You mayn't believe this, but something most similar happened to your old Colonel some fifteen years ago. We, a friend and I, found ourselves at a local Chink eatery in late afternoon, where I ordered the Kung Pao beef plate, a spicy stir-fry dish made with chicken, peanuts, vegetables, and super-hawt chili peppers. I perhaps committed an injudicious snafu when I advised our waitress to make it €œhotter 'n a freshly ****ed fox in a forest fire,€� though not necessary in such an accursed way. To which she politely replied, "Kung Pao? It's already hot."

"You can't make it hot enough for me," I admonished, and told her to pass along my advice to the kitchen.

An hour or so later found us camped out at a nearby tavern. That's when it hit me. Thinking it only gas, I let one rip. . . . Oh, gawd almighty, it was a fusking wet one.* That boggy sensation was unmistakable; I had really fouled myself. I made a bee line for the ****ter, in the rear of the bar just behind the pool table. I just couldn't stop going and going and going! Several times an incautious soul tried entry, then hastily evacuated. The atmosphere hung like a thick, feculent pall throughout.

Outside the ****house a froup of patrons had assembled, apparently much entertained by me, while at the same time horrified by the terrific odor within, which escaped whenever the door was carelessly opened by some unsuspecting patron.

My underpants were, obviously, a done deal, so I slipped 'em off between ****s and left 'em hanging, as a joke, on the toilet handle. Someone, probably the owner, would deal with €˜em later. I laughed to myself a little considering the folks who would be morally shocked and terrifically horrified at the sight. Then I got the **** outa there. Needless to say, I have not had the courage to return to that particular tavern since.

The End ;-)

*A wet fart is not in fact wet. Rather, the condition is caused by the sphincter muscle rippling at something approximating 4x the speed of sound. This catastrophic disruption to ones anus causes what is known in the medical profession as €œnerve confusion.€� Basically nerves around the anus are completely shocked by said calamitous flatulence, and they immediately begin searching for the appropriate response to send to the brain. Pain receptors, which have been temporarily traumatized, are certainly of no use; so the nerves reaction is either a pleasant anesthetic tingling, or, as in 90% of these instances, a definite sensation or feeling of wetness.

Any questions?

On Saturday, June 3, 2017 at 7:29:20 AM UTC-7, Colonel Edmund J. Burke wrote:
You mayn't believe this, but something most similar happened to your old Colonel some fifteen years ago. We, a friend and I, found ourselves at a local Chink eatery in late afternoon, where I ordered the Kung Pao beef plate, a spicy stir-fry dish made with chicken, peanuts, vegetables, and super-hawt chili peppers. I perhaps committed an injudicious snafu when I advised our waitress to make it €œhotter 'n a freshly ****ed fox in a forest fire,€� though not necessary in such an accursed way. To which she politely replied, "Kung Pao? It's already hot."

"You can't make it hot enough for me," I admonished, and told her to pass along my advice to the kitchen.

An hour or so later found us camped out at a nearby tavern. That's when it hit me. Thinking it only gas, I let one rip. . . . Oh, gawd almighty, it was a fusking wet one.* That boggy sensation was unmistakable; I had really fouled myself. I made a bee line for the ****ter, in the rear of the bar just behind the pool table. I just couldn't stop going and going and going! Several times an incautious soul tried entry, then hastily evacuated. The atmosphere hung like a thick, feculent pall throughout.

Outside the ****house a froup of patrons had assembled, apparently much entertained by me, while at the same time horrified by the terrific odor within, which escaped whenever the door was carelessly opened by some unsuspecting patron.

My underpants were, obviously, a done deal, so I slipped 'em off between ****s and left 'em hanging, as a joke, on the toilet handle. Someone, probably the owner, would deal with €˜em later. I laughed to myself a little considering the folks who would be morally shocked and terrifically horrified at the sight. Then I got the **** outa there. Needless to say, I have not had the courage to return to that particular tavern since.

The End ;-)

*A wet fart is not in fact wet. Rather, the condition is caused by the sphincter muscle rippling at something approximating 4x the speed of sound. This catastrophic disruption to ones anus causes what is known in the medical profession as €œnerve confusion.€� Basically nerves around the anus are completely shocked by said calamitous flatulence, and they immediately begin searching for the appropriate response to send to the brain. Pain receptors, which have been temporarily traumatized, are certainly of no use; so the nerves reaction is either a pleasant anesthetic tingling, or, as in 90% of these instances, a definite sensation or feeling of wetness.

Any questions?

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