the opportunity to rescue some helpless little old lady who has fallen and can?t get up.

I?m stapled to the toilet in Taco Bell, fighting with the vindictive byproducts of two combo burritos with extra sour cream. Right now, Taco Bell is winning. Every time I get zipped up and my hand touches the bathroom doorknob, my guts spasm again and I find myself scrambling to make it back to the toilet in time. Each time my ass touches the toilet seat, my pager buzzes in an angry snarl, reminding me that time?s a wastin? and Grandma?s hip is just getting sorer. I feel like I?m stuck in a game of Operation. I sigh and check my pager again. It?s a Priority Two, just a lift assist, at a residence just a few blocks from here.

Thank God. My response time will suck, but at least nobody?s dying. You know, I could just plug myself up and refuse to chit ever again. Now that would be a valuable public health initiative. Nobody would fall, or have strokes, go into cardiac arrest and die, or have asthma attacks. People would manage their blood sugar appropriately, and would drive safely and never have accidents. I?d be the modern day Jonas Salk. Nah, it would never work. I?d swell up and explode, and the greater patient populace would be forever deprived of my many talents.

I sigh and switch the portable radio to the talk-around channel before I key the mike. ?Control, this is 306. We?ll be on that call in just a couple of minutes.?

?We?ve been holding that call for ten minutes now, 306. What?s the holdup?? comes the impatient reply.

Ten minutes, my ass. You only paged it to us three minutes ago.

I wait until my bowels stop rumbling before I reply. Gastronomical sound effects would be embarrassing right now. ?Control, I?m uh, a little indisposed at the moment. I?ll be 10-8 in a minute.?

<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->

?How are you indisposed, 306?? the dispatcher presses. I can just see her smirking at her console. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my guts twist into a knot.

?If you must know, I?m on the shitter!? I blurt. At that precise moment, my bowels burst forth like a volcano. It sounds like the nature show footage of male elephant seals fighting for mates.

?Ten-four, 306. Let us know when you?re en route,? comes the strangled reply, amid raucous laughter. Several laughing voices, in fact.

Well, there?s one dispatch tape that will be played again and again for the entertainment of the crews. I?ll have to run the ridicule gauntlet at shift change.

?Everything come out all right?? my partner smirks as I climb into the rig. Dusty Jensen has been an EMT for eight months. EMS hasn?t had the time yet to turn him into an out-of-shape old man with stiff knees and hemorrhoids. Right now, he?s twenty-three, blonde and having the time of his life. He lives for the bad calls, drives like the NASCAR fan that he is, shamelessly flirts with every unattached nurse in every Emergency Department, and is young and na?ve enough to think that he invented the practice.

?Everything coming out is not the problem. That stuff punishes me every time I eat it.? I settle uncomfortably into my seat, buckling my seatbelt.

?So why do you insist on eating there?? he asks as he pulls into traffic.

?Other than the fact that it?s half-price?? I retort. ?I have no idea. Taco Bell is my weakness.? Dusty says nothing, just gives me a sideways glance that communicates quite clearly that food in general is my weakness.

?Yeah, laugh it up rookie, ? I sigh, shifting gingerly in my seat as my guts start to rumble again. ?When I got into this business, I looked like you. Twelve years of ambulance calls and fast food will do this to you.?

?We?re five minutes late responding to this call,? Dusty points out as he crosses Harrison Boulevard and turns left onto Donovan Circle. ?They?ll probably have something to say about it.?

Nothing compared to the razzing I?m going to take from everybody in the control center. I?d much rather suffer through an ass-chewing for the late call.

?I?ll take the responsibility,? I assure him. ?You can?t control the fact that your partner was on the shitter when they gave us the call.?

?You can?t just hold it?? he asks like the rookie he is, having never experienced hemorrhoids, gastric reflux, heartburn or indigestion. He is bright, eager and in disgustingly good shape. Right now I freaking hate him. He makes me feel old.

?No, I can?t just hold it,? I explain patiently. ?Always take the opportunity to piss or take a dump when it presents itself. All too often, you?ll need to but won?t have the opportunity. Besides, holding in a dump is unhealthy. It eventually backs up into your brain. That?s where shitty ideas like System Status Management come from.? I grimace and try to think about dams and brick walls as I feel my guts rumble ever more insistently.

By the time Dusty pulls to the curb outside 1512 Donovan Circle, my digestive system is in revolt. I am able to hold it in only through a supreme act of will and years of practice. We knock on the door and get no answer. I do a little potty dance on the doorstep, shifting uncomfortably from one leg to the other. Dusty cautiously opens the unlocked front door and calls out, ?EMS! Somebody call an ambulance??

?Back here,? a frail voice answers. ?I?m in the bedroom!?


Dusty and I weave our way through the house, occasionally calling out ?Where are you?? and being answered with ?back here!? It?s an EMS version of Marco Polo. Eventually we find ourselves in the rearmost bedroom. There is a frail little woman sitting on the floor next to her wheelchair, looking very much embarrassed.

?Thank goodness,? the woman sighs happily. ?I was beginning to think you weren?t coming.? The woman self-consciously arranges her housedress to cover her exposed knees.

?I?m sorry, Ma?am,? Dusty says sympathetically. ?We were tied up on an emergency call,? he lies with a sidelong glance at me, ?and we hurried just as fast as we could.?

?But we?re here now, so why don?t we get you off this hard floor and back into the bed?? I offer quickly. ?Did you injure yourself when you fell??

Please God, say no. The last thing I need is to be tied up with her for the next thirty minutes.

?I don?t think so,? she answers. ?I forgot to lock the wheels on my chair, and it just kind of squirted out from under me,? she says, extending her arms to us. ?If you young men could just help me up??

?Don?t move, Ma?am,? Dusty says gravely, looking back at me and grinning evilly. ?You may have injuries that aren?t immediately apparent. At least let us assess you before we move you.?

Goddamn you, Dusty Jensen. You?ll pay for this. I say nothing and just smile and nod, afraid to move suddenly.

?Well yes, I suppose that?s a good idea,? she agrees, pleased that this handsome young man is so solicitous. After this call, I?m going to going to beat the handsome young man?s ass, if I don?t wind up shitting myself first.

Dusty slowly and gently palpates her hips and lower extremities as I feel the sweat break out on my forehead. It?s the most thorough assessment I?ve ever seen him perform. I surreptitiously look around for a bathroom.

You are the master of your own body. Your sphincter is under your control. You are the master of your own body. Your sphincter is under your control. You are the master of your own?

?And does any of this hurt?? Dusty is asking as he flexes her feet and knees. If he had a reflex hammer, the little bastard would be checking her deep tendon reflexes.

Brick walls. The Hoover Dam. Fort Knox. Nuclear reactor control rods. Blast doors at NORAD?

?Any history of osteoporosis? Degenerative joint disease? Ever have a hip, knee or shoulder replacement?? Dusty is asking as he palpates the woman?s shoulders. I almost whimper as I shift from one leg to the other. My ass cheeks are clenched so tight I could squeeze a diamond from a charcoal briquet.

Setting concrete. Death Valley. Dry riverbeds. Intravenous infusions of Lomotil. Molasses in the wintertime?

?Okay Mrs. Perkins, I think we can safely help you up,? Dusty pronounces, motioning me over. ?If you?ll just plant your feet firmly on the floor and take our hands?? I fix a pained smile on my face and bend over slightly, offering my hand.

Mudslides in Colombia. A tsunami in Sri Lanka. Lava flowing from a Peruvian volcano? Focus, man!

Dusty and I manage to help Mrs. Perkins back into her wheelchair. Dusty takes one of our run tickets from the clipboard and turns it to the refusal of care page. ?Mrs. Perkins, if you?ll just sign here, signifying that you were not injured and did not want an ambulance to the hospital?? He trails off, patting his shirt pockets. Glaring, I grimly hand him my pen.

A fireworks factory explodes in China. Champagne corks popping. A horrific explosion in the Jello pudding factory. Oh Lord, I ain?t gonna make it?

?Thank you so much for your assistance,? Mrs. Perkins is gushing, shaking Dusty?s hand gratefully. As she turns to me, I grasp her hand and nearly double over. ?Are you all right, dear?? she asks me, seeing the look on my face.

?Uh, could you point me to your bathroom?? I blurt in desperation. Bewildered, she points down the hall. Without another word I bolt in that direction, opening doors until I find the right one. Slamming the door with one hand, I fumble with my belt with the other, dropping my pager into the toilet in the process. I barely make it onto the toilet in time. I swear they can hear the elephant seals fighting all the way down the block.

http://ambulancedriverfiles.blogspot.co ... ilets.html

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #134745 - 01/06/08 01:52 PM

The Spill Of Victory

By smeltmyfinger

Created Apr 20 2007 - 9:36am

Picture it: Charlotte, North Carolina. The year was 2002. The month was February. A carefree young lad filled with the promise of a new day took in a deep breath of the late afternoon air before entering the cozy confines of 176 Berry Blossom Drive. He pauses momentarily to compose himself as he descends the shag carpeted stairs to the basement below -- for the three separate Wendy's chili bowls that he ingested in anticipation of what was to follow were attempting to crash the party in a most premature fashion.
This was no common get-together. Indeed, this -- this was Fart Fest 2002. An event steeped in tradition and with all of the pomp and circumstance that such an event could inspire. Fart Fest 2002 was to be the crowning jewel of our freshman year.

After a quick review of the scoring key and the rules (nothing but water permitted on the premises; knees could only be brought to chest level; no hand-wafting gestures disguised as cramps, etc.), the event was officially sanctioned, and the festivities began. Almost immediately, the room was beset with the sight of young men contorting their bodies in positions previously thought unimaginable to the inexperienced viewer. The cacophony of sound brought forth from gaseous masses bursting forth from their lairs was a delight to behold.

The young lad was impervious to it all as he strode to the center of the room, exhibiting the quiet confidence that had long since earned him the title of The White Shadow. The room fell silent in anticipation. After squatting over a leather cushion and unleashing eight straight salvos of varying pitch that drew applause, the bushy-haired fellow decided to size up the competition. Basking in the aroma of the sweet scent of arrogance, the young man stood with his arms crossed in a gesture designed to mock and intimidate his competition.

Then, just as everything was moving according to plan, it happened: a thunderous bellow was released, sending reverberations everywhere. The entire room shook. Pictures fell from their frames, cracks formed in the foundation, window panes buckled and nearly shattered as the crowd parted so that the party responsible could lay claim to his prize.

This called for drastic measures. His title slipping away before his bloodshot, tearing eyes, the young man summoned all of the gas that he could muster. He became one with the methane. He assumed the trusty reverse squat position that had never failed him before. Known for quick multiple releases compounded by a noxious aroma, the young man didn't disappoint as he let off six straight heart-stopping explosions.

But it was the extra push put into number six that would make this a day not to be forgotten.

You see, there is a fine line between allowing a turd to penetrate the rectum and protrude and peek out from the anal cavity in order to enhance the odor, and making a rookie mistake and allowing the turd to break free and puncture the surface. The true error in judgment occurs when one acts so hastily as to forget the cardinal rule of any reemergence of chili: that chili will undoubtedly make its glorious return in the same form from whence it entered into one's stomach.

Whether it was a momentary lapse in judgment brought on from the intense pressure of the situation -- or if it was a result of the dreaded Kerpage effect (something that we need not address here) -- the sad truth is that number six resulted in a pile of molten excrement being deposited into the young man's draws.

Fortunately, the young man happened to be sporting a fresh pair of Fruit of the Loom tightie-whities that embraced the excrement like a basket. Paralyzed with fear, the young man remained hunched as he took in the applause and the hearty slaps on his shoulders from the throng that had gathered. While the mere decibel level of his effort would have garnered him the title outright, it was the resulting scent of his deposit that transformed the moment into that of legend.

Knowing full well that he would be excused for breaking the cardinal rule of the Fart Fest if he did not do otherwise, the young man bit down into his bottom lip in a feigned smile and cracked his back into the upright position. The warm sensation of a fresh turd pie soothed his aching nerves -- but only momentarily, as the chafing quickly set in.

The next two minutes ticked away at an eternal pace as the young man was careful to avoid any sudden movements so as to prevent the waste from percolating down his leg, exposing him for the fraud that he was. Some quick thinking and a call to his father was his salvation.

It was a quiet ride home indeed, as the young man's father flashed an approving glance at his son. No words needed to be spoken -- for the man understood the sacrifice that his son had made.

I'm happy to report that this young man's legend remains undisturbed to this day, with the PoopReport community now being the only link to the truth that has eluded all who were present on that day of days.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #143364 - 02/29/08 02:36 AM


Don't Forget To Leave Your Number

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #144953 - 03/14/08 04:55 AM

A greenpeacer was hiking through the cariboo mountains
when he came upon the tiniest cabin he had ever seen in his life.
Intrigued, he went up and knocked on the door.

"Anybody home?" he asked

"Yep," came a kid's voice through the door.

"Is your father there?" asked the greenie.

"Pa? Nope, he left afore Ma come in," said the kid.

"Well, is your mother there?" persisted the greenie.

"Ma? Nope, she left just afore I got here," said the kid.

"But," protested the environmentalist, "are you never together as a
family?"

