Stealth Farter
April 1st, 2007 . by contemptster
Milwaukees Best and hot wings? Nope. Spoiled milk and cabbage? Sorry. Champagne and refried beans? Not this time, pal.
We could play “Guess what I ate last night” all day, and as long as I keep secretly farting, we just might. I’ve stealth farted in business meetings, packed movie theatres and, yes, more elevators than I can count. Why hold them in and give myself a belly ache when I could share them with my friends, co-workers and strangers on the subway? Hey, as long as there are three people around, there will always be a question as to who laid the fart.
I’ve really perfected my “slow fart recognition” face so as not to arouse suspicion. First I sniff twice, followed immediately by three more. Then the obligatory facial contortion, which signals to everyone that I am appropriately disgusted. I like to cap it off with a silent “Who farted?” Works like a charm.
So stop talking about the American Dream and start living it. If farting is freedom then I am “Bravefart.” What? No “Smell Gibson” fans out there. Hahaha. Oops! Just let another one slip. Ironically my laughter both forced out the fart and covered up the sound at the same time. Once more my flatulent identity remains a mystery.
Oh and by the way… it was a broccoli, sausage and expired egg omelet.
Click here to play a stealth farting game!
For more public behavior simpletons, click here.
While you’re there, meet the anti-Stealth Farter… Loud Public Shitter.
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(6 votes, average: 8.5 out of 10)
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This can also be known as crop-dusting when it is done while walking.
I was the only guy in my yoga class yesterday and found myself in the middle of a room packed with lithe, perspiring, scantly clad women. not usually a place i’d complain about being, but that was until one of the nubile yogis adjacent to my mat let one slip out in the middle of her “eagle” pose. the combination of deep breathing and 95 degree heat did nothing to help the fact i felt as if someone had taken a shit in my mouth. to make matters worse, because i was the only male in the room it raised little doubt that anyone but me could have been capable of such a thing. the fact she surreptitiously pointed the noxious cloud of blame at me added the worst kind of insult to injury. namaste, you incontinent bitch.
i shit myself thrice weekly. how’s that for a pungent noseful.
haha, the laughter forcing the fart out while simultaneously covering up the sound is perfect! haha. and re: Rick’s hysterical comment…i definitely look to the man in yoga class when I smell a SBD fart… or the fat person, which probably is not always accurate either….