Originally Posted: 2005-03-31 10:05am
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I am a champion!
Yes, itís true. In 1992, I won an international award for flatulence. Iíd like to tell my story, and how it may affect your life.
As a child, I was a finicky eater. The only foods I loved were fried chicken and baked beans. When I ate those foods however, I found that I farted a lot. Being a preadolescent, this created hours of fun for me and my pals. I was about to create huge noisy blasts, and I could control the sound so that I could emulate a fog horn, and elephant, and a 1963 Buick with a rusted exhaust pipe. My father would nap on the couch on Sunday afternoons, and I would delight in sneaking up and cutting a loud fart in his sleeping face, scaring the bejebus out him. He would cough and choke for 20 minutes.
But as I got older, it just became uncool to be loud. Girls were no longer impressed, and guys didnít want to be seen around me, since then they would strike out with the babes. But I still needed to poot. The only thing left was to develop my SBD skills, (Silent But Deadly). We all know that girls like a guy with skills.
The first thing was the science. Flatulence that really reeks is based on the fermentation and decay of food in the bowels. I created a custom diet consisting of broccoli, cheese, tofu, peas, whole grains, beer, and of course, tasty baked beans. It was bad. Very bad. I discovered that by lighting my farts, I could project a flame nearly 2 feet. The smell was so bad that even my dog would whimper. But it lacked something.
Then one day, I was having lunch in a Korean restaurant. As usual, I cut a quick fart just to clear the seats around me. But then something happened. My eyes began to water as a stench so foul hit me that I was temporarily frozen. Then the odor became so bad that I puked right in my food. Three seats down, an old Asian man began to laugh. I realized that this old guy had cut the rankest cheese I ever smelled. My whole body was weak, and my pants were stained with vomit. I had to know more.
I skipped work that afternoon and talked to the old cheese cutter for hours. He told me of techniques from the orient that were unknown to westerners. More than that, he revealed to me the one food I was missing, Kim Che. Yes, the real Korean Kim Che that is fermented in the ground for 2 months. If I mixed that with the awesome fart diet I already had, I would be able to melt any vinyl stool in America.
I thanked the old man and started my training. In six months I was ready. That was when, in 1992, I went to Germany to represent the U.S. in Blast-Off, the world flatulence competition, where I won the gold medal. I met the heads of state in several European countries, and was asked to leave a sample of my gas in France, where scientists would break down the components to create new cologne.
So where does that leave us, and where do you fit in? I live in Washington now, where I work downtown for a major corporation, and I visit the hill regularly to consult with hill staffers. And of course, I still poot.
Here are some of the things Iím doing, so you know if youíve had a visit from the champ.
1.The metro. I love to cut it on the metro. Confined spaces are the best. I love to make a face and stare at you like you did it, but letís face it. No one cuts the cheese like me.
2. Elevators. I like to do it as I entering, so the people standing there have something to remember me by. But the best is ďThe coffin of DeathĒ. Thatís where Iím in by myself, cut a big one, than hurry out as people are entering. By the time the door closes, they discover the smell but itís too late. Theyíre trapped.
3. Quiet places like libraries or movie theaters. Since I am the master of SBD, I can discreetly walk around leaving scent bombs and nobody is the wiser.
So there you have it. I love to fart, and the care I put into crafting a deadly smell cannot be matched. So if you find yourself in a shopping mall, church, or somewhere there are lots of people, and your eyes begin to tear up, babies cry, and you find yourself braking out into a cold sweat as an awful stench starts to permeate your clothes, look around. I am there.