"Sure, but not here," said the kid thru the door. "This is
the outhouse."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #144956 - 03/14/08 05:10 AM

Associated Press - March 12, 2008 1:13 PM ET

NESS CITY, Kan. (AP) - Deputies say a woman in western "HomeofToto" sat on her boyfriend's toilet for two years, and they're investigating whether she was mistreated.

Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple says a man called his office last month to report that something was wrong with his girlfriend.

The sheriff says the woman's muscles had atrophied and that medical personnel had to remove her from the toilet because she was bound to it by "natural means."

Whipple says the woman at first refused ambulance service and "didn't want to leave." She's hospitalized in Wichita, but is refusing to talk with authorities.

Whipple says his office is considering a charge of mistreatment of a dependent adult.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #144958 - 03/14/08 05:35 AM

Proposed Law Looks to Wipe Out Problem
TALLAHASSEE (CBS4.com) &#8213; A proposed law currently making its way through the Florida legislature might help you with what can be an embarrassing problem. Here's the bottom line, the bill would be a mandate that all eating establishment must have enough toilet paper when you go into the restroom.

The only problem is the bill doesn't dictate how much toilet paper is "enough."

State Senator Victor Crist, a Republican from Tampa, felt the problem was so important, a law must be passed to protect the backsides of anyone in Florida. The measure will also try to regulate the cleanliness of restrooms in eating establishments.

Crist, says in the bill, restaurant inspectors, "should also check the restrooms along with the kitchens to make sure that basic cleanliness necessities are in place."

The Senate Regulated Industries Committee approved the bill, SB 836, on Monday. It has two more stops to go and as long as it's not wiped out before then, it could then go to the Senate floor. A similar measure is currently awaiting passage by the House.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #145109 - 03/15/08 05:28 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #146300 - 04/15/08 02:13 AM

It struck Leo Hill, 81, of Lakewood, Colo., that he was being shorted sheets of toilet paper (in the 12-pack, whose rolls allegedly yielded fewer sheets than similar rolls in the 4-pack), and he earnestly counted 60 rolls, sheet by sheet, concluding that the shortage amounted to enough paper to service one sit-down session per roll. He took his complaint to the Denver Post (and even to the Better Business Bureau), but the reporter, trying to replicate Leo's work, found no shortage, in Leo's brand or eight others. [Denver Post, 1-26-08]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #147276 - 04/26/08 06:17 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #147295 - 04/26/08 04:38 PM

Now , that is a good'un!!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #148796 - 05/12/08 12:46 AM

From Nickelodeon merchandising has come a Spongebob Squarepants Musical Rectal Thermometer (which plays the Spongebob theme that (the designer apparently imagines) makes the temperature-taking process less unpleasant). [CartoonBrew.com, 2-19-08]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #149025 - 05/13/08 03:17 PM

You might be a EXTREME Redneck When.....YOU....... Yes` read on.

1. You let your 14-year-old daughter smoke at the dinner table in front of her kids.

2. The Blue Book value of your truck goes up and down depending on how much gas is in it.

3. You've been married three times and still have the same in-laws.

4. You think a woman who is "out of your league" bowls on a different night.

5. You wonder how service stations keep their rest-rooms so clean.

6. Someone in your family died right after saying, "Hey, guys, watch this."

7. You think Dom Perignon is a Mafia leader.

8. Your wife's hairdo was once ruined by a ceiling fan.

9. Your junior prom offered day care.

10. You think the last words of the "Star-Spangled Banner" are "Gentlemen, start your engines."

11. You lit a match in the bathroom and your house exploded right off its wheels.

12. The Halloween pumpkin on your porch has more teeth than your spouse.

13. You have to go outside to get something from the fridge.

14. One of your kids was born on a pool table.

15. You need one more hole punched in your card to get a freebie at the House of Tattoos.

16. You can't get married to your sweetheart because there's a law against it.

17. You think loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #149594 - 05/18/08 07:15 PM

It's a bit early for Halloween but take a look anyway.

chit hits the Fan Costume

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #149596 - 05/18/08 07:31 PM


Office worker awarded Ł5,000 after boss constantly broke wind in her direction
By NEIL SEARS -
Last updated at 17:21pm on 15th May 2008


A bullied office worker has been awarded Ł5,000 after her boss raised his right buttock from his chair and broke wind in her direction.

Humiliated mother-of-three Theresa Bailey, 43, was the only woman on a sales team where "laddish" behaviour made her life a misery, and continued despite complains to senior managers.
After she objected to sexist banter a beach ball was thrown at her head - and when she had problems working her computer was ordered to wear a badge saying "I'm simple".

Now an employment tribunal has ruled that Mrs Bailey was sexually discriminated against while working for direct marketing firm Selectabase, in Deal, Kent, and awarded her Ł5,146.

The tribunal, in Ashford, Kent, heard that Mrs Bailey had joined the firm as a telesales account manager in July of last year - but that the treatment she received was so bad she felt she had no option but to leave by September.

There was a general culture of "laddish" behaviour by men in her office, she said - with her line manager David Nye included.

She said he regularly "lifted his right cheek" and broke wind in her direction throughout her brief time at the firm.

Mrs Bailey said colleagues leered at female passers-by and joked that women couldn't park cars.

And when she complained about the state of the communal lavatories, Mr Nye sent an email to a colleague that said: "That's why we don't employ women".

Complaints about sexist banter simply led to the incident when the beach ball was thrown at her head - and her confusion about using the computer was found amusing by Mr Nye, who told her to wear the "I'm simple" badge.

Feeling she had to take matter further, Mrs Bailey sent an email to Selectabase company director Steve Selwood saying: "The number of times the person at my side would lift up his bottom off the chair and fart and think it's funny is unreal.

"I am no prude but I do think there is a time and a place for that behaviour."

She told the tribunal, in March, that she ultimately felt she had no choice other than to resign.

Mrs Bailey said: "I felt so embarrassed and humiliated, my heart sank."

Mrs Bailey, who previously worked for Kent County Council for eight years, and for Next the fashion store, said that she had never experienced such treatment at any other company - but that it had been an extremely difficult decision to leave.

The tribunal agreed that she would not have suffered the same treatment if she had been a man, and also ruled that she was not properly paid after taking time off to see the dentist when her face swelled up.

After the hearing a Selectabase spokesman said the company had 12 years of excellent employee relations and denied any of its employees had acted in an inappropriate, unfair or discriminatory way.

Contacted by the Daily Mail yesterday, Mr Nye refused to comment. Company director Mr Selwood did not return calls.

On the company website Mr Selwood boasts that his hobbies are snooker and swimming in the Black Sea, and claims that Selectabase are "nice nice, not sugary nice people to deal with".

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #150777 - 05/28/08 07:42 PM

New Challenge for Space Station Crew: A Broken Toilet

I would guess that hanging your arse out the window would present it's own set of problems.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #151477 - 06/03/08 08:22 AM

Some folks are determined to finish the race.



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #151501 - 06/03/08 10:15 AM

He coulda at least pulled over to the side for a minute.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #152767 - 06/14/08 11:00 AM

Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal


I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for
a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram
of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one
point passing briefly through Minneapolis . Then Andy explained the colonoscopy
procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded
thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was
shrieking, quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'


I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a
product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave
oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we
must never allow it to fall into the hands of America 's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively si tting around being nervous. Then,
on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my
instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; alI I had was chicken broth,
which is basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took
the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic
jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric
system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This
takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a
mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of
humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose watery bowel movement may
result.' This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't
want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch?
This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There
are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours
pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate
everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to
drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your
bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even
eaten yet.


After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.

The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only
was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional
return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy?'
How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be
enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and
totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a
room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained
space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed
by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even
more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand.
Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already
lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep.
At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered
what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so
you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice
but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy
was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot
tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously
nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the
anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand.
There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was 'Dancing
Queen' by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing
during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Qu een' has to be the least
appropriate. 'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.
'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more
than decade.

If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in
explicit detail, exactly what it was like. I have no idea. Really. I slept
through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from
the tambourine ...'.. and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking
up in a very mellow mood.

Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt
even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon
had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.

ABOUT THE WRITER

Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #152771 - 06/14/08 11:33 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #153290 - 06/19/08 08:39 PM

On your way home from work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the thermometer section and purchase a rectal thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson

Be very sure you get this brand. When you get home, lock your doors, draw the curtains and disconnect the phone so you will not be disturbed.

Change into very comfortable clothing and sit in your favorite chair. Open the package and remove the thermometer. Now, carefully place it on a table or a surface so that it will not become chipped or broken.

Now the fun part begins.

Take out the literature from the box and read it carefully. You will notice that in small print there is a statement:
'Every Rectal Thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson is personally tested and then sanitized.'

Now, close your eyes and repeat out loud five times, 'I am so glad I do not work in the thermometer quality control department at Johnson & Johnson.'

HAVE A NICE DAY AND REMEMBER, THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE WITH A JOB THAT IS MORE OF A PAIN IN THE ASS THAN YOURS!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #154388 - 06/30/08 11:39 AM

Two Arab terrorists are in a locker room taking a shower after their bomb-making class, when one notices the other has a huge cork stuck in his butt.

If you do not mind me saying," said the second, "that cork looks very uncomfortable. Why do you not take it out?"

I regret I cannot", lamented the first terrorist. "It is permanently stuck in my butt."

"I do not understand," said the other.

The first terrorist says, "I was walking along the beach and I tripped over an oil lamp. There was a puff of smoke, and then a huge old man in an American flag attire with a white beard and top hat came boiling out. He said, "I am Uncle Sam, the Genie. I can grant you one wish."

I said, "No chit?"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #154879 - 07/04/08 05:10 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #156961 - 07/25/08 03:38 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #156975 - 07/25/08 07:54 PM

A New Olympic Sport

http://youtube.com/watch?v=qDAT2IaEsTI&feature=related

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Hop]
      #157672 - 08/01/08 05:23 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #157682 - 08/01/08 08:49 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Hop]
      #158504 - 08/09/08 02:28 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #159244 - 08/17/08 01:24 AM

Perhaps a historical document.....
*******************************************


To the Royal Academy of Farting

Benjamin Franklin, c. 1781


GENTLEMEN,

I have perused your late mathematical Prize Question, proposed in lieu of one in Natural Philosophy, for the ensuing year, viz. "Une figure quelconque donnee, on demande d’y inscrire le plus grand nombre de fois possible une autre figure plus-petite quelconque, qui est aussi donnee". I was glad to find by these following Words, "l’Acadeemie a jugee que cette deecouverte, en eetendant les bornes de nos connoissances, ne seroit pas sans UTILITE", that you esteem Utility an essential Point in your Enquiries, which has not always been the case with all Academies; and I conclude therefore that you have given this Question instead of a philosophical, or as the Learned express it, a physical one, because you could not at the time think of a physical one that promis’d greater_Utility.

Permit me then humbly to propose one of that sort for your consideration, and through you, if you approve it, for the serious Enquiry of learned Physicians, Chemists, &c. of this enlightened Age. It is universally well known, That in digesting our common Food, there is created or produced in the Bowels of human Creatures, a great Quantity of Wind.

That the permitting this Air to escape and mix with the Atmosphere, is usually offensive to the Company, from the fetid Smell that accompanies it.

That all well-bred People therefore, to avoid giving such Offence, forcibly restrain the Efforts of Nature to discharge that Wind.

That so retain’d contrary to Nature, it not only gives frequently great present Pain, but occasions future Diseases, such as habitual Cholics, Ruptures, Tympanies, &c. often destructive of the Constitution, & sometimes of Life itself.

Were it not for the odiously offensive Smell accompanying such Escapes, polite People would probably be under no more Restraint in discharging such Wind in Company, than they are in spitting, or in blowing their Noses.

My Prize Question therefore should be, To discover some Drug wholesome & not disagreable, to be mix’d with our common Food, or Sauces, that shall render the natural Discharges of Wind from our Bodies, not only inoffensive, but agreable as Perfumes.

That this is not a chimerical Project, and altogether impossible, may appear from these Considerations. That we already have some Knowledge of Means capable of Varying that Smell. He that dines on stale Flesh, especially with much Addition of Onions, shall be able to afford a Stink that no Company can tolerate; while he that has lived for some Time on Vegetables only, shall have that Breath so pure as to be insensible to the most delicate Noses; and if he can manage so as to avoid the Report, he may any where give Vent to his Griefs, unnoticed. But as there are many to whom an entire Vegetable Diet would be inconvenient, and as a little Quick-Lime thrown into a Jakes will correct the amazing Quantity of fetid Air arising from the vast Mass of putrid Matter contain’d in such Places, and render it rather pleasing to the Smell, who knows but that a little Powder of Lime (or some other thing equivalent) taken in our Food, or perhaps a Glass of Limewater drank at Dinner, may have the same Effect on the Air produc’d in and issuing from our Bowels? This is worth the Experiment. Certain it is also that we have the Power of changing by slight Means the Smell of another Discharge, that of our Water. A few Stems of Asparagus eaten, shall give our Urine a disagreable Odour; and a Pill of Turpentine no bigger than a Pea, shall bestow on it the pleasing Smell of Violets. And why should it be thought more impossible in Nature, to find Means of making a Perfume of our Wind than of our Water?

