Wrong Time to Fart (1 Viewer)

[bologna]

In HS I had a buddy that discovered that if he gulped down a bunch of air like he was going to burp, but then held it in, then he would have massive farts about two hours later. This became a favorite past time, as he could basically fart on command with a little prior preparation.

One day we were in physics class taking a test. The room was dead silent as everyone was concentrating on their paper. My buddy sat next to me in the back of the classroom. This room didn't have desks, but rather tables for students to sit next to each other in twos. In the middle of the test, I notice my friend sit up from his test, raise his pencil to shoulder height, and then drop it between the two of us. I know what is about to come, so I try to stare at my test and not laugh. He then half stands up and bends over to retrieve the pencil. His ### is now facing directly to guy sitting next to him. This is right after lunch and I distinctly remember him gulping an excessively large amount of air that day. I wait for what seems like hours, but was only a few seconds, and then the release comes. It's like someone started a chainsaw in the back of the classroom. To this day it's still one of the loudest and longest farts I have ever heard. He had managed to get his ### just a foot or so from the guy's face before he let it rip. Dead silence erupts into a mixture of shocked gasps and laughter. The guy who took it in the face looks like he wants to cry. I'm crying from laughter. My buddy insincerely says "oops sorry" and then sits back down.

 

[dmac37]

Not a fart but an elevator story.

Back in my early 20's my group of 9 friends went to southern California for a month long vacation.

One of my buddies was approaching the elevator at the same time an older man was approaching. After a quick awkward moment who was going to go first the old man stepped it up and said "it looks like I beat you on". My buddies reply was "that's ok I will beat you off", the old man gave him a funny look and needless to say my buddy could not get off that ride soon enough.

 

[Mr.Pack]

The guy who sits behind me at work apparently has no qualms with letting them go whenever he feels like it. I've had to get up and run to the break room quite a few times.

uhhhh, sorry man.

 

[koby925]

Dropping SBDs all over first class on the way back to my seat in steerage is one of my little joys in life.

 

[offdee]

2) Any ill timed fart stories?

just about any time one of my employees walk into my office unannounced.

I rarely let one go in my office, but as soon as I did (and it smelled like rotten egg salad) a girl who reports to me walked right in. I threw my finger up as if to ask her to be quiet, and I was nodding my head acting like I was listening to a conference call on speakerphone. She turned around and walked out without saying a word. I then realized of course that she wasn't going to buy that since I was nodding my head to silence on the speakerphone. I walked over (hopeful that perhaps she didn't catch a whiff) and asked if she needed anything, and she replied "I had to switch to mouth breathing mode". Probably a top 10 embarrassment in my lifetime.

 

[Corporation]

2) Any ill timed fart stories?

just about any time one of my employees walk into my office unannounced.

I rarely let one go in my office, but as soon as I did (and it smelled like rotten egg salad) a girl who reports to me walked right in. I threw my finger up as if to ask her to be quiet, and I was nodding my head acting like I was listening to a conference call on speakerphone. She turned around and walked out without saying a word. I then realized of course that she wasn't going to buy that since I was nodding my head to silence on the speakerphone. I walked over (hopeful that perhaps she didn't catch a whiff) and asked if she needed anything, and she replied "I had to switch to mouth breathing mode". Probably a top 10 embarrassment in my lifetime.

was she hot? Sounds like a cool chick.

Very. Part Filipino. Very cool girl.

 

[Brony]

5th grade, math class. I wasn't in my homeroom, but the classroom of the really mean teacher. This is the witch that yelled at me in front of the class because I couldn't copy the problems from the board correctly because I needed glasses.

She gets called out of the room and warns everyone to be absolutely quiet. It was after lunch and recess. It was pizza day, and while delicious to the taste, those toxic squares of heaven would produce some of the most violent and foul smelling smelling farts. It had been building up in the bowels since recess ended, and was reaching critical pressure. I just couldn't hold it anymore, and it ripped forth like the sun emerging from the clouds after a storm. However, you need to keep in mind that the chairs in elementary school are the hard plastic textured variety. The kind which take any sound and magnify them by a factor of roughly 523 times. And so the fart smacked against that plastic chair, sounding like a machine gun, rapid and loud, firing burst after burst for 10 seconds. My embarrassment mounted with each passing second as I hunched over the math sheet hoping no one would notice.

The class erupted in laughter, bringing the teacher storming back in, demanding to know who caused the commotion. And like Bill Cosby's kids blaming him for forcing chocolate cake on them for breakfast, the class in unison pointed to me, as if they were innocent of the noise. She marched to my seat, grabbed me by my collar, and pulled me into the hallway. There, with hands on her hips, she screamed at me, wanting to know what I did and why I defied her orders. Head down, hands in pockets, tears ready to gush, "I am sorry, I just farted." Dumbfounded, she glared at me, pointed back into the room, and followed me in. I moved away from that school district a few years later, but never quite escaped the new nickname I earned that day until the day I left - Machine Gun Butt.

You showed her.

 

[irish eyes]

5th grade, math class. I wasn't in my homeroom, but the classroom of the really mean teacher. This is the witch that yelled at me in front of the class because I couldn't copy the problems from the board correctly because I needed glasses.

