I was in the pub yesterday when I suddenly realized I desperately needed to fart. The music was really, really loud, so I timed my farts with the beat.
After a couple of songs, I started to feel better. I finished my schooner and noticed that everybody was staring at me.
Then I suddenly remembered… I was listening to my iPod.
I had a similiar experience at my inlaws in my early twenties.
Sitting at a typical farmers Sunday lunch table with all present, my new bride, her mother, father (“Steako”), sister and 1 of two brothers, oh, and their Labrador “Rama” happily laying under the table waiting for the lucky dip of food parcels soon to shared from above…..
Then I felt a small ball of wind in my lower tummy.
Now, I’d just started my country roast lunch after smashing through the home made chicken soup that was filled with enough onion to make a vampire cry and knew there would be not enough room with all the food to come, so, I …… well to put it nicely, I bottom burped a relieving ball of wind that was perfectly silent, but, with the power plant of the previous nights Bowling club Tandoori curry eventually “distracted” everybody at the table, whereby “Steako” said in a very country gruff voice “Rama, get out from under the table..!! And that was that. The man of the house had spoken… and to every persons credit at the table on that day, we all returned to our country feast…
HAH… This was gold, A clean get away for me…
Then, another not so small ball of discomfort signaled its need for release only minutes later…. Well I let it pass without restraint. The result was a cracker pants that was worthy of a pre game footy match club room.
Steako immediately demanded, “RAMA. GET OUT FROM UNDER THE TABLE”..!!
Eyes flashed between the family members as everyone waited for the inevitable “distraction” that was certain to follow such a worthy and may I say satisfying Fart..!!
Now to be certain, these country folk were tough, They’d endured drought and hard times living on the edge of The Mildura desert at Ouyen in northwest Victoria without complaint, but its true to say that a tear was shed in every eye as the stinging addition to the “discomfort” of the stench caused by the volume of the unrelenting and disgusting wind ……… that had apparently come from the less than well trained “dog” Rama….
As strong as the bond of a mother elephant, their country resolve shone through, and they all resumed eating with a minimum of fuss… Rama dodged the flashing boots as his determination was untested, he wanted the scraps which where sure not to be tasting the same for the diners above as they were just over 2 minutes earlier…
As the Doctor explained later,….. Last nights Tandoori chicken had miraculously returned to life as the onion infused chicken soup earlier had delivered a portion of DNA that completed the circle of life and it was now backstroking in this broth …….and fermenting……Oh dear…..
The doctor told me of Newtons law, “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction” and Boyles law, when pressure is applied to a gas
As the feast neared completion, my diaphragm was straining to hold down an effervescent balloon of gas that I’d swallowed with ALL my might, a least a dozen times.
The effect of this “action” was catastrophic…
The compressed tornado of destruction was unstoppable….
I tempted Rama to my side with a succulent portion of sirloin and prepared for the worst…
Well…… the reaction was memorable to this day.
The clap of thunder followed by the tortured howl of a twin turbo 944 waste gate, brought immediate response.
My bride excused herself (politely). The brother ran for the bathroom, , her mother threw the carving knife 25 feet into the wall above the fireplace where the framed copy of my divorce now hangs and Steako dragged Rama from under the table with real concern in his voice now, explaining that the City boy was sure to kill him if he remained…
Oh dear….
And here I was thinking that the joke about the dog getting in to trouble for someone elses smelly gases was an urban myth.
You’re a true legend mate!!
R
My story, similar but different…
It was ’82, and I had returned to the place in Spain where I grew up with my brother and sisters : Florimar, Tarragona (96 kms south of Barcelona). Florimar is a tourist resort of sorts that is frequented by mostly dutch, some french and the odd german.
It was late evening on a stormy early September (so end of summer, some balmy nights still). I was sitting at the bar, with the local german sheppard at my feet. As the storm approached and the thunder made its presence felt – the german sheppard got frightened and moved to the other side of the room…. and sat there staring at me – and I could swear, smiling !!
For a split second – I could not comprehend – but no sooner had the thunder finished its job that the smell hit me ! I’m not sure about Noel’s chicken and onion soup – but this dog must have feasted on something illegal ! Man, that was a bad smell…
Biggest problem – I’m on my own – the dealer of the bad smell was nowhere to be seen – and the late evening crowd started to arrive !!!
John
Dear John,
You must be the young boy I knew as ‘Johnny’ in Florimar, way back when.
Your parents looked after for the store and bar, up in the park.
I can’t remember everything as clear as I should, but what the …..I’am 48.
You should remember me, every year I used to stay in Florimar with my late parents.
I do remember your father well, he used to wear these kaki 1/2 pants and had curly hair, your mother always had this nice tan. How’s Rob(by) doing?
Well, thats it for now,I don’t know if you’ll ever read this (I hope you do)
I wish you well.
Chris Schuller tot Peursum
Hi Chris,
Almost correct… this is Rob – John’s elder brother.
Don’t worry about remembering or not remembering – we all grow old and forgetful to some degree.
Florimar… a very special of my life indeed.
Sorry but cannot place you… I’m sure if we shared a story or two – lots of memories from those summer months back in the 70′s will be remembered by all.
Robert
Confucius say, Man who fart in church must sit in his own pew.
R
So Rob,
Sorry I called you John, also sorry to hear you don’t remember me, it’s an aging problem I fear…!
So many stories and so little time. For starters, my parents and I spend our vacations over-there for about 13 or 14 years is a row. I remember you and your family used to live in this big house in the curve up in the park near the reception with the bar, little shop and makeshift post office, I did like your parents very much, I also remember the family (Schoemaker) who used to manage the park before you and your family did, also remember a GP his name is (or was) Antonio Cardona, he used to visit the park (sometimes with his wife Teresa) for the odd sick guest or to get drunk at the bar, along with Mr. Gill ?? and Pepe the gardener who used to roam the park with his motorized tricycle (we, Johnny and I used to ride along to the dumpsite), I loved the guy, he must be dead by now. I remember him sharing his sangria and a bocadillo con salchichon with me, I must have been 9 or 10 years old, now you know why I drink como un borracho!! During my vacations I used to earn (part of) my living at the beach at Bar La Sardina del Plata, serving drinks and then some. I remember a few spanish guys, José Maria and Efren who used to visit the park every year in search of new dutch or german girls to brighten up their holiday, I used to speak spanish and german so why not translate between the two or three of them….!? At night I used to go with a group of spanish friends to Torredembarra or Altafulla for drinks or just sit and watch the sunset at the Mediterranean balcony by the rambla nova and have some nice ice-cream In that period of time the Guardia Civil frequently visited the park to check the guests, Viva España. There is so much I do remember, at the same time realize I have forgotten so much. Both my parents passed away, my father in ’93 and my mother in ’08, I find myself often trying to re-live the moments from way back when. But it’s nice to hear from you, someone who was there and above all knows what the hell I’m talking about, sorry for sounding daft. I still must have some pics from those days, if you’re interested, you could send me your email-address so I can send you some pics for old times’ sake. If so, you can send it to my home email-address Well, thats it for now, hope to hear from you soon.
Be safe!
Chris Schuller tot Peursum
Chris,
Memories already flooding in…
Although I literally have an infinite number of email addresses – you can reach me via: robert@trupela.com
Be great to see some photos from ye oldy days.
Robert