For the Encouragement of this Enquiry, (from the immortal Honour to be reasonably expected by the Inventor) let it be considered of how small Importance to Mankind, or to how small a Part of Mankind have been useful those Discoveries in Science that have heretofore made Philosophers famous. Are there twenty Men in Europe at this Day, the happier, or even the easier, for any Knowledge they have pick’d out of Aristotle? What Comfort can the Vortices of Descartes give to a Man who has Whirlwinds in his Bowels! The Knowledge of Newton’s mutual Attraction of the Particles of Matter, can it afford Ease to him who is rack’d by their mutual Repulsion, and the cruel Distensions it occasions? The Pleasure arising to a few Philosophers, from seeing, a few Times in their Life, the Threads of Light untwisted, and separated by the Newtonian Prism into seven Colours, can it be compared with the Ease and Comfort every Man living might feel seven times a Day, by discharging freely the Wind from his Bowels? Especially if it be converted into a Perfume: For the Pleasures of one Sense being little inferior to those of another, instead of pleasing the Sight he might delight the Smell of those about him, & make Numbers happy, which to a benevolent Mind must afford infinite Satisfaction. The generous Soul, who now endeavours to find out whether the Friends he entertains like best Claret or Burgundy, Champagne or Madeira, would then enquire also whether they chose Musk or Lilly, Rose or Bergamot, and provide accordingly. And surely such a Liberty of Expressing one’s Scent-iments, and pleasing one another, is of infinitely more Importance to human Happiness than that Liberty of the Press, or of abusing one another, which the English are so ready to fight & die for. -- In short, this Invention, if compleated, would be, as Bacon expresses it, bringing Philosophy home to Mens Business and Bosoms. And I cannot but conclude, that in Comparison therewith, for universal and continual UTILITY, the Science of the Philosophers above-mentioned, even with the Addition, Gentlemen, of your "Figure quelconque" and the Figures inscrib’d in it, are, all together, scarcely worth a FART-HING.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #159792 - 08/21/08 04:41 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #159797 - 08/21/08 05:41 PM

What a lovely cake.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #160566 - 08/27/08 05:11 PM

From Craigslist

ASS CLEANING 101: 5 IMPORTANT TIPS TO KEEP IT ASSALISCIOUS
Date: 2004-07-06, 7:25AM PDT


Ass cleaning tips


I have mastered the art of cleaning my stool hall and I want to share it with you losers who simply lather your wash cloth with some soap and do a quick reach around..THAT WILL NOT CLEAN YOUR ASS!!!! You need to spend at least 5 minutes in that area to have maximun cleanage. How would you feel if you were a girl/guy and while you were licking some guys sausage you get a nice whiff of some anal grease and dingleberries from a soft textured turd that required about 12 wipes in the public restroom? You think it's clean but it is NOT!!! Here are some tips:

Tip 1: After dropping the fecal children off at the pool, you can either use some babywipes (my personal favorite) or you can use a technique I learned from an ex-girlfriend of mine, you wet the toilet paper and proceed to wipe front-to-back, NOT back-to-front. You risk sliding some of the grease beneath your ball sack which creates another problem. This only applies to those who do not get what is called a perfect excrement session aka.."A Clean Break" to where the ca-ca breaks off completely and all you have to do is wipe the water off your gluteus after the initial plop.

Tip 2: Shave the hair off around your rectal, nuts and butt crack. This is just common knowledge, if you dont you risk piling up a weeks worth of dingleberries and in rare occasions, creation of chit dreadlocks to where the ca-ca firmly laminates itself to the ass hair and it twists together as you walk. This is more likely to happen to those who wear boxers because of the free "airflow" and those who dont shower often because you give the poop time to dry up like cement.

Tip 3: Jump into a public pool or spa. This is just as effective as a shower or even better because you get maximum "soakage" and it requires less work such and combats lazy reach arounds in the shower. Believe it or not, that is the only useful purpose for public pools, I think of them as gigantic bathtubs that goggle up loose ass hairs, dingleberries and makes a great place to take a quick pee. If I find myself in that situation, I just jump in the pool on one end, pee then swim to the other end, do a couple quick 360's under water then jump out the shallow side and dry off.

Tip 4: Go to the beach and be a good samaritan, jump into the ocean and "feed the fish", fish LOVE dung, I have 2 goldfish and they are always sucking eachothers doo-doo holes. Get a nice, salty ass treatment. For those of you who gets bumps after shaving your pubes or ass, this is a great to dry those up. Just simply go out past the waves a bit, however, dont be too obvious if you are going to release some bait into the ocean. Flop around a bit, move around because if you sit still people will become suspicious and besides the poop might float up to the surface quickly. Fish will love you for it!

Tip 5: Woman love to get manicures and pedicures, I call this the "assicure" It has a meaningful name Ass I Cure, it's self explanitory..yes, it is up to you to cure that hideous ass smell and here is how you do it in the shower. Pamper yourself, get the water luke warm and try to get the shower nozzle to propel the water quickly. Begin by turning in the opposite direction of the shower, about 180 degrees to where the nozzle in shooting directly down your ass crack. Position yourself at a 90 degree angle, butt up nice and high, reach around and spread your butt cheeks and let the water do its magic. The object is to really clean out the crevices of your brown eye, wedged up about a 1/4 inch of the butthole is some fecal matter that masks itself like a bat in a cave. This will allow the water to loosen it up for the wash cloth lathering. The next step is to lather your wash cloth with some bodywash or soap bar. Reach around and scrub it good, go ahead and wrap the towel around a finger of choice (i use my middle finger) and put that finger up your asshole and move it around in a circular motion. Go ahead and scrub nice and good up the butt crack to make sure you get all the grease. After you are done, rinse well then repeat step 1.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Putting your finger in your ass doesnt make you gay, it might burn a bit. For those guys who insist on having anal sex with their girlfriends all the time, if you think one finger hurts, go ahead and use two fingers and see how it feels. It feels like a massive chit you take in the morning after a night of drinking and eating the 4 slices of jalepeno pepper pizza.

That is all for now party people, hope this hass been insightful. I would love some feedback from possible success stories.

Please read some of them now.

" I would like to thank you for your ass cleaning tips, it has changed my life. My g/f is giving me head all day and night"

"Wow, my ass has never been cleaner. I feel more confident and got my dream job"

"I love to feed the fish, thanks Rick...my ass used to be filled with pimples and anal grease but now my ass is as smooth as a babies bottom, I feel like a kid again, thanks"

" I used to mask my ass smell with cologne and other junk, I have tried so many other techniques but yours is by far the best. I am now engaged to a playboy model"

Siskel & Roeper give it "Two middle fingers up"

P.S. I AM OFFERING FREE SERVICE TO LADIES WHO WANT TO GIVE ME HEAD JUST TO SEE HOW A PROFESSIONAL COLON CLEANSING SHOULD BE LIKE

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #160567 - 08/27/08 05:19 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #162399 - 09/15/08 09:20 PM

Subtle Butt

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


Edited by SwampFox (09/18/08 03:01 AM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #163434 - 09/24/08 09:18 AM

Man Passes Gas, Charged with Battery on Officer

CHARLESTON, W.Va. (WSAZ) -- As if getting a DUI wasn’t enough, a man arrested for driving under the influence got in a lot more trouble at the police station.

Police stopped Jose Cruz on Route 60 in South Charleston Monday night for driving with his headlights off.

Then, he failed sobriety tests and was arrested.

When police were trying to get fingerprints, police say Cruz moved closer to the officer and passed gas on him. The investigating officer remarked in the criminal complaint that the odor was very strong.

Cruz is now charged with battery on a police officer, as well as DUI and obstruction.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #164433 - 10/06/08 07:31 AM

Cute Video

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #164551 - 10/07/08 11:30 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168549 - 11/23/08 06:51 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168554 - 11/23/08 06:59 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168692 - 11/25/08 05:41 AM

How to wipe your ass

Some people just don't understand the importance of proper ass-wiping technique. "Bah!" You might say, "I've been wiping my ass for years!" But hold on there, friend, ass wiping is an an ancient discipline, lost in this, the age of technology, where computers and machines feed our every whim. Follow the steps set forth below and free yourself from skid marks, poop stains, klingons, and all manner of unpleasant nastiness:

1. Choose Your Wiping Medium. What to wipe with? It's the question of the ages. Some are blessed with bountiful supplies of rich, downy-soft, cotton tissue (in particular Kleenex Brand Cottonelle Ultra Soft Bathroom Tissue), woven into rolls which hang conveniently by the commode. If you are not among these lucky few, fret not - for there is stuff aplenty to wipe your ass with!

* Paper Towels - If you don't have toilet paper you probably don't have paper towels, but if you have just run short on TP, be sure to always buy Viva Unprinted Paper Towels. They are the softest.
* The Morning Newspaper - The newspaper, with its convenient home delivery, might seem like a good idea, but I assure you it is not! Not only are you in danger of wiping your ass with some poor person's obituary, but by smearing newspaper ink across your nether regions, you could be in danger of quarantine if a person of the medical profession gets a gander at your naughty bits.
* The Phone Book - Ah, the phone book! O thick sheaf of thin pliant pages, how do we love thee, for thou art bountiful and free! Remember - When you get the letter Y (X if the whole family is using it) it's time to call the Phone Company and reorder - it takes 2-4 weeks to receive a new copy.
* The Bible - I don't recommend using the Bible even though the pages seem well suited to ass wiping. Guests may become offended. If you absolutely must use the good book for the foul deed, use the book of Leviticus.
* The Mail - Marshall McLuhan wrote "The medium is the message", and how right he was! He may have been talking about something that has nothing to do with this subject, but it sure fits here. Just be careful of the little windows in the envelopes of your bills.
* Your Hand - "Ew!" You might cry "Ew! ew!" - but it's washable. Man up, ya buncha sissies - it's only poop for Pete's sake!

2. Find Your Ass. For some, ass finding comes naturally. Others require both hands, a mirror and a flashlight. Still others must rely on a loved one to locate their ass until they get the hang of it. As the great Master Swapon Singh Rubenstein said, "There is no wiping without finding".

3. Wipe, Wipe, Wipe Your Ass, Always Front to Back. Carefully Carefully, Now You've Got The Knack. This little song (sung to the tune of Row Row Row Your Boat) will guide you through the final ass-wiping process. Developed by the Doctors at Duke University in 1991, this, along with I Am A Super Duper Pooper and I Use My Potty When I have to Pee are featured in the exciting and highly recommended video It's Potty Time.

To break down ass wiping into it's most basic mathematical expression we could write:
YAP_x_ log_2_8^x^ &TP;=&TP; ( p00p)8^x^ ( p00p)(8^x^)&TP;=&TP; 3 ew2 ew2&TP;=&TP; 3
Where YAP = your ass plane, TP = toilet paper, and ew = gross factor X

4. The Finish. Once your ass is clean you may be tempted to show it off to your neighbors, friends, and coworkers. If you are level 6 or above, you might even want to post a picture of your ass on your home node for all to see. This urge is completely natural but you must resist. In the name of all that's decent, good and holy resist. We are counting on you to keep your ass to yourself, clean or not.



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168794 - 11/26/08 03:58 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168795 - 11/26/08 04:00 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #168985 - 11/29/08 12:49 AM

I have heard many expressions for doing number 2 in the bathroom:
"Taking the browns to the super bowl"
"Dropping the kids off at the pool"
so on and so forth...but here is one that I busted a gut when I heard yesterday.

"Taking Obama to the white house"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #169199 - 12/02/08 05:58 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #170014 - 12/12/08 04:02 AM

African laxitive...



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #170338 - 12/16/08 06:28 AM

The Christmas Nativity scenes in northeast Spain's Catalonia region have, for three centuries, featured not only Mary and the Three Wise Men but the ubiquitous "caganer" icon, always portrayed with pants down answering a call of nature (and often so obscured in the scene as to popularize Where's-Waldo-type guessing by children). The origin of the caganer (literally, "pooper") is unclear, but some regard it merely as symbolic of equality (in that everyone has bowel movements). Catalonia is now home to artists who craft statuettes of religious figures poised to relieve themselves, and the franchise extends to renditions of sports figures and celebrities (and even a squatting President Bush). One family in Girona province sells about 25,000 a year, according to a November dispatch in Germany's Der Spiegel. [Spiegel Online, 11-25-08]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #173043 - 01/11/09 10:15 PM

The path to energy independence is paved in pig chit

Renewable energy is not a new idea. Every elementary school kid knows that methane emanates from the cowpat in the beautiful green field. Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of South America knows that Brazilian motorists have filled their tanks with ethanol for years. We all know there are alternative fuels available for hybrid cars on both sides of the Atlantic. Now meet Dean Gokel, a NASCAR fuel specialist who knows one source most people may have overlooked. According to Frank Bell, his company's president, Gokel has technology that can "take a gallon of piss, chit and water and turn it into a gallon of gasoline."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #173363 - 01/14/09 01:26 PM

Subject: Excellent Posting on Craigslist!
To the Guy Who Mugged Me Downtown (Downtown, Savannah )

I was the white guy with the black Burrberry jacket that you demanded I hand over shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my
girlfriend. You also asked for my girlfriend's purse and earrings. I hope you somehow come across this message. I'd like to apologize.

I didn't expect you to crap your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket. Truth is, I was wearing the jacket for a reason that evening, and it wasn't that cold outside. You see, my girlfriend had just bought me that Kimber 1911 .45 ACP pistol for Christmas, and we had just picked up a shoulder holster for it that evening. Beautiful pistol, eh? It's a very intimidating weapon when pointed at your head, isn't it?

