There’s no delicate way of putting this. Something is going drastically awry with my bodies overnight routine.
Normally while asleep, as in common with most blokes I imagine, my body acts like a kind of muffled air-gun-repeater on Temazapan. Slowly, methodically but sneakily creating the mornings Dutch Oven. Recently however, this seems to have changed quite alarmingly. It now seems to be storing everything up for an early morning ‘Shock and Awe’ approach of which Don Rumsfeld himself would be proud!
No sooner are my eyes open then I’m compelled to release a trouser trumpet of truly biblical proportions. The best way I can describe it is someone slowly tearing a heavy velvet curtain, in a metal lift, while an air raid siren drones in the background, above an Islamic call to prayer. Its terrifying! The windows rattle and the walls bow outwards. To extend the ‘Shock and Awe’ analogy, its like a depleted-uranium-tipped bunker buster has directly impacted next to the house.
Is this normal? Is this what I’ve got to look forward too now I’ve reached… ahem… a certain age? I don’t want my house to end up like Saddam’s palace!! I’m getting very concerned about any source of ignition. Will I ever be able to return to my bodies previous, more natural, state – smuggling ducks?
I once did a fart in a Barnes and Noble bookshop in New York that was so loud and powerful that;
a) I moved forwards some considerable distance
b) the lady behind the counter 20 metres away came over to me and asked if I’d dropped one of the large expensive coffee-tabel-esque hardbacks offered in that particular aisle.
Speaking as a person who has a vegetarian wife and vegetarian children, thus making me vegetarian by default, I have become accustomed to the early morning rumble of thunder.
My son is particularly pleased with his farting and is now at an age when he likes to describe them. TRUMP, QUACK and TOMMY SQUEAKER are possible his most often used words at the moment. He has agreed to a cease fire around the dinner table, but as far as he is concerned anywhere and anytime else is fair game for blowing the bum trumpet.
His bedroom has the same smell and ambient temperature of the reptile house at Chester Zoo.
Is there something troubling you in your home or work life?
Some people grind their teeth at night, some people cope by clenching their sphincter all night.
You obviously need to resolve a number of mental issues but that will take time so as a short term relief you need to find a way to get back to ‘little&often’ venting. A rubber hose rammed up there just before you go to sleep may help. If it’s awkward, maybe Mrs Binners could help?
And then, why waste it? With a couple of water traps and a manifold system you can fill those jerry cans for the garage. An LPG conversion and you’ll never need to buy fuel again.
I can’t even begin to imagine what makes you want to discuss this on here. What’s more, who cares? Any normal person would analyse their diet and adjust and re-evaluate, not ask about it in a public forum. Ah well.
First of all, can I just say that it’s threads like this that keep me coming back to STW. Coffeeking will obviously be baffled by this but hey-ho it’s true. I love the candid discussion of all our bodily functions from ACLs through cardio-vascular stuff and down to the nitty gritty, taboo-shunning talk of assholes, trumps and poo.
Binners. I don’t consider you to have a problem at all. Wind piffing away, under the radar all night is a wasted opportunity. You wouldn’t let a balloon down slowly through careful manipulation of its “cats a-hole” would you? No. You’d stick a Regal kingsize or a panel pin into it and enjoy the BANG. Embrace your shock and awe morning munitions. Be proud of them and celebrate them with BP72 with a glass of pinotage and a handful of chickpeas.
You are a lucky man. And what better alarm signal than your own “deltic arse” thundering into the the morning air?
Have you been at the sausage rolls from greggs binners?
If we’re taking bed troubles, I’m being squeezed, literally wake up on a teeny edge of the bed while GF is doing starfish impressions…(single child… 🙄 )
Being of voodoo vegenematarian persuasion, my chuffs are afforded naturally freer passage than if they had to muscle their way out past a meat-fortified richard when they wanted to play out. I like to think they smell of lavender and kittens.
However, after a night on what is affectionally known locally as “Theakston’s Finest Eggy,” my bottom burps take on a whole other persona. Foul shades escape from my trousers like Harry Potter’s Dementors, and fly round turning the air brown. It’s hard to walk anywhere without deflating on each footfall, trailing acrid sulphur and brimstone behind me.
There is a knack though, I’ve found, of squeezing them out carefully, counting to five, and then going somewhere else. You need to relax into it for the sneak, otherwise they come out in a high pitched squeak like a child blowing too hard on a descant recorder; then you need to wait the five seconds for the gaseous umbillical to collapse, make a run for it too soon and it’ll follow you.
you need to wait for the gaseous umbillical to collapse
Exactly, the whole point of an eggy drifter is that its owner can’t be traced.
Ideally, you want something that’ll waft around the office for a good 20 minutes without dispersing whilst you track its progress by spotting the wrinkled noses and shoe checking.
believe it or not there is such a thing as a flatus tube – used in the medical world for relief of excessive flatus. I am sure your imagination can tell you how it works and I am sure you could improvise with a piece of hosepipe
OK, so I was really worried for a second that there was some kind of geological event over in that there Lancashire (which may obviously affect this here glorious Yorkshire).
believe it or not there is such a thing as a flatus tube – used in the medical world for relief of excessive flatus. I am sure your imagination can tell you how it works and I am sure you could improvise with a piece of hosepipe
And you could attach ALL SORTS of things to the end of the hosepipe
A valve to pump up your tyres
A trombone, or any other ‘wind’ instrument
A balloon
A claxon
An airbrush (Be careful, unless you really want to spray brown)
A pneumatic drill (Pros only)