She gets called out of the room and warns everyone to be absolutely quiet. It was after lunch and recess. It was pizza day, and while delicious to the taste, those toxic squares of heaven would produce some of the most violent and foul smelling smelling farts. It had been building up in the bowels since recess ended, and was reaching critical pressure. I just couldn't hold it anymore, and it ripped forth like the sun emerging from the clouds after a storm. However, you need to keep in mind that the chairs in elementary school are the hard plastic textured variety. The kind which take any sound and magnify them by a factor of roughly 523 times. And so the fart smacked against that plastic chair, sounding like a machine gun, rapid and loud, firing burst after burst for 10 seconds. My embarrassment mounted with each passing second as I hunched over the math sheet hoping no one would notice.

The class erupted in laughter, bringing the teacher storming back in, demanding to know who caused the commotion. And like Bill Cosby's kids blaming him for forcing chocolate cake on them for breakfast, the class in unison pointed to me, as if they were innocent of the noise. She marched to my seat, grabbed me by my collar, and pulled me into the hallway. There, with hands on her hips, she screamed at me, wanting to know what I did and why I defied her orders. Head down, hands in pockets, tears ready to gush, "I am sorry, I just farted." Dumbfounded, she glared at me, pointed back into the room, and followed me in. I moved away from that school district a few years later, but never quite escaped the new nickname I earned that day until the day I left - Machine Gun Butt.

You showed her.

OMG i am crying i am laughing so hard, that is priceless.

 

[Clayton Gray]

It was my first year of teaching, and my 1st period class was taking their first test. Somehow, they were perfectly quiet and some of them were already handing in their tests. The 7th grader in the front row turned his in and sat back down. He then leaned over to get his books and ripped a monster. Amazingly, the rest of the class kept it together until the guy behind him deadpanned "Bless you." Of course we all just laughed and laughed then.

 

[MAC_32]

I think after fart number 27 tonight my wife has had it with me tonight.

 

[ChiefD]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

 

[Ignoramus]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

WTMF?

 

[Jules Winnfield]

I have crop dusted a few times in my life and really got a good laugh out of watching the faces of those that walked into it.

Love doing that on airplanes.

Hell yes. Walk up and down the aisles just letting that invisible toxic cloud just waft into the air. You don't have windows to open and you can't run anywhere.

 

[fantasycurse42]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

WTMF?

 

[Schmeabs]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

Good ole Frank the Fart Bank

 

[ChicoCat]

Great fart scene in that new Nicholas Cage movie Dream Scenario. Couldn't have happened at a funnier time.

 

[Bob Sacamano]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

Good ole Frank the Fart Bank

Seems like someone @SWC should meet.

 

[ChiefD]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

Good ole Frank the Fart Bank

Seems like someone @SWC should meet.

I have absolutely no recollection of writing this. Clearly I was high as hell.

 

[Corporation]

I can't tell you the delight I just got because someone laughed at a fart story I told almost 10 years ago I need to get out more. This was a funny thread.

 

[SWC]

I had this buddy: his name was Frank. He was the type of guy who just loved to fart. It didn't matter the situation: he would find a time and place that was extremely inappropriate and just release an onslaught against humanity. At some point during high school it morphed into an enjoyment both from the giving side but also the receiving side, if you know what I mean. Somehow, he had an experience with an older woman that combined his love for farts with a teenaged boys appetite for sex. From that point on, he would do his best to take his dates to Mexican restaurants, serve them bean soup, chili, you name it. He became so well known for his obsession that he was soon nicknamed Frank The Fart Bank, mainly because he would take a deposit to his nostrils at any time. He was like a 24-hour ATM for farts.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago, and Frank and I were out on the town. It's getting late, and he leans over and says: "You wanna go get some action?" I say sure. It had been awhile since my divorce became final about 6 months ago, so I was ready. We head downtown, and go to an industrial part of town. It's straight out of those stories you hear about after hours parties being held in old abandoned warehouses. We stop and knock on a door.

It's promptly opened by 2 gorgeous women. One was blonde, slight thicker, but pretty solid. She had a beautiful face, and told us her name was Julia. The other was a brunette: nice and skinny but with small breasts. However, she had one of those rear ends that lacked in girth, but had some nice solid depth to it.

Frank was more experienced at this, so he took the lead at the negotiations. He had won a rack on fantasy football or gambling or something, so I knew he had some dough. He asked how much for each of us, and to our surprise, they said $50 each. Obviously we're delighted, so they take us to a back room. Seeing as how I hadn't seen a naked woman for awhile, I didn't care which one I ended up with, so I let Frank choose first. He chose Samantha.

We get into the room, and all of a sudden Frank pulls 3 or 4 of those microwave bean burritos out of his members only jacket. At this point, it suddenly occurs to me what was going on. That bassturd took me to the Red ### District. Before I know it, Samantha is swallowing those bean burritos like the professional she was. 10 minutes later, she is straddling his face and releasing the most gentle fart I have ever heard. It's clear at this point why he chose her: that deeper rear end created a sonnet that Lord Byron would be proud of. I almost couldn't be angry at the guy: Frank The Fart Bank was a millionaire, and I was but a pauper.

We leave, and finally talked to Frank a couple days later. I asked him what the final damage was: he said $350. I asked him how $50 turned into $350, and all he could do was breathe deeply. Only then did I understand.

Apparently, he now has Samantha's phone number, but is struggling with the notion of whether anything past this point could ever duplicate the magic of that evening. Time will tell.

Good ole Frank the Fart Bank

Seems like someone @SWC should meet.

hells to the nos take that to the bank sacamigo

 

[fatness]

Solid thread here

Gaseous thread, actually.

 

[belljr]

This thread stinks