I know it probably wasn't a great deal of fun walking back to wherever you'd come from with that brown sludge flopping about in your pants.
I'm sure it was even worse since you also ended up leaving your shoes, cellphone, and wallet with me. I couldn't have you calling up any of your buddies to come help you try to mug us again. I took the liberty of calling your mother, or "Momma" as you had her listed in your cell, and explaining to her your situation. I also bought myself some gas on your card. I gave your shoes to one of the homeless guys over by Vinnie Van Go Go's, along with all of the cash in your wallet, then I threw the wallet itself in a dumpster.

I called a bunch of phone sex numbers from your cell. They'll be on your bill in case you'd like to know which ones. Alltel recently shut down the line, and I've only had the phone for a little over a day now, so I don't know what's going on with that.
I hope they haven't permanently cut off your service. I was about to make some threatening phone calls to the DA's office with it.
Oh well.

So, about your pants. I know that I was a little rough on you when you did this whole attempted mugging thing, so I'd like to make it up to you. I'm sure you've already washed your pants, so I'd like to help you out. I'd like to reimburse you for the detergent you used on the pants. What brand did you use, and was it liquid or powder? I'd also like to apologize for not killing you and instead making you walk back home humiliated. I'm hoping that you'll reconsider your choice of path in life. Next time you might not be so lucky. If you read this message, email me and we'll do lunch and laundry. Peace! - Alex

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174034 - 01/22/09 05:20 AM

You are on the bus when you suddenly realize ... you need to fart.
The music is really loud, so you time your farts with the beat. After a couple of songs, you start to feel better as you approach your stop.
As you are leaving the bus, people are really staring you down, and that's when you remember: you've been listening to your ipod.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174166 - 01/23/09 03:45 AM

Link: Next-generation space toilet ready in five years

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174169 - 01/23/09 04:34 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
Link: Next-generation space toilet ready in five years




Does it leak out if they take it off to "do it"? That'd be a mood-breaker.


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #174187 - 01/23/09 12:42 PM

Those clever Japaneese probably have something in there to "handle that problem.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174225 - 01/24/09 04:06 AM

Kinda half-azzed watched an episode "Dity Jobs" at the hospital the other night.He was repairing a toliet on a ship,looked somewhat like a normal one,but ya pooped into a paper basket that was then burned in the built in incinerator.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: cook]
      #174238 - 01/24/09 10:47 AM

Speaking of pooping in a plastic basket...

I was stationed in Alaska for a few years.On one of our extended training operations at Greely , the low was 55 below and the high was 33 below.It stayed like this for 8 days.

We used empty C ration boxes and placed small plastic bags into them , sqautted over and tried to chit into the bag.It was so cold the turds froze BEFORE landing in the bag....they clinked like glass hitting together.

Did I tell you about the time my hands were so frozen I couldn't feel what I was wiping or what i thought I was using to wipe with??

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #174276 - 01/25/09 01:37 AM

That is exactly the type of input we are looking for.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #174291 - 01/25/09 03:50 PM

Hey Bubba when were you at Greely. I worked at The phone company in Delta 1976 to 1981 when the full time guy was on vacation and stuff. Drank gallons of beer at the trophy lodge.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: crossbar]
      #174303 - 01/25/09 06:03 PM

I was at Greely every year during Jan or Feb from 80 to 83.
Army training.Lived in Anchorage at Ft Richardson.

Most folks can't comprehend that kind of cold!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #174420 - 01/26/09 01:16 PM

Liquidity (n.) When you look at your investments and wet your pants.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174496 - 01/27/09 05:23 AM

Amador Bernabe fired for 'un-Australian toilet habits'

A MAN who uses water instead of toilet paper says he was sacked for his "un-Australian" toilet habits.

Amador Bernabe, 43, is a machine operator in Townsville on a working visa from the Philippines, the Townsville Bulletin reports.

On Thursday, he claims his foreman followed him into the bathrooms questioning his toilet hygiene.

Mr Bernabe said his employer, Townsville Engineering Industries (TEI), sacked him yesterday for not going to the toilet the Australian way.

"I went to go to the toilet and I took a bottle of water when my foreman saw me and he said, 'you can't bring the water in there'," Mr Bernabe said.

The foreman followed Mr Bernabe into the toilet despite his protests.

"I said it's my personal hygiene. I didn't break any law, I didn't break any rules of the company, why can't I do this, and he said he would report me to the manager.

The next day, Mr Bernabe says he was called into the manager's office.

"He asked me what had happened and I explained to him and he said if I didn't follow the Australian way I would be immediately terminated and I said 'sir, then you better terminate me'."

The move has angered union bosses and politicians on the Australia Day weekend.

Australian Manufacturing Worker's Union state organiser Rick Finch said the incident was shocking.

"I think it is atrocious, an invasion of a person's rights and cultural beliefs," he said.

"If it wasn't so disgusting it would almost be laughable."

Greens spokeswoman Jenny Stirling praised Mr Bernabe for standing up for his rights.

"I commend the man for standing up for himself and I encourage the employer to have further talks with the union and the employee and I am sure commonsense will prevail," she said.

"I would like to see how Australians feel when they go to Europe where in places they don't have toilet paper."

TEI could not be reached for comment.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174498 - 01/27/09 05:37 AM

Companies compete to get naming rights for stadiums, buildings, and parks. However, Lloyds Bank didn't have to pay anything to get the largest known fossilized human turd named after it. They must be thrilled.

The Lloyds Bank Coprolite is so named because it was found on a site that later became a location of a Lloyds Bank. Apparently the turd was planted hundreds of years ago by a Viking who, scientists guess based on the size of the thing, "probably hadn't performed for a few days". The composition of the excrement reveals he (or she) ate a lot of meat and grains, and his intestines were riddled with worms.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174626 - 01/28/09 04:55 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #174764 - 01/28/09 07:44 PM

Oh no you dihent...

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #174780 - 01/29/09 03:36 AM

Yesses...

I did.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #175111 - 02/01/09 03:07 AM

John, a porcelain commode gunned down in an accidental shooting at a fast food restaurant's bathroom, has died. His age was not immediately known.


The toilet was shattered by a bullet Jan. 12 when a man's gun fell from its holster as he was pulling up his pants, police said. Police do not plan to file criminal charges in connection with the incident.


Christian Martinez, manager of the Carl's Jr. where John was gunned down, held a memorial service Friday at the restaurant. He gave away bottles of John's favorite toilet cleaner, Kaboom Bowl Blaster, to the eatery's first 50 patrons.


A Bountiful flower shop provided a large floral arrangement.


"In all my years, I can say without a doubt that I have never delivered for a toilet," said deliveryman Doug Graham, "but I thought it was the funniest thing I've ever heard. I got a kick out of it."


Remnants of John hit and cut the gun owner's arm, but he was not seriously injured.


Police blamed John's death on the gun and style of holster the man was using.


"He was survived by the men's urinal and wash sink," said Martinez. "He left us way too soon."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #175462 - 02/04/09 03:35 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #175855 - 02/07/09 05:36 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #176841 - 02/17/09 04:10 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #176918 - 02/17/09 07:41 PM

A census taker in a rural area went up to a farmhouse and knocked. When a woman came to the door, he asked her how many children she had and their ages.

She said, "Les' see now, there's the twins, Sally and Billy, they're thirty-two. And the twins, Seth & Beth, they're twenty-six. And the twins, Penny and Jenny, they're twenty-four... "

"Hold on!" said the census taker, "Did you get twins EVERY time?"

The woman answered, " Heck no, there were hundreds of times we didn't get nothin . "

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #177052 - 02/19/09 04:40 AM

A real post from bodybuilding.com

Marbles in my wifes ass

My wife has 2 problems. One is the fact that everytime she gets drunk she gets mean. She always looks for a fight, or a way to make me feel like chit me. The other problem is that every morning after she gets drunk she has an explosive watery chit. One night she pushed me to far.

She was drunk of course and felling a little frisky so we we messing around and I tried to put it in the butt, she got mad and started talking chit, about how I'm no good and my dick is small, and that she probally wouldn't even feel it. so we never did have sex.

After she went to sleep I couldn't get the pain of her saying my dick was small out of my head. I wanted to embarrass her as much as she embarrased me. So I got an Idea

I went to my sons room and got his bad of marbles. i then went to my secret stash and got a bottle of lube. I could just image her reactions when you chit marbles the next morning. I lubed them up one at a time and slowly pushed each one in. About a hundered in all. I got so excited I jerked off then giggled my self to sleep.

The next morning I woke up so excited I couldn't stand it. I made allot of noise getting dressed so she would wake up. She did and not 3 minutes later she said " oh my stomach. not again" and ran to the bathroom. I was in thee brushing my teeth. Usually she would tell me to leave but the urge was to intense. She sat down and let it rip.

She dam near had a heart attack from the noise. The marbles hitting the porcelin sounded like a machine gun going off in the bathroon. She turned white as a sheet and stood up. Still shitting all over the place. Marbles rolling all over the floor as they bounced around. It took her a couple of minutes to put it all together. She said " What the ****" I just laughed and laughed as she packed her chit and left.

I really do kind of miss her though.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #177056 - 02/19/09 05:01 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #177123 - 02/19/09 01:22 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #177436 - 02/23/09 02:21 AM

Though India is recognized as a world leader in promoting the health benefits of urine, its dominance will be assured by the end of the year when a cow-urine-based soft drink comes to market. Om Prakash, chief of the Cow Protection Department of the RSS organization (India's largest Hindu nationalist group), trying to reassure a Times of London reporter in February, promised, "It won't smell like urine and will be tasty, too," noting that medicinal herbs would be added and toxins removed. In addition to improved health, he said, India needs a domestic (and especially Hindu) beverage to compete with the foreign influence of Coca-Cola and Pepsi. [The Times, 2-11-09]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #178179 - 03/01/09 10:53 PM

The Baltimore Sun reported in June 1993 that New York City artist Todd Alden had recently asked 400 art collectors worldwide to send him samples of their feces so he could offer them for sale in personalized tins. Said Alden, "Scatology is emerging as an increasingly significant part of artistic inquiry in the 1990s." A 30-gram tin of the feces of Italian artist Piero Manzoni, canned in 1961, sold just before that for $75,000. Subsequent to this story, News of the Weird periodically tracked the fluctuating price of the several Manzoni tins, including Britain's Tate Gallery's 2002 purchase for $38,000 (which was over 100 times the price of an equal amount of gold). A colleague of Manzoni revealed in 2007 that his tins probably contained just plaster, but a Tate curator pointed out the irrelevance of the physical content of art. [Baltimore Evening Sun, 6-4-93; Sydney Morning Herald, 7-1-02; Reuters, 6-12-07]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #178255 - 03/02/09 12:49 PM

From a guy called Worriedman on pickled eggs.



Ah, revenge pills!

When I first left TX, and came to work for my present firm, they had a project going in Tulsa, OK for Whirlpool. PM in charge was not a real go getter, and the completion date was fast approaching, with lots of work left to go. Home office assigned me to pinch hit and get it back on track. Owners Rep. was a prick, (loved to hear himself talk), and his two henchmen no better. Nit picky bastids who could read more into a contract than a group of Chicago lawyers. I circled the wagons, spent a lot of time on the ground, and pulled off the completion date. Punch list meetings whowever, were a blood bath, Owner wanting to add a bunch of “nice to have’s” at the end, we had several serious discussions of what was in the contract and what was not. It got a little personal.

Final inspection of the press tunnel was scheduled for a Friday. Have to set the stage, 20’ wide, 22’ deep tunnel where the presses that stamped out the parts for the dishwashers were anchored, and all the scrap fell down and was conveyed to the end. Lots of structure, lots of noise.

Thursday night, the young supt. and I went to dinner and I got prepped up. A dozen pickled eggs, a couple of Big Dog pickled sausages, large bowl of pinto beans, with a side of lima beans, a double dose of iron tablets, all washed down with a large quantity of beer. Explained to him my tack for getting through the inspection quick, he thought I had lost my mind.

Next day as we entered the tunnel, all that clackity clack going on, you could barley hear the guy standing next to you shout. Every bolt was checked for torque, foundations measured for levelness. I told my supt. to watch and learn from a Pro, sidled up to ol’ Bob and let one rip, covered by the press sounds. They all looked at each other for a second, discomfort apparent, but nobody said anything. This tunnel ran about 600’ across the factory, we hade figured that “Windy” Bob would make the inspection last at least 4 hours. Presses were spaced 60’ apart; at each location they would set up their laser and begin to take measurements. Once I got past the first slurry of pickled eggs and down to the iron tablets and Big Dogs, the aroma was staggering. My supt. was in tears, who could say the real reason, whether from the looks on the faces of the Whirlpool big wigs, or from the olfactory stress he was undergoing. I would lag behind the group till battery was charged again, and just prior to feeling like I was going to explode, would catch up to make a point, and would chit down my leg and wink at my supt. Repeat!

Bob asked if I smelled anything untoward, I said no, nothing out of the ordinary, maybe there was dead rat somewhere. told him the equipment setting crew provided by Whirlpool tended to be pigs and leave their garbage from lunch laying around, resulting a rat infestation, and we had put out some poison.

