Jokes & Stories from the Internet
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams and, if it makes his eyes burn. If God had destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).
It was about 25 years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized …
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble. The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart? Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Okay, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free.
Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like: “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you …” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.
“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Okay, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re …”
“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freaking’ hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we've beenmarried 25 years..He’s lying on the couch while I type this … “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me
- Unknown Author
Rich took his wife Susan to the state fair every year, and every time she would say to him, "Rich, you know that I'd love to go for a ride in that helicopter."
Rich would always reply, "I know that Susan, but that helicopter ride is 50 dollars and 50 dollars is 50 dollars."
One year, they went to the fair, and Susan put her foot down and said to Rich, "Rich, you know I’m 87 years old now. If I don’t ride that helicopter this year, I may never get another chance."
Once again Rich replied, "Susan, you know that helicopter is 50 dollars and 50 dollars is 50 dollars."
This time the helicopter pilot overheard the couple's conversation and said, "Listen folks, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll take both of you for a ride; if you can both stay quiet for the entire ride and not say a word I won't charge you! But if you say just one word, it's 50 dollars."
Rich and Susan agreed and up they went in the helicopter.
The pilot performed all kinds of fancy moves and tricks, but not a word was said by either Rich or Susan. The pilot did his death-defying tricks over and over again, but still there wasn’t so much as one word said.
When they finally landed, the pilot turned to Susan and said, "Wow! I've got to hand it to you. I did everything I could to get you to scream or shout out, but you didn’t. I'm really impressed!"
Susan replied, "Well to be honest, I almost said something when Rich fell out, but you know 50 dollars is 50 dollars!"
Old Age is a gift
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I’ve always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggyeyes, and the sagging butt. Often, I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, or my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myselff or eating that extra cookie, for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
Ihave seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with ageing.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60s & 70s, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just aswell forgotten. I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a love done, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's
beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed and so many have died before their hair could turn silver
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been or worrying about what will be and I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).
A new guy in town walks into a bar and reads a sign hanging in the entrance, which says “FREE BEER FOR WHOEVER CAN PASS THE TEST!”
So, the guy asks the bartender what the test is. The bartender replies, “Well, first you have to drink that whole gallon of pepper tequila
– the whole thing at once – and you can’t make a face while doing it. Second, there’s a ‘gator out back with a sore tooth… you have to remove it with your bare hands. Third, there’s a woman upstairs who’s never
had an orgasm. You gotta make things right for her.”
The guy says, “Well, as much as I would love free beer, I won’t do it. You have to be nuts to drink a gallon of pepper tequila and then get crazier from there.” But, as time passes and the man drinks a few, he asks, “Wherez zat teqeelah?”
He grabs the gallon of tequila with both hands and downs it with big slurps, tears streaming down his face. Next, he staggers out back and soon all the people inside hear the most frightening roaring and thumping, then silence.
The man staggers back into the bar, his shirt ripped, and big scratches all over his body. “Now,” he groans, “where’s that woman with the sore tooth?”
Jane and Arlene are outside their nursing home, having a drink and a smoke, when it starts to rain. Jane pulls out a condom, cuts off the end, puts it over her cigarette, and continues smoking.
Arlene: What in the hell is that?
Jane: A condom. This way my cigarette doesn't get wet.
Arlene: Where did you get it?
Jane: You can get them at any pharmacy.
The next day, Arlene hobbles herself into the local pharmacy and announces to the pharmacist that she wants a box of condoms.
The pharmacist, obviously embarrassed, looks at her kind of strangely (she is, after all, over 80 years of age), but very delicately asks what size, texture, brand of condom she prefers.
"Doesn't matter Sonny, as long as it fits on a Camel."
The pharmacist fainted.
-Contributed by Chester Shannon