The worst farts I ever had were due to a 9 bean casserole me ma made many moons ago. First period Spanish 1 in high school was in the gym that morning (don't remember why), and I regularly cleared out entire quadrants of that wide open abode with the grotesque stench emanating out from under. It was truly horrifying, people were literally running from me. Hilarious! But then I started to get scared because 2nd period was English X (or whatever), and a hot Mexican chick whom didn't speak much English sat behind me. This class was always silent, so I knew that I had no way to cover up what was certain to keep occurring until the entire demon left my system. Now, I know that some people have mental control over their bowels. Women save up farts for days on end at times to unleash the entire cavalcade when, and only when, the entire coast is clear. I know men who can shut it down during camping trips and never dig a single ditch. Personally, I do not know how any of this is possible. When my body needs to expel exhaust or waste of any kind, out it goes.
But on this particular day, I stopped farting. I stopped farting for all 53 minutes of 2nd period that fateful morning, because the only thing that made me more afraid of actually talking to this girl was to fart toward her general direction. Especially with that absolute reek that I was polluting elsewhere all morning. It was simply not an option. So, as some have done before me, I shut it down. By the end of the hour I was in so much pain that I could not stand upright, and even attempting to open the fartgates had zero effect. It was too late, I was doomed. My bowels were creating a veritable black hole's worth of gravity that sucked in my upper and lower body in the path least resistance, that being my pliable waist. So I ended up walking around campus at a 90 degree angle until I found my way to me ma's room, whom worked at the school at the time, and said "I can't stand up, please take me to the doctor!"
They thought I had appendicitis. The pain was excruciating. The medicine doctor I frequented saw me immediately and examined my situation. I was instructed to "take some Gas-X and hope for the best," and if the pain didn't subside within a few hours, it was off to the operating room that I would go. Upon going home shortly thereafter, I fell asleep with my legs thrust upward into the air, albeit with knees bent, so I didn't look quite as ridiculous as I could have. A few hours later I woke up, and the pain was gone. So 20 years later, when my wife tells me "stop farting" I often reply with "would you rather I die? Because I swear that nearly happened once!" I've always enjoyed melodrama, especially when it concerns my decline to withhold small, harmless amounts of methane.