About a third of the way down the tunnel, Bob opined that we needed to check and see if we had accounted for all the hands, he was right sure that dead rats could not be producing the stench, and there must be a wetback or two sandwiched among the foundations. Had an old guy with them, never forget him, Errol Van Buskirk, he was way up in years, a little frail to boot, we had to help him out at one of the emergency shafts, he threw up and nearly passed this vale of tears after one of the more serious applications of flatulence.

Being the set up of presses and conveyors was somewhat repetitive, the powers that be decided we had seen enough, we were less than a third of the way through the tunnel. Bob allowed as to how this was all pretty mundane, and any irregularities could be handled in the Warranty period anyways. He did suggest that we up the exhaust fan CFM, saying that there were not enough air exchanges occurring, and that he felt the maintenance staff need to add the press pit to their “confined space’ log. Van Buskirk suggested perusal by cadaver dogs.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #178846 - 03/08/09 12:47 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #178936 - 03/09/09 05:16 AM

A man who is having gas problems explains to his doctor that every time he farts it sounds like Honda.

The doctor does an examination and finds nothing wrong with the man. As a last resort he looks into the patient’s mouth and finally spots the problem. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to go to a dentist for your problem.”

So the man goes to see his dentist. After a quick exam, the dentist announces that the man has an abscess. “No problem, I’ll have you fit and without your embarrassing problem in a jiffy,” says the dentist.

Sure enough, the man’s problem disappears and he no longer makes farts that sound like a Honda. The next week the man calls up the dentist and thanks him for all he’s done for him. But before he hangs up he asks the dentist how he knew the problem was caused by an abscess.

The dentist replies, “It’s easy.

Everyone knows that an abscess makes the fart go Honda."


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: MB2]
      #178959 - 03/09/09 01:05 PM

Mel will like that one.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #179593 - 03/15/09 03:36 AM

"This adds an extra dimension people will appreciate," said Hobart, Australia, mayor Rob Valentine in December, announcing that at the annual Taste Festival later that month, performance artists would entertain in the restrooms. According to Valentine, the performers would also supply soap and towels and would "recite (a) favorite poem, or tell ... a story" while concert-goers "used the facilities." [The Mercury (Hobart), 12-23-08]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #180216 - 03/21/09 09:21 PM

Dog Chit Soup

By Poletax


Yeppers,you read that right,dawg chitt soup.
Our story begins with some overstuffed galoot just letting the dawgs out onto the patio when they wanted out.Usually the galoot will go with them,on out to the grassy backyard.
Well thru lazyness and the rain and all,our galoot just put up with the dawg chitt out on the brick patio.
The first dry sunny day,TOWMBO got tired of waiting on the galoot to clean that chitt up.
She proceeded to use her store bought poop-scooper and busied herself with putting the unwanted tirds and other flecks of chitt into a big coffee can.
Said can was left on a lil table out by the back gate.
Well, it took to rainin some more Thursday and Friday round here.Wouldn't ya know there was no lid on the coffee can and ,well,between the chitt and the rain,the can was darn near full.
TOWMBO proceeded to snap the lid onto the pickling mix after her nasty discovery
Tuesday is trash day and she was gonna set it out in the alley.
Well,this Saturday Morning I was blessed by a visit from an Azz from up the alley.
I was out dickin around,sneaking a smoke and John started talking to me from the alley.I let him in the back gate to point out stuff I was doing in the yard to make it better than his.
He spotted the can on the table and picked it up.
Before I could say a word,he felt the weight and curiousity got the best of him.
John pulled the lid off of Pandoras Box.
All Hell took off to a running start.
The odor was so stout that I could damn near see it.
Of course the revulsion John was exibiting was expected.
What happened next wadn't.
John dropped this WMD and it hit the edge of the lil table.
Most of the contents ejected onto Johns shirt and jeans.I near pissed meself.
My neighbors mouth had a white ring around it.He looked to be immersed into shock.He was speechless and I was too.I've never seen nothing like that and I'd seen some peculiar things.
I offered to turn the garden hose on him,but he gave me a look like I run over his dawg.
He went stomping off up the alley.Maybe he won't be back for awhile.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #180486 - 03/24/09 05:01 AM

Japanese astronaut tests stink-free underwear.

By Irene Klotz Irene Klotz – Mon Mar 23, 3:39 pm ET


HOUSTON (Reuters) – Teen-age boys, are you tired of embarrassing questions about when you last changed underwear? Japan's space scientists may have just the answer -- a line of odour-free underwear and casual clothing.

Koichi Wakata, the first Japanese astronaut to live on the International Space Station, is testing the clothes, called J-ware and created by textile experts at Japan Women's University in Tokyo.

"He can wear his trunks (underwear) more than a week," said Koji Yanagawa, an official with the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency.

Wakata's clothes, developed by researcher Yoshiko Taya, are designed to kill bacteria, absorb water, insulate the body and dry quickly. They also are flame-resistant and anti-static, not to mention comfortable and stylish.

Japanese astronaut Takao Doi gave the clothes a trial run during a shuttle mission last year. Even after a vigorous workout, Doi's clothes stayed dry.

"The other astronauts become very sweaty, but he doesn't have any sweat. He didn't need to hang his clothes to dry," Yanagawa said.

J-ware should reduce the amount of clothing that needs to be sent to the space station, which has no laundry facilities. Toting cargo into orbit is expensive, so having clothes that stay fresh for weeks at a time should result in significant savings.

The Japanese space agency plans to make the clothes available to NASA and its other space station partners once development is complete. A commercial line also is in the offing.

Taya also is working with clothing manufacturers Toray Industries and Goldwin. on clothes that have a microscopically thin chemical layer in the materials.

Wakata, who arrived at the station last week for a three-month stay, said on Sunday that the clothes appear to be working.

"Nobody has complained, so I think it's so far, so good," Wakata said.

(Editing by Jane Sutton and Cynthia Osterman)

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #180695 - 03/25/09 03:32 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #182708 - 04/09/09 03:51 AM

AP-WACO, Texas – A man was stabbed after causing a stink — literally — in a motel room while eating with a friend, police said. Five men from the Houston area were sharing a Waco motel room Tuesday night, and two were inside the room eating when one had a flatulence problem, Waco police Officer Steve Anderson said. One man was so upset about the gas that he threw a large knife at him, cutting his leg, and then stabbed him in the chest, Anderson said.

The 35-year-old man was transported to a Waco hospital, where he was treated for what appeared to be non-life threatening injuries, Anderson said.

Jose Braule Ramirez, 33, of Houston, was charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, police said. He was arraigned Wednesday and was being held in the McLennan County Jail on $15,000 bond and placed on an immigration hold, according to jail records. He cannot be released, even if he posts bond, until authorities verify he is in the country legally.

A jail spokeswoman who declined to give her name said she was not allowed to release information on whether Ramirez had an attorney.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #182913 - 04/12/09 02:29 AM

Two competitors vying to sell the same type iPhone application (arrays of sounds of breaking wind) are embroiled in a trademark dispute, according to a March Denver Post report. The developers of Air-O-Matic's "Pull My Finger" claim that InfoMedia's "iFart" application improperly uses "pull my finger" in its own marketing. InfoMedia said that the phrase is generic and not trademarkable. [Denver Post, 3-27-09]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #183527 - 04/17/09 04:29 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #183528 - 04/17/09 04:33 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #183651 - 04/19/09 01:37 AM

A social worker from a big City in Massachusetts recently transferred to the Mountains of North Carolina and Georgia and was on the first tour of her new territory when she came upon the tiniest cabin she had ever seen in her life.
Intrigued, she went up and knocked on the door. 'Anybody home?' she asked.

'Yep,' came a kid's voice through the door.

'Is your father there?' asked the social worker.

'Pa? Nope, he left afore Ma came in,' said the kid.

'Well, is your mother there?’ persisted the social worker.

'Ma? Nope, she left just afore I got here,' said the kid.

'But,' protested the social worker, 'are you never together as a family?'

'Sure, but not here,' said the kid through the door. 'This is the Outhouse!'

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #183712 - 04/20/09 01:45 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #184319 - 04/27/09 03:26 AM

Video: Elrond Interruptus

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185073 - 05/06/09 12:52 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185074 - 05/06/09 12:56 PM

Why is a gals butt hole like a 9 volt battery?

Because you know you shouldn't, but you will eventually touch it with your tongue.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185116 - 05/07/09 03:48 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185505 - 05/14/09 05:06 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185506 - 05/14/09 05:22 AM

India: Rural Villagers Say, “No Toilet, No Bride.”

Ben Arnoldy, Christian Science Monitor, May 12, 2009

In rural India, having a toilet has become an issue of a woman’s right. Many homes don’t feature plumbing because men, in particular, question the expense—even the desirability—of indoor facilities.

That’s changing rapidly in the state of Haryana, where the government is putting up funds and village women are leaning on their men to get with the program. Their slogan: “No toilet, no bride.”

The combined effort has helped boost the number of rural homes with toilets to 60 percent, up from less than 5 percent four years ago, says Kashi Nath Jha, the Haryana local chairman of the sanitation organization Sulabh International.

{snip} [One] bride has already divorced her groom when she learned that his family lied about having a toilet, says Anil Kumar Chhikara, one of the village leaders. Another young woman, Monica, says of any potential suitor, “I’ll be asking him to build a toilet.” And if he doesn’t? “Then I won’t marry him.”

Women have more clout these days in the village, says Mr. Chhikara, because years of selective-sex abortions have left more bachelors than potential brides.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185549 - 05/14/09 01:09 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #185575 - 05/14/09 04:23 PM

The Wisdom of a Doctor


A worried woman went to her gynecologist and said: 'Doctor, I have a serious
problem and desperately need your help! My baby is not even 1 yr. old and
I'm pregnant again. I don't want kids so close together.'

So the doctor said: 'Ok, and what do you want me to do?'

She said: 'I want you to end my pregnancy, and I'm counting on your
help with this.'

The doctor thought for a little, and after some silence he said to the lady:
'I think I have a better solution for your problem. It's less dangerous for
you too.'

She smiled, thinking that the doctor was going to accept her request.

Then he continued: 'You see, in order for you not to have to take care of 2
babies at the same time, let's kill the one in your arms. This way, you
could rest some before the other one is born. If we're going to kill one
of them, it doesn't matter which one it is. There would be no risk for your
body if you chose the one in your arms.

The lady was horrified and said: 'No doctor! How terrible! It's a crime
to kill a child!

'I agree', the doctor replied. 'But you seemed to be ok with it, so I thought
maybe that was the best solution. The doctor smiled, realizing that
he had made his point. He convinced the mom that there is no difference in
killing a child that's already been born and one that's still in the
womb.

The crime is the same!


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #185712 - 05/16/09 05:41 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #186112 - 05/22/09 01:08 PM

Going to the movies but have a bladder problem?

When to go pee at the movies

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #186676 - 06/02/09 01:44 PM

Penguin Poo Visable Form space

Scientists have located dozens of emperor penguin breeding colonies in Antarctica, after spotting large amounts of the bird's droppings on pictures taken from space.

Satellite images have picked up giant red-brown stains on the pristine white sea ice, indicating the presence of thousands of penguins.

It meant that researchers for the British Antarctic Survey were able to locate every colony on the continent for the first time ever.

The in-depth satellite survey identified 38 breeding colonies - believed to amount to between 200,000 and 400,000 breeding pairs of emperor penguins.

Until now it has been difficult to accurately estimate the population of emperor penguins because scientists have not been able to track them during the winter breeding season.

Researchers now hope by tracking the penguin colonies they can monitor the impact of climate change, which threatens to wipe out 95 per cent of the population by 2100.

Emperor penguins spend a large part of their life at sea and during the Antarctic winter, when temperatures drop to -58F (-50 C), they return to their colonies to breed on sea-ice.

This makes it extremely difficult for scientists to follow them and means previous knowledge on the number and distribution of emperor penguin colonies was poor.

The survey, published today (Tues) in the Global Ecology and Biogeography journal, reveal ten new colonies have appeared while six previously-known ones have relocated.

Peter Fretwell, co-author of the study and geographic information officer at British Antarctic Survey, said his chance discovery would revolutionise the way scientists monitored penguins.

He said: "This is the first part of an ongoing study. Now we can locate the colonies we will be able to go out and get an accurate count of the total breeding population.

"It was a very serendipitous discovery and a chance encounter when I realised I could see the stains.

"They look like reddy-brown stains on the sea ice, which is formed every year in the Antarctic winter and usually looks absolutely pristine and white.

"No other birds breed on the sea ice and each colony can have tens of thousands of birds in it.

"Emperor penguins are quite big birds and it gets quite messy and very smelly.

"Sometimes I think remote sensing is the best way to monitor them as you really don't want to get too close."

Mr Fretwell had been mapping a British Antarctic Survey base near the Halley station on the Brunt ice shelf in October 2008 when he noticed a brown stain on the satellite images.

He said: "It was a bit of a eureka moment. I realised if I could see this colony with satellites I should be able to see more."

Using a satellite mosaic of Antarctica Mr Fretwell and his colleagues managed to survey 90 per cent of the Antarctic coast.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #186696 - 06/02/09 09:01 PM

"This satellite image shows white Antarctic ice stained brown by Emperor penguin guano in Atka Bay in the northern part of Antarctica"

Wouldn't most all of Antarctica that is near the shore regardless of longitude be 'the northern part" WTF?!?!?!


