August 23, 2005
When I was supervising the Acid Plant at work, we had a custom. The Acid Plant contol room had a mini-kitchen in it, because the operator couldn't leave that place. Bad things could happen quickly there. The operator had to mind the store for his entire shift.
So, we occasionally made a big pot of "Fart Stew" down there.
We had a custodian who cleaned the Acid Plant control room at 8:00 every morning. We bought all the basic stuff and left it in the mini-fridge. If we let her know a day ahead of time that tomorrow was "Fart Stew Day," she would brown a couple of pounds of hamburger meat, toss in some minced onions and bell pepper and let that stuff cook while she cleaned.
After that, a few cans of tomato sauce entered the mix, and if you wanted to EAT any, you brought something to add to the pot. ANY kind of beans (the more beans, the better!), whole kernel corn, diced tomatoes, salted ham, or even just some dry crackers to go with it. Just as long as YOU contributed something.
When we started a "Fart Stew Day," we had a damn good meal ready to eat by noon. All you had to do was drop by the Acid Plant when you got a chance and pig out. Hell--- I even had my acid loaders drop off go-cups of that stuff on their way to the lab with their samples for people who couldn't make it to the acid plant.
If you put something in the pot, you ate from the pot.
On the other hand, if you didn't contribute--- fuck you. You could smell it (and it always smelled GOOD at a place where real, hot food was unavailable), but you couldn't eat it. You didn't do your part, so you got no reward.
We called it "Fart Stew" because after two hours of digesting all those beans we threw in there, it would turn your asshole into Gabriel's trumpet. You could blow down the walls of Jericho with your wind.
We actually had moments of silence when somebody felt one coming and said, "Be quiet! Listen to THIS ONE!!! BRAPPPPPPTH!!!" We gave scores based on athletic pose, noise level, length of fart and hang-time of the resulting aroma.
See? Working in a chemical plant ain't ALL bad.
I guess you didn't light any of them up for safety reasons..............
And I thought Sailors were dangerous!!!
"it would turn your asshole into Gabriel's trumpet. You could blow down the walls of Jericho with your wind."
Good lord...(wiping tears away) that should be the quote of the day.
And Chablis sadly....no. Wait until they discover lighting them....then your in for a show
Bwahhahaha. Oh help.Snort. BRAPPPPPTH.
Well, we had chili tonight.
This was very visual. No, auditory. Colorful. That's it.
Oh my, laughing my butt off here.
My dad will actually shush me on the phone so I can appreciate his farts. "Wait, hang on..."
Yes, that is his way of phone bonding.
And yes, we do rate them.
Thanks for the laughs!
Farting is one of the most important things you learn in life. When to fart, and how, and where.
Ahhh ... the niceties of working in a male dominated workplace. God, I miss them.
BTW Chablis -- every man is simply a large 5 year old. Farts and belches never lose their entertainment value.
No Chablis they wont.
My nephew and his friend like to come over here and fart in front of our fan. They think they are soooooo funny.
I spewed beer on the monitor again . I love it! Write a book Rob I will be somewhere in the line..Murry
Gosh, I laughed until I cried.
You have a tremendous way with words. Gabriel's Trumpet indeed!
About three years ago I visited "home" where my four brothers reside. Maybe it was the beer but those "boys" sat around in the dark, taking turns lighting their farts. It was a hoot watching grown men act like they were 15 again. While beans work a certain amount of magic for fuel, they decreed that raw onions have a certain lightability factor as well. Thanks for the reminder and the laugh!
Why exactly would anyone want to stop enjoying farting?
The guys I work with like to share at our shift briefing, when you can't run away. I found boxer briefs at the drawer store that come in dark colors so the skid marks don't show. What could be better?
Yes, an extended, resonating, booming, melodic fart is a work of art.
But it is the deadly silent well-timed unannounced neutron bomber in a crowded, closely packed, fire exit challenged seminar of serious discussion that make for bragging rights. And, the fun of grunting, glaring at someone you just don't like the looks of and moving away from them as they panic wondering whether to deny the act or just melt as more gagging victims notice the target of growing attention. About the only reason I would still like to go to church.