Wednesday, January 9, 2013

The Fart Machine

Flatulence, or farting as we know it is one of the things that I find myself grappling with on a daily basis. I am a heavy after. There, I said it. In a short span of two hours, I can fart as much as fifteen times. Imagine then the amount of farts I let out on a daily basis.

My farts, like everybody else can range from silent to shockingly loud and scentless to that of a dead carcass. I don't know whether I suffer from a condition of severe flatulence if there is such a medical term to start with. I also try try my best to avoid food like ginger considering that it is one of the famous "wind-eliminating" natural ingredients. I once had ginger chicken for lunch and I farted in the living room for a full three hours non stop.

"I feel like a Jew in a genocide tank! You're suffocating me!" Harold shouted that day; he was in the same room playing Halo 3 when it first came out.

I can't help it. I don't think I have mastered the art of controlling your fart really well yet. My idea of courtesy is by sorry AFTER I have farted instead of relieving myself elsewhere private in the first place. Ain't nobody got time for that.

But it's hard because I always try to be polite about it and nine out of ten times I try to keep it in and then the feeling of wanting to fart would go soon enough. But nine out of ten times I would fail and fart it off anyways and at the same time fall lower into the category of "uncontrollable farmers".

Up till last year, I was always morally plaqued by the condition that I'm suffering. It had affected my sex, social and professional life. And then I accepted it. One day I woke up and I decided that I should accept this shortcoming of mine.

My rule is: "If you didn't hear or smell it, then I didn't fart."

And on occasions that people do hear or smell it, a feeble "sorry" would suffice. I am now known as "The Fart Machine". And no, I am not going to try and defend myself here.

I have also read somewhere that girls fart three times more than boys. Does that also mean that I am actually a girl inside? Because as far as I am concerned, I don't think I know of anybody, man, woman or Melanie The Tranny that farts as much as I do. An incident that happened yesterday though had me questioning my place in society.

I was watching Wreck It Ralph yesterday in the cinema with Melanie and I had three egg sandwiches before the movie. You know where this is going right? Bear with me.

Ten minutes into the movie, I felt my stomach became hard and the feeling of wanting to fart suddenly rose from a measly one to a fucking eleven in a matter of seconds. I tapped Melanie's right arm and whispered to her, "I want to fucking fart. I can't stand, it will go off and I will fart at someone's face."

Melanie glared at me and whispered, "I swear if you fart, I will disown you as a friend right here. There are kids everywhere around us Harry please don't be fucked up!"

"I can't hold it any longer," I said softly, beads of perspiration forming on my forehead.

"Don't!" Melanie whispered and beat my left arm. And with that I suddenly farted, thankfully a silent one.

There was silence for a good five seconds, the only sound was the glaring animation from the screen. Melanie noticed the silence and turned at me and snarled, "You did not..."

Suddenly a kid, this youg boy sitting behind me raised his voice to his mother, "Mummy! It's smelly! Somebody poot poot! Egg smell mummy..."

Melanie and I only watched Wreck It Ralph for half an hour. We both couldn't bear the embarrassment.

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