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: old lodge skins]
      #186701 - 06/03/09 02:53 AM

If you stand in the right spot it's all north of you.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #186726 - 06/03/09 11:29 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
If you stand in the right spot it's all north of you.




Zackly, so why didn't the Brit genius that wrote the article understand that?


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #187493 - 06/19/09 01:13 PM

We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the back yard, and a few months ago, I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To make sure this never happened to me, I got an electric fence and ran a single wire along the top of the fence.

Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for 26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it 7.5 feet into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you have in the ground, the better the fence works.

One day I'm mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel push mower. The hot wire is broken and laying out in the yard. I knew for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.

It seems as though I hadn't remembered to unplug it after all.

Now I'm standing there, I've got the running lawnmower in my right hand and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an upside down cow on fire on the cover.

Time stood still.

The first thing I notice is my pecker trying to climb up the front side of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs & Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was literally at one with the engine.

It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of chit lawnmower were fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.

Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied 3 different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you're all leaned back and BAM BAM BAM you just crap your pants 3 times. It seemed like there were minutes in between but in reality it was so close together it was like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy turning 8 grand.

At this point I'm about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can't let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences.....but Dad always had those piece of chit chargers made by International or whoever that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled.
This one I could not let go of. The 8 foot long ground rod is now accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom soil. At this point I'm thinking I'm going to have to just man up and take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.

'Damn!,' I think, as I remember I just filled the tank!

Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it. Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest I think 'Oh God please die... Pleeeeaze die'. But nooooo, it settles into the rough lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI motor waiting for the go command from its owner's right foot.

So here I am in the middle of July, 104 degrees, 80% humidity, standing in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that day.....he left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the misery my own stupidity had created.

I honestly don't know how I got loose from the wire...I woke up laying on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was beside me, out of gas. It was later on in the day and I was sunburned.

There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.

Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep I realized a few things:

1- Three of my teeth seem to have melted.

2- I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek (not the left, just the right).

3- Poop, pee, and vomit when all mixed together, do not smell as bad as you might think.

4- My left eye will not open.

5- My right eye will not close.

6- The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I think our little session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was better than new after that.

7- My nuts are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot long.

8- I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of the number 4 (still don't understand this???).

That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things. I appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.

The good news, is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I can clearly visualize what my security system will do

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #187525 - 06/20/09 04:02 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #188016 - 06/30/09 03:57 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #188240 - 07/03/09 06:01 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #189389 - 07/27/09 01:00 AM

Michael Warner, 58, passed away in May 2004 of acute alcohol poisoning (with a 0.47 blood-alcohol level) in Lake Jackson, Texas, from ingesting three liters of sherry wine, which entered his body by enema. His widow, Tammy, told authorities that he had been addicted to taking them since childhood and even had favorite recipes, such as enemas by coffee, by Castile soap, by Ivory soap. Said Tammy, "I'm sure that's the way he wanted to go out because he loved his enemas." Tammy was originally charged with negligent homicide for helping prepare Michael's fatal wine dose, but the prosecutor dropped the charge. [Houston Chronicle, 2-10-05]

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #189883 - 08/05/09 03:44 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #190633 - 08/19/09 12:34 PM

The Essence Of "chit"!

chit is a powerful word. Just think of all the concepts and ideas you can communicate with it. chit may just be the most powerful word in the English language.

Consider: You can be chit faced, be chit out of luck, or have chit for brains. With a little effort you can get your chit together, find a place for your chit or decide to chit or get off the pot. You can smoke chit, buy chit, sell chit, lose chit, find chit, forget chit, and tell others to eat chit and die.

You can chit or go blind, have a chit fit or just chit your life away. People can be chit headed, chit brained, chit blinded, and chit over. Some people know their chit while others can't tell the difference between chit and Shinola.

There are lucky shits, dumb shits, crazy shits, and sweet shits. There is bull chit, dog chit, cat chit, bird chit, whale chit, rat chit, and horse chit. There is tough chit, hard chit, soft chit, slimy chit, rough chit, limp chit. You can chit a blue streak, chit bricks, chit pink Twinkies, chit marbles, or chit your guts out.

You can throw chit, sling chit, catch chit, or duck when the chit hits the fan. You can take a chit, give a chit, keep chit or serve chit on a shingle. You can find yourself in deep chit, or be happier than a pig in chit.

Some days are colder than chit, some days are hotter than chit, and some days are just plane shitty. There is funny chit and sad chit, bad chit and good chit. Some chit doesn't stink while other things really smell like chit.

Some music sounds like chit, things can look like chit, and there are times when you feel like chit. You can be faster than chit or you can be slower than chit. Sometimes you'll find chit on a stick or chit on a shingle, sometimes you'll find chit everywhere, and then there are times when you can't find chit at all.

You can have too much chit, not enough chit, the right chit, the wrong chit or a lot of weird chit. You can carry chit in a bucket, put chit in a barrel, have a pile of chit, have a mountain of chit, have a river of chit, or find yourself up chit creek without a paddle. You can slice chit, spread chit, dunk chit or jump chit, and some people just can't cut the chit.

There is fun chit and dull chit, silly chit and serious chit. Sometimes you really need this chit and sometimes you don't want any chit at all. You can stir chit, kick chit or stick your ass out the window and chit on the world. Sometimes everything you touch turns to chit and other times you swim in a lake of chit and come out smelling like a rose.
chit! When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of creation. This means the universe did not begin with a BIG BANG but rather with a BIG DUMP. Keep that in mind the next time you flush the toilet. And remember, once you know your chit, you don't need to know anything else.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #192783 - 09/24/09 05:34 AM



--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #193441 - 10/07/09 03:27 AM

From ar15,com


Last night, while my wife was in a dead sleep laying next to me in bed, I felt something burning in my stomach. I don't know if it was the Budweiser/McDonald's before bedtime, or if it was the Ben & Jerrys Cherry Garcia/Mexican food that I ate earlier that day, but it almost had me doubled over in pain. My wife sleeps real close, and I couldn't help it: I let out the loudest, most explosive fart you can imagine. Well, because she sleeps so close, "to snuggle", it was right on her leg. She sits straight up, screams, and starts looking around the room. I didn't know what to do - I kind of panicked a little, and I told her that there was a burglar in the house. She got all scared and started crying, so I had to keep it up; I don't why I said that, it just came out. So she's crying and looking around the room, I told her to get under the bed, grabbed my Kimber, and told her to stay there until I checked the house. She started crying real quietly, and was telling me to stay inside and lock the door, but I told her that I could handle it. I went to the kitchen and made a bowl of cereal. My stomach was really hurting still, and this only made it worse. Well, after about 10 minutes, she came out of the bedroom and started yelling and hitting me, saying that she could smell my fart, and that I was a total asshole and could have caused a heart problem, blah, blah, blah. I tried to explain it to her, but you know how women get when they're mad. She packed up about a week's worth of clothes and headed over to her sisters. The bad thing is, her sister is kind of cute, and now she's going to think that I'm the bad guy here. I told her that if she cooked more often, maybe I could get on schedule or something, and she started hitting me again. 10 years in November all for nothing.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #196658 - 12/05/09 03:22 PM

Video: Mr. Methane

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #197574 - 12/22/09 01:19 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #197575 - 12/22/09 01:25 PM



--------------------
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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #197697 - 12/24/09 07:12 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
Video: Mr. Methane






--------------------
Somebody has to walk the point.


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Burrhead]
      #198661 - 01/16/10 02:36 PM

Print and use at your discretion...



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #198663 - 01/16/10 02:46 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #210556 - 11/20/10 08:46 AM

What is like a smelly fart, that, although invisible, is obvious?
One's own faults, that are precisely as obvious as the effort made to hide them.

His Holiness the 7th Dalai Lama

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #211306 - 12/10/10 03:45 PM

Al Bundy's Fergason

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Edited by SwampFox (12/15/10 05:22 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #211502 - 12/15/10 08:50 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
Ted Bundy's Fergason




Ted?

Aaaaallllllllllllll

Ok, I fixed it.

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Edited by SwampFox (12/15/10 05:23 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Burrhead]
      #213266 - 02/02/11 01:57 PM

Duko's You Tube video...

What not To Do With Dynamite!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #215094 - 03/18/11 09:52 AM

The Morning After

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #218064 - 05/17/11 07:31 PM

What is the difference between an epileptic corn farmer and a prostitute with diaharrea

The farmer shucks between fits

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #218582 - 05/25/11 03:54 PM

This one is killin me...

Armageddon

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #219125 - 06/07/11 12:56 PM

How poor wiping habits can ruin a wedding.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #221574 - 08/25/11 06:29 PM

For Marines in Afghanistan: be careful where you fart

August 23rd, 2011 | Afghanistan | Posted by Gina Cavallaro

Marine Corps Times is a family newspaper and we only rarely have offensive language in our stories.

But this week the word “fart” appears in a story I wrote about the importance of trust between Marines and the Afghan national army soldiers they work with.

I didn’t want to write this little blog entry about farts. It’s not even on my beat. But my colleague Dan Lamothe, whose byline you have seen here quite often, shamed me into it.

“You owe it to all Marines,” he told me.

So here’s the news: audible farting has been banned for some Marines downrange because it offends the Afghans.

I know there are many things in the Afghan culture that don’t seem normal to Americans and it’s hard to spend seven months working in someone else’s back yard. Still, the Marines I saw downrange are doing a pretty good job at trying to do the right thing around the Afghans.

They’re not supposed to cuss because it could be misunderstood (that one goes out the window a lot). And they stay away from talking about politics, religion or girls because those topics could escalate into major disagreements (they can’t communicate anyway because of the language barrier).

But farting? That’s practically a sport. Ok, it’s not soccer, but a good contest could open the door for cross-cultural exchanges, jokes and other gallows humor.

So, for all Marines getting ready to go downwind, I mean downrange, be forewarned — you may have to hold it in… at least until you get back to your hooch where you can loudly crop dust your friends.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #224734 - 12/07/11 08:47 PM

Did you know the first use of fuel/air bombs were by the Chinese who stuck bamboo up their asses and advanced on their enemies backwards. Each time the "fuel" ignited, it made a blinding flash of blue light at the burning end of the shaft. Scared hell out of their enemies but was discontinued for thousands of years due to the odor and unreliability of Chinese intestinal systems.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #224999 - 12/15/11 02:05 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #232119 - 09/16/12 04:01 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #236555 - 03/04/13 07:33 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #237072 - 04/01/13 09:11 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #237127 - 04/03/13 08:59 PM

A Book Review: Gulp by Bee Wilson

t is one of the paradoxes of our culture that while food itself is an object of desire, the mechanics of eating—in the abstract, anyway—really gross us out. Chewing, salivating, and digesting, never mind excreting, are aspects of a meal we do our best to forget as we pore over photos of toast with ramp butter and quail’s eggs or slow-braised veal shank. We are in collective denial about what ingesting a meal really entails.

To a certain extent, this has always been true. Peter Greenaway’s 1989 film, The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, played on the fact that the comfort of middle-class life depends on keeping the pleasures of dinner well apart from its inescapable upshot in the bathroom. Thinking about digestion is a nasty appetite killer. But we are arguably more coy about the stomach than any previous generation. Our grandparents openly spoke of foods being “indigestible” or making them “bilious” if they ate too much of them. Now, we tend talk of the consequences of food only in terms of whether it will make us fat, ignoring the more pressing business of digestion. Public health officials perkily try to sell children on eating more vegetables “because of the vitamins” rather than telling them what really happens when they don’t eat their greens (around 30 percent of all American kids are constipated, going on estimates from dietetic pediatricians).

Mary Roach wants to redirect our attention away from the “clamor of cuisine” to the weird landscape of the alimentary canal. Her book is a bit like the old sci-fi classic Fantastic Voyage, where a miniaturized submarine goes on a mission through the inside of a human body. Roach has a fine line in quirky science writing, having previously looked at cadavers in Stiff and sex in Bonk. Her starting point in Gulp is cheekily to invert many of the assumptions of modern food writing. Eating, we have been loftily told by other writers, is about so much more than its chemical components. It is about culture, about tradition, about meals. Roach wittily flips this around. “Yes, men and women eat meals. But they also ingest nutrients. They grind and sculpt them into a moistened bolus that is delivered. … into a self-kneading sack of hydrochloric acid and then dumped into a tubular leach field, where it is converted into the most powerful taboo in history.”

Far from avoiding the grossness of digestion, Roach revels in it. Squeamish readers, be warned: There is TMI on every page. Roach leads us through the esophagus, the intestines, and the colon, giving us countless revolting but fascinating factoids along the way. You will discover that delicious food does not in fact make our mouths water (though nausea may) and that obese people surprisingly have the same stomach capacity as everyone else (they just eat more). Roach parses the “olfactory notes” of “noxious flatus,” the technical term for gas. If a fart smells of rotten eggs, this indicates the presence of hydrogen sulfide; if of rotten vegetables, it’s dimethyl sulfide. If you’ve ever wondered why some people complain of gassiness after beans, while others eat them with impunity, Roach has the answer. If you’ve never wondered, too bad; Roach is going to tell you anyway. Apparently, half of the population lack a certain enzyme in the colon that is needed to break down the complex carbohydrates in legumes. As a result, they are “troubled by beans.” When the colon inflates, releasing gas, it is a “warning system”: “Because stretching can be a prelude to bursting, your brain is highly motivated to let you know what’s happening down there.”

