Stale Air

To fart is to be natural. To pass gas is to adhere to a basic bodily function that has been around since man was man, and before (woolly mammoths farted. T-Rex's? Probably). However now that we live in a "decent" "society", one must curtail the fartings, and be aware of their location before sullying the air. In my humble opinion this is horseshit, however for the betterment of mankind, and to avoid jeers/ridicule/stigmas it behoves me to abide.

However, if I am around good friends (whom I want to upset), or alone, I will expedite gas into the air with rampant fury, and disregard. I will often times revel in my abilities "Oh sweet Moses, that could kill a donkey", or "Hey fellas can you take a whiff of that pepper-brush! Wish I could bottle that one for later, eh chums!"

Even the audible notes of a great ripper can be satisfying - applying pressure to the sphincter to fire off a seven-second M-16 like battle cry of dominance.

All excellent adventure in gases, and farts! Splendid actives, indeed - alas done in privite, not in the public domain.

However, as much as I try to curtail my stinks in public, from time to time they sneak out of my region, and into the nostrils of the unsuspecting public.

I do recall one such occasion;

I was visiting New York City with some chums, and in turn was ingesting a constant stream of beer, pizza, (cheap) vodka, and deli meats. This left my innards feeling like a cement truck full of poison on full spin. While riding an extremely busy Subway, I felt a sudden urge to deposit air - normally this urge would be rejected by the brain "No, we are on a crowded train. No!" However in my hungover state, my brain had been rendered useless. It was focused on keeping my heart pumping (somewhat), and preventing an oncoming alcohol-induced anxiety attack.

Therefore it was unable to block my anus's fart request, and a hot cloud of fear was unleashed. It was thick! It had character! It felt as thought it possessed weight, and on this train it had NO WHERE to go. Such a dense cloud of air, its stench was intense, and immediately had nearly everyone disgusted, and looking around for the culprit. It did not help that my chums a) knew my propensity to drop shark-breath like gas bombs, and b) they witnessed my sheepish look.

I was outed. Fingers were pointed. They cleared away from me as if I were a leper. Strangers shook their heads. Laughing, and sheer mockery was now my reality.

That was when I noticed the elderly Asian man, who was sitting at ground zero (that is to say, directly beside my asshole). He was cringing in pain, with a deathly expression on his face - looking as though he was having trouble breathing. He began bobbing his body up and down in his seated position, as if he were entering a meditative state, "Go away from this place, you are on 'Jasmine Island', or in a Bakery. Go far far away".

I was shocked that he was able to take this punishment, as he was currently the only person within 7 feet of the blast. It was he and I, surrounded by shaming eyes. I felt bad. As if I had taken a few years - or at least months off his life.

Mercifully after a minute or two it was my stop (yes the fart was still eye burningly present). I got off the train, to a string of insults, and went on with my day.

Later that evening, I couldn't stop thinking of the elderly gent. Was he still alive? Had his family come home to find him dead on the floor? Will their be a toxicology report? Did I poison him? Is this a crime? What are the laws in New York State regarding Manslaughter? Do I need to seek legal counsel? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

With that, someone handed me a (cheap) vodka drink, and I attempted to put the incident out of my mind...To this day however, I still feel guilt...So if you are reading this in heaven, elderly Asian man, I apologize.

Fart,

Mr. Bac Wagon