My stomach had been feeling off all day. It had been emulating a tropical thunderstorm for the past hour. I am not sure the cycle home helped much either, each bump further increasing its intensity. It was getting so bad that I thought I may have to give it a name.
As I was putting my bike to bed, that is when it happened.
The needle on the seismograph started scratching as the drum rotated. Slowly at first but with increasing vigor until finally reaching a crescendo.
The thrust escaping from the extension nozzle was enough to provide lift. But could we reach escape velocity?
The deafening crack from the thunder shook the nearby windowpanes. Thor was really swinging his hammer.
In case you haven't realised yet, I farted. Don't pretend like you don't do it, I read somewhere that the average person breaks wind 14 times a day. This is one of the most basic fundamental human body functions, but most importantly it is hilarious.
Before you dismiss me as being puerile, other people share my opinion of the innocent air biscuit. The comedian Louis C.K. recently said, “You don’t have to be smart to laugh at farts, but you have to be stupid not to.” Even Benjamin Franklin had a childish side and said that we should all, "Fart Proudly."
Anyway I digress, this fart was loud, long and the relief was gratifying. However that wasn't the funniest part of this story. Once it had reached its climax there was a short pause before a creature in the distance replied. I burst in to fits of laughter, I had turned into Dr Dolittle. This was amazing I had to go and tell someone.
My wife was the only one in, she really doesn't do toilet humour but she would have to do. I ran inside excited to share my experience. I started, "I don't mean to be disgusting and I am not trying to brag, but I just farted and an animal replied."
She bent over double in fits of laughter. It went down as the single funniest remark I have ever said to her. I am still uncertain what creature it was, more than likely the birds that were living in my neighbours roof.