Roach, who is relentlessly fun to read—she even sees the humorous side in eating yourself to death—gives a graphic sense of what a brilliant and complex system human digestion really is. Take saliva. It is remarkable stuff, of which we generate two or three pints every day. Apart from its healing and cleaning properties—licking your wounds really is a good idea—saliva is part of the chemical engineering that enables us to eat. Spit dilutes acids, keeps the mouth clean and gets food into a state where we can swallow it. Roach speaks to a saliva expert, Erika Silletti, who marvels at the speed with which the brain tells the mouth to produce saliva when something is eaten. Because it contains amylase, an enzyme, saliva helps break down starches—such as bread—into digestible energy. “Add a drop of saliva to a spoonful of custard, and within seconds it pours like water.”

It turns out that while all saliva is pretty cool, it varies in potency and quantity from person to person. Art conservators have found that saliva is a great cleaning product for fragile paintwork and gold leaf, but not just anyone’s dribble will do. When Roach does a simple saliva test using a cotton wad, she is comic-dismayed to find that she is “a dried-up husk” in saliva terms. This theme of individual variation in our digestive powers recurs throughout the book. “The way you chew,” for example, “is as unique and consistent as the way you walk or fold your shirts. There are fast chewers and slow chewers, long chewers and short chewers, right-chewed people and left-chewed people.”

Maybe the ancients were on to something when they categorized human personality in terms of bodily fluids or “humours.” Our health and happiness—and consequently our behavior—is largely a function of our intestinal microflora. “Depending on who’s living in your gut,” writes Roach, you “may or may not benefit from what you eat.” Variation in colonic bacteria mean that some people derive goodness from the cancer-fighting properties of polyphenols—in some fruits and vegetables as well as coffee and red wine—while others do not. More dramatically, recent research—not mentioned in the book, perhaps because it is so new—indicates that the right gut microflora can protect against malnutrition. When given identical aid rations, one child flourishes and another starves.

Gulp’s compelling final chapter looks at the new medical intervention of the “fecal transplant” to treat patients with chronic gastrointestinal problems, pioneered by Dr. Alexander Khoruts in Minnesota. This is exactly what it sounds like. The sick patient is pumped with vials of a healthy person’s poop through a colonoscope. The procedure—unusual, as Roach notes, in being “effective, inexpensive and free of side effects”—has proved remarkably efficacious in curing severe cases of infection with Clostridium difficile. Yet at present “no US insurance company formally recognizes the procedure.” Roach suggests that this is partly because there are no pharmaceutical profits to be made from poop; but also the “ick factor.”

Roach finds it strange that “most of us pass our lives never once laying eyes on our organs, the most precious and amazing things we own.” But is it really so odd that we prefer to think of things other than colons? Gulp eloquently lays bare the secrets of the alimentary canal, but Roach’s obsession with the lavatorial (Can constipation offer sexual pleasure? And did it kill Elvis?) often seems as if it is missing the bigger picture about the human relationship with food. She quotes Khoruts on the subject of the gorillas, whose life, like that of so many animals, is dominated by digestion: “He’s processing leaves all day. ... There’s no room for great thoughts.” The great luxury of being a human being is that we have digestive systems so complex and efficient that most of the time we don’t have to think about them. So long as you don’t bring Gulp to the table, you are free to eat your dinner in a state of blissful denial.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #237574 - 05/03/13 12:56 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #237578 - 05/03/13 05:28 PM

Quote:

SwampFox said:








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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: wuchang]
      #237581 - 05/03/13 08:27 PM

True meaning to the title of this forum

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: fish]
      #237586 - 05/04/13 01:04 AM

I think she has the vapors...

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #238216 - 06/15/13 05:14 PM

Bathroom Etiquette

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


Edited by SwampFox (06/15/13 05:15 PM)


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #238217 - 06/15/13 06:18 PM

My wife bought a pair of 'Meatloaf Underwear' yesterday.

On the front it says, "I Will do Anything For Love"

...and on the back it says, "but I Won't do That."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #238218 - 06/15/13 06:43 PM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
My wife bought a pair of 'Meatloaf Underwear' yesterday.

On the front it says, "I Will do Anything For Love"

...and on the back it says, "but I Won't do That."




Now that's funny ........ No matter who you are


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: wuchang]
      #238219 - 06/15/13 08:36 PM

Concur with Wu .....

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #238375 - 06/29/13 12:19 AM

How far would you go to get your IPhone back? (Video)

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #238377 - 06/29/13 01:22 AM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #238384 - 06/29/13 12:07 PM

(Video) Family Guy

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #240273 - 10/06/13 11:25 PM

Stuff you can't make up...

Yale searches for 'poopatrater"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #241110 - 11/25/13 12:35 AM

From the "Stuff You Can't Make Up" file.

The Ronson Writer

Husband Convicted Of Manslaughter After Dutch Oven Goes "Horribly Wrong"

Written by Nick Houldsworth TUESDAY, 30 OCTOBER 2007

Mr Brian Flannery was convicted of 2nd Degree Manslaughter today at Peckham Crown Court, receiving a 5 year suspended sentence for the accidental death of his wife, Gloria Flannery, by toxic suffocation, after he gave her a 'Dutch Oven' that went, as the Judge described it, 'horribly, horribly wrong'.
The case for the prosecution argued for the charge of Murder, putting it to the court that, late one weekday evening as Mrs Flannery was reading a Jackie Collins novel in bed and unwinding for sleep, she was suddenly and forcibly pinned under the duvet by Mr Flannery, who sealed the edges with his weight while simultaneously releasing an enormous bolus of flatulence, which displaced all the available oxygen so that Mrs Flannery passed out nearly instantly, and was dead within 30 seconds.

Arguing for the defence, Mr Cavendish QC, stated that Mr Flannery was deeply upset and regretful. The incident was intended as a light-hearted practical joke, indeed it was the first time Mr Flannery had even tried what is commonly known on the street as a 'Dutch Oven', and even then only after hearing some friends talking one evening in the pub after five-a-side football, about 'doing it' to their wives 'all the time'.

They argued that Mr Flannery had miscalculated two crucial factors which led to the tragic outcome. The first being Mrs Flannery's military tucking in of the 600 weight cotton sheets when she made the bed that morning, which created a near airtight seal . Secondly, Mr Flannery had neglected to remember that he had attended a long business lunch at an Indian restaurant on Brick Lane that day, at which he had consumed a dozen onion Bajees, eight Poppadom, six Samosas, and an extra large beef Vindaloo with garlic naan, all washed down with 8 pints of Guinness beer. The resulting trapped wind, which he released within a 6 inch proximity of Mrs Flannery's face, came in at around 6 litres gas of 95% methane by volume.

During sentencing, the judge, The Hon Dame Roberts, said, "I accept that you did not intend that your wife should die in this manner, and I note both your grief and regret, which is why I will suspend your sentence on the grounds of time already served. Nonetheless, the conviction remains, in the hope that you will be an example to other husbands and boyfriends across the UK, and a ray of light to their long suffering wives and girlfriends, that this frankly gross, and often dangerous practice can no longer be taken lightly, or risk facing such tragic consequences as you have."

Outside the court, an emotional and weary Mr Flannery said, "I am truly very sorry for what I did to my wife, and living with the guilt of what I done is punishment enough. I just hope that others will learn from my mistake. I swear, I will never, ever fart in a woman's face again. At least, not in private."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #241134 - 11/27/13 02:31 AM

Stop by your local bakery and get a Thanksgiving cake...



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #241196 - 12/03/13 03:49 AM

Early one morning, an elderly retired gentleman yelled to his wife, "Honey, come see what I created! It's an abstract panorama depicting the five years of the Obama presidency."

His wife yelled back, "Flush the toilet and come eat your breakfast!"

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #241228 - 12/05/13 09:45 AM

Just wish we could flush that turd Obama and his whole damned cabinet. Plus, include Harry Reid.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Mel]
      #241823 - 01/06/14 10:35 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #247995 - 02/23/15 11:32 AM

Poop Facts

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #247997 - 02/23/15 06:25 PM

Fascinating...

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #254336 - 01/15/17 09:58 AM

Blogger Ashfor Evans shares the heartwarming and horrifying story about a sweet gift from her son that turned sour very fast. Her story begins as she arrives home late after a delayed flight on a business trip. It was one of those truly rare occasions where she had the entire house to herself. Her husband had just left for a fishing trip and all of their children were at a slumber party with friends.

After dropping off her suitcase in the bedroom, she stepped into the bathroom and her hilarious story begins,

When I entered the bathroom I was greeted by a sweet citrus smell. The entire bathroom seemed to have been scrubbed just before my arrival. I looked around astonished that my husband would think to clean the house just before my arrival (God knows how much I hate returning to a messy house) and that’s when I saw it.

One of the children’s cereal bowls sitting on the shelf with what seemed to be an old bar of soap sitting in it. I didn’t remember buying grapefruit scented soap but it could’ve been from years ago. They have a tendency to dig up things long forgotten and put them on display for me.

It looked just like a bar of soap looks years after its prime. You know when it’s all dried up and misshapen? But it smelled delicious.

I picked it up and held it to my nose breathing the scent in. The smell of fresh grapefruit in a perfectly silent house is just short of heaven I believe.

The thing was I just couldn’t quite place when I had bought fancy soap and just exactly where they had found it. Throughout the night I returned several times to inhale it’s tropical scent. In between making dinner and washing my face. I never bothered to wash my hands after fondling it because it was, afterall, just soap.

The next morning the spell had been broken as I left to collect all the children and return to my life of chaos and macaroni and cheese- leaving my grapefruit scented silence as a memory. It wasn’t long after we returned when Eeny emerged from the guest bathroom pressing the bar to her lips and breathing deeply saying “This is my favorite. I love the way this smells.”

“I know!” I wholeheartedly agreed. “What IS that? Where did you guys get that?” I asked.

“Meeny found it in the boys bathroom at Tae Kwon Do and brought it home,” she happily replied.

And that’s when it hit me. It wasn’t some upscale boutique $15 soap I had been caressing for the last 12 hours. It was a urinal cake.

That’s right, catch your breath. An f-ing urinal cake. A URINAL CAKE!!!! A urinal cake from the public gym I take my 5 year old for Tae Kwon Do three times a week. A urinal cake that has been peed on by at least 1000 strange little boys that I just held against my cheek!!!!!

With this realization I screamed and jerked it from her hands flinging it into the trashcan.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!” she cried bursting into tears. “It’s my FAVORITE!!!!!”

“WASH YOUR HANDS, YOUR FACE, OH GOD WASH EVERYTHING!!!!!!” I screamed back.

And everything went black.

When I came to I realized I had only two options. As I went through my memory and all the things I had touched [eaten] since touching the vile thing I realized that in combination with all the things my kids had touched we really didn’t have much of a choice. I mean Tae Kwon Do is on Wednesdays and this was now Saturday!!!! This THING has touched basically everything in my house at this point.

So clearly our options were 1. Burn the house to the ground or 2. Pretend like it never happened and drink a bottle of wine [or two]. I’ll leave you guessing as to which I chose.

But either way here’s to kids being the most disgusting creatures ever to crawl the face of the earth and to teaching us some humility in the process.

Fortunately she was able to laugh about it later. As the saying goes, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is!

Like and share this story if you’re still laughing. Please leave a comment on Facebook and let us know if you’ve ever been in a similar situation!

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #254339 - 01/15/17 03:47 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: wuchang]
      #256696 - 02/07/18 08:42 AM

What do you get when you eat peanut butter and baked beans?

A fart that sticks to the roof of your butt.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #259923 - 07/18/19 04:12 PM

What happens when you drink 10 oz of Magnesium Citrate? I'm glad you asked...

12:05 pm: It's time. You shotgun a 10 oz bottle like it's a lukewarm PBR and you don't want to be a beardedclam in front of your older brother's friends.

It's suppose to be grape flavored but it's becoming quite clear that whoever led the R&D team that day has never actually tasted anything grape in their life. You are already regretting this decision.

12:06 pm: You deep throat a cupcake like you've been saving it for the apocalypse because let's face it...that time is here. It's going to turn to liquid form before it even clears your throat but you don't care. All is right in the world at this moment. Hold on to that. You're about to enter a very dark period in your life.

12:37 pm: First sign of life. The pressure is growing. You already have 5 lbs of impacted chit in your colon and you basically just drank the "safe for humans" version of Drano. You feel a poop coming on finally. You think it's time. You're wrong. You get a little snake turd as a teaser.

Take note...this is the last semi-solid thing you will see leaving your body for the next 24 hours.

12:57 pm: That little science experiment you got cooking is about to reach it's boiling point. Your stomach is angry now. It hates you...you can feel it. You have exactly .3 seconds to make it to the nearest toilet but you can't run... NEVER run! You pray to god there is enough elasticity in your butt hole to keep the gates closed 5 more steps as you start to preemptively undo your pants to save valuable time. Almost there. 3...2...1...

12:58 pm: Sweet Mary, mother of God...is this real life? Your cheeks barely hit the seat and all hell breaks loose. The chit/ water mixture you've just created comes out with such force that it actually sprays the back of the toilet bowl at a 45 degree angle thus deflecting it in every direction but down.

