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Sunday, May 20, 2012

Lady Windemere of Fartingale Manor

A couple of weeks ago the Beest had a pronounced gas problem. Of course, being a cat, she tooted away sans care. She seemed to rather enjoy it, stretching and sighing contentedly. I cared and I wasn't enjoying it. She lays next to me on the desk shelf, fanny pointed right at my nose all day and sleeps with her butt pointed at my head at night. Each blast was a gust from Hell. The culprit was the beef Friskies and once that was gone so were the sulphuric mushroom clouds. End of problem.

However. For the last few months I've generally been eating healthy. Fresh meats, fruits, veggies, good cheeses. Happy, no sugar, no refined starches, no unpronounceables. Just nice, Adele-Davis-would-approve-foods. Weight dropped, energy rose, everything running well. Until Saturday.

In a Summer inspired madness I bought a package of Hannaford "wieners". Totally avoiding reading the ingredients (we know what's in there), I boiled a couple up to dirty water standards, slapped em on whole oatmeal bread with relish and mustard. What could be wrong with having a couple of wieners? The whole world loves wieners!

Oh my.

I've never in my life had such an experience. I don't even know how that much gas could be formed in one body and still be alive. That amount would be, I'd heretofore imagined, what causes spontaneous combustion. Every type and variety of poot and blast. Ratatats to groaners, on and on.The intestines "wuum"ed and burbled. The Beest promptly left me alone. She stayed in front of the open window across the sitting room, all day and all night. She wanted no part of me. I wanted no part of me. The only comfort lay in the fact that we don't fart right under our noses. Maybe there was a god involved in designing the human body. Or maybe the ones who developed arseholes under their noses killed themselves without breeding.

Retiring for bed it seemed to be abating. But I sleep on my stomach. As soon as I assumed the sleeping position every rotten egg that had been hiding decided to come out to play. I eventually fell asleep but damned if I could stay there. My own ass kept waking me up. This went on all night. I'm tired.

The rest of that package of wieners is in the freezer. They're unregistered weapons. I'm sure they'll come in handy, some day... heheh.

5 comments:

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

There's nothing like a good fart story. Save those weiners and feed them to someone who has ticked you off. (But only if they are going straight home afterwards.)

Geo. said...

I have followed several impressive technologies intended to facilitate jet-propelled human flight without aircraft, but your research is the first I've seen involving only weiners.

sdt said...

he Hannaford house brand went downhill last winter when the Belgian Corporate overlords started monkeying around with it and spinning off "my essentials", home 360, nature's place, and etc. When I want hotdogs, I will now only buy Oscar Meyer smoked uncured Angus beef with no artificial preservatives, flavors, colors, fillers or by-products, or added nitrites. They are pricey, so I only buy them when they are on special or have a mark down coupon. The reason is simple - they are good. I took one bite of one when they came out and was transported to the Ocean City Boardwalk in some summer of the early 1960's. I'd forgotten that taste. Hot dogs, catsup, chopped onions, and sweet relish. THE fast food choice before hamburgers overtook them in popularity. Ahhhhh.

Austan said...

Lawless- That's my plan. There's a long hot summer ahead...

Geo- Perhaps Hannaford is going into the aeronautics field and doing field testing?

Stevil- I've never much liked hot dogs. It's a once a year thing, at the outset of summer. I'll stick to Hebrew National from now on.

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

Well done.
A bloke would be proud of such a sustained exudation.