Is that blood?

False alarm.

That's just the remnants of a cherry pie you ate at Thanksgiving...when you were 5. The smell is horrid...the sound is frightening. You try to clench whats left of your asshole to soften the blow but it's not working. The whole house just heard your liquid chit fart as it gurgled out of your ass.

1:06 pm- 8:30 pm: Everything's a blur. You have chit out everything you have ever eaten since the day you were born, everything your ancestors have ever eaten since the early 1800's, and your asshole now feels like you have a flaming hot Cheeto and the tears of a thousand Jalapeno seeds stuck in it.

You're now curled up in the bathtub ugly crying because you have to remain within arm's reach of the toilet at all times. You have the poop sweats.

You meet Jesus.

8:37 pm: Your family will never be able to unsee the things they've seen in the last 8 hours.

You're broken.

Your asshole's broken.

Your spirit's broken.

Life as you know it will never be the same. But...tomorrow's a new day. You're going to wake up, throw on the only remaining pair of underwear you have that doesn't have a chit stain on it, and you're going to run up to Target with the last shred of dignity you have left...and buy yourself a new toilet brush. You've earned it.

-unknown

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #260020 - 08/01/19 12:39 AM


A little old lady went to buy cat food. She picked up three cans but was told by the clerk, "I'm sorry, but we can't sell this to you without proof you have a cat. Too many seniors are buying cat food to eat. Management wants proof that you are buying this for your cat." So the lady went home, brought in her cat and was sold the cat food. . . . The next day, she tried to buy two cans of dog food and was again told she couldn't buy them without proof. So the lady went home, brought in her dog and was sold the dog food. . . .One day later, she brought in a box with a hole in the lid and asked the cashier to stick her finger in the hole. The cashier said, "No, you might have a snake in there." The lady assured her that there was nothing in the box that would harm her. So the cashier put her finger into the box, quickly pulled it out and exclaimed, "That smells like crap." . . . The lady replied, "It is. I want to buy two rolls of toilet paper."

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #260149 - 08/12/19 02:02 PM

hmmmmmm

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: Bubba]
      #260941 - 01/12/20 11:57 AM

The ‘self-flushing’ latrine at this 1821 Alabama fort was ahead of its time

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #260985 - 01/25/20 05:28 PM

What is your most awkward learning experience?

Mine is the time that my Great Uncle taught me how to hunt. What was supposed to be a Rite of passage, turned out to be one of the most hilarious stories of My life...

"The greatest hunter in the world!" he said while pounding his hand on the table. "Why I can sneak up on a mouse, slit its throat and it wouldn't know for 3 days." His eyes twinkled as he pretended to remember the thought. My great-uncle Max always had a way of telling you a story and believing himself to be true. " if you come hunting with Me and Tom tomorrow, I'll show you a thing or two." He said. Me being a gullible 15 year old, loved the idea of going hunting with the "Greatest Hunter in the World". " what time do we need to be up?" I asked excitedly. " and what do I need to do to get ready?" Uncle Max smiled at me and waved his hand. "Just be here at the table about 4." He said. "I'll handle the rest."

That night I barely slept at all. When 4:00 finally came I rushed into the kitchen only to find the two old Hunters, already dressed and enjoying some breakfast. The breakfast in question was a tuna salad that Uncle Max called "The Greatest Tuna Salad in the World". I could never get the recipe off of him, but I can tell you that it did have Bell peppers, peas, onions, Mayo, celery, garlic cloves, more onions, beans, vinegar, boiled eggs, pickles and though I can never get him to admit it, but I'm pretty sure he had tuna fish in it. I sat down at the table with the two old men and some sandwiches were pushed underneath my nose. I've never been one to turn down a meal, but I've weathered Uncle Max's cooking before... Being in the spotlight and not wanting to look weak in front of these mighty Hunters, I picked up one of the sandwiches. With every nerve in my body screaming, I managed to bring the sandwich to my poker face and take a bite. The sensation was tremendous. My sinuses opened, my vision blurred, my ears popped and my equilibrium flipped on end. I'm not going to lie, it was the best tuna salad I have ever had. I finished the sandwich and quickly ate a second. (In fact I ate two more just to be sure I enjoyed them.)

After eating breakfast and drinking about two pots of coffee, the old men gathered their hunting belongings and got ready. "Here." said Uncle Max as he handed me a pair of worn, camo coveralls. "Put these on." I dressed and we all drew straws to see who would carry the gear and since I was the youngest they made sure I got the shortest straw. The gear consisted of a simple backpack, filled to the brim with what felt like cast iron anvils and a roll of toilet paper.

We stepped out the house and and Lesson one Began. "AJ." Said Uncle Max as he pointed a finger at me. " I have discovered, in my years of experience hunting, that the best way to smell while you're in the woods is to smell like nothing at all. Critters detect predators by their scent first and that's why it is important to Un-Smell yourself." I nodded instinctively. My excited boy brain was already awashed with Buck Fever and the best I could do was "zombie" forward. Uncle Max then proceeded to spray Tom and I down with his patented "Greatest Un-Smeller in the World" (It was also at this point that I started to see a product theme with this old man.)

After being thoroughly soaked with un-smeller, we started off. Uncle Max and Tom both leading the way as I was carrying the gear and was lagging a little behind. "AJ!" Uncle Max called out as he motioned me to hurry up. I threw myself into second gear and caught up with the old men. "We got to cross this corn field to get to our hunting spot" He said. "But the wind in to our backs so we're going to take the long way around so we can hide our scent." He pointed in a long sweeping arch as he spoke at a path that may have been 3 miles or so. Me, being the registered gear carrier, stated to let out a groan but quickly caught it and turned into a positive response. "Urrrrrrrrrrrr-K." I said.

We continued walking and after a bought 20 minutes or so and my stomach announced to me that it was having some difficulty doing it's daily task. Still not wanting to show any sign of weakness, I told it to hold off for as long as it could. It replied that it will try, but the gas pressure was rising... We continued on and I made a calculated decision to lag behind under the guise of fatigue. The Old men, none the wiser, continued a Whispered conversation on Theoretical Linear Transducing. (I think it was at least. They were hard to hear.) Once I had achieved enough distance, I slowly opened the Ol' Gas valve and equalized the pressure... I could tell right away... It was bad...

I watched in mortified horror as the cloud swept across the ground and towards my companions. "GO LEFT, GO RIGHT!" my brain screamed. "Don't let them know that I did that!" To my dismay, the cloud could not hear me or it simply did not care for my instructions. When it reached the two men,they stopped dead in their tracks. A strange look was on their faces as they looked around, smelling the air. Uncle Max, with a scowl, motioned me towards him. "Oh no!" I thought. "I've Ruined the hunt! I've "smelled" us all! They know what I did!" As I approached him, he had a grave look on his face. "AJ, do you know what that smell is?" He asked. His eyes, piercing through my skull. My nerves were shot. My heart was pounding. My brain had completely checked out. The child like nature still in me, managed to take the helm of my consciousness. "Noooooooo...." I said sheepishly. Uncle Max, eyes, Still fiery and focused. Stared at me and said.

"That smell... Is a DOE IN HEAT! SMELL HER?!" He whipped his head around and filled his nostrils with the scent, trying to pinpoint it's location. "It smells like she went this way Max!" Cried out Tom as he pointed more down wind. "We better hurry then!" Replied Uncle Max and the two old men took off with an energy seldom seen in old men. It was at this point I started to suspect that Uncle Max would stretch the truth about his hunting abilities....

We tracked my Fart for 8 miles that day and never once found the doe in heat....

-AJ

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #260989 - 01/26/20 07:47 AM

True wisdom indeed

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: wuchang]
      #261111 - 02/15/20 11:10 AM

Halfway Into His Solo Antarctic Trek, Colin O’Brady Pooed Himself — In His Only Pair Of Underwear

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #261112 - 02/15/20 01:46 PM



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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: 67Firebird]
      #261113 - 02/16/20 11:32 AM

Colin bars


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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: wuchang]
      #261200 - 02/29/20 03:25 PM

How do blind folks know they are done wiping?

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #261686 - 05/02/20 12:00 PM

In the end,
Mankind used so much toilet paper
they wiped themselves out.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #261695 - 05/02/20 04:43 PM

All the Ways We’ve Wiped: The History of Toilet Paper and What Came Before

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #265088 - 10/10/24 12:14 PM

So, last week, something pretty tragic happened in our household. It's taken me until now to wrap my head around it and find the words to describe the horror. It started off simple enough - something that's probably happened to most of you.
Sometime between midnight and 1:30am, our puppy Evie pooped on our rug in the living room. This is the only time she's done this, so it's probably just because we forgot to let her out before we went to bed that night. Now, if you have a detective's mind, you may be wondering how we know the poop occurred between midnight and 1:30am. We were asleep, so how do I know that time frame?
Why, friends, that's because our Roomba runs at 1:30am every night, while we sleep. And it found the poop. And so begins the Pooptastrophe. The poohpocalypse. The pooppening.
If you have a Roomba, please rid yourself of all distractions and absorb everything I'm about to tell you.
Do not, under any circumstances, let your Roomba run over dog poop. If the unthinkable does happen, and your Roomba runs over dog poop, stop it immediately and do not let it continue the cleaning cycle. Because if that happens, it will spread the dog poop over every conceivable surface within its reach, resulting in a home that closely resembles a Jackson Pollock poop painting.
It will be on your floorboards. It will be on your furniture legs. It will be on your carpets. It will be on your rugs. It will be on your kids' toy boxes. If it's near the floor, it will have poop on it. Those awesome wheels, which have a checkered surface for better traction, left 25-foot poop trails all over the house. Our lovable Roomba, who gets a careful cleaning every night, looked like it had been mudding. Yes, mudding - like what you do with a Jeep on a pipeline road. But in poop.
Then, when your four-year-old gets up at 3am to crawl into your bed, you'll wonder why he smells like dog poop. And you'll walk into the living room. And you'll wonder why the floor feels slightly gritty. And you'll see a brown-encrusted, vaguely Roomba-shaped thing sitting in the middle of the floor with a glowing green light, like everything's okay. Like it's proud of itself. You were still half-asleep until this point, but now you wake up pretty damn quickly.
And then the horror. Oh the horror.
So, first you clean the child. You scrub the poop off his feet and put him back in bed. But you don't bother cleaning your own feet, because you know what's coming. It's inevitable, and it's coming at you like a freight train. Some folks would shrug their shoulders and get back in bed to deal with it in the morning. But you're not one of those people - you can't go to sleep with that war zone of poop in the living room.
So you clean the Roomba. You toss it in the bathtub to let it soak. You pull it apart, piece-by-piece, wondering at what point you became an adult and assumed responsibility for 3:30am-Roomba-disassembly-poop-cleanups. By this point, the poop isn't just on your hands - it's smeared up to your elbows. You already heard the Roomba make that "whirlllllllllllllllll-boop-hisssssssss" noise that sounds like electronics dying, and you realize you forgot to pull the battery before getting it wet.
Oh, and you're not just using profanity - you're inventing new types of profanity. You're saying things that would make Satan shudder in revulsion. You hope your kid stayed in bed, because if he hears you talking like this, there's no way he's not ending up in prison.
Then you get out the carpet shampooer. When you push it up to the rug - the rug that started it all - the shampooer just laughs at you. Because that rug is going in the trash, folks. But you shampoo it anyway, because your wife loved that damn rug, and you know she'll ask if you tried to clean it first.
Then you get out the paper towel rolls, idly wondering if you should invest in paper towel stock, and you blow through three or four rolls wiping up poop. Then you get the spray bottle with bleach water and hose down the floor boards to let them soak, because the poop has already dried. Then out comes the steam mop, and you take care of those 25-ft poop trails.
And then, because it's 6am, you go to bed. Let's finish this tomorrow, right?
The next day, you finish taking the Roomba apart, scraping out all the tiny flecks of poop, and after watching a few Youtube instructional videos, you remove the motherboard to wash it with a toothbrush. Then you bake it in the oven to dry. You put it all back together, and of course it doesn't work. Because you heard the "whirlllllllllllllll-boop-hissssssss" noise when it died its poopy death in the bathtub. But you hoped that maybe the Roomba gods would have mercy on you.
But there's a light at the end of the tunnel. After spending a week researching how to fix this damn $350 Roomba without spending $350 again - including refurb units, new motherboards, and new batteries - you finally decide to call the place where you bought it. That place is called Target. They have an awesome warranty. They claim it's for life, and it's for any reason.
So I called them and told the truth. My Roomba found dog poop and almost precipitated World War III.
And you know what they did? They offered to replace it. Yes, folks. They are replacing the Roomba that ran over dog poop and then died a poopy, watery death in the bathtub - by no fault of their own, of course.
So, mad props to Target . If you're buying anything expensive, and they sell it, I recommend buying it from them. And remember - don't let your Roomba run over dog poop...

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #265135 - 10/30/24 05:23 PM

Things I learned on the internet.

When betting on a dog race always bet on the one that poops on the way to the starting line.

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Re: Flatulence And Other Bottom Of The Pyle Stuff [Re: SwampFox]
      #265137 - 10/31/24 08:07 AM

Quote:

SwampFox said:
Things I learned on the internet.

When betting on a dog race always bet on the one that poops on the way to the starting line.




True Wisdom


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