Lighting your farts on fire can be a tricky stunt to pull off, but the laugh factor can prove to be worth it if it is executed sucessfully. There are those few times, as with every loose brained stunt, where something does not exactly as planned, which brings me to the story.
It was late one night, and my friends and I had had a few to many drinks, and were living it up on the streets. We farted every couple blocks the way home, and laughed as we moved on. As we ventured further down the street, before I could make it to my appartment to call it a night, my friends pulled me away and forcebly suggested we visit a high-class resturant for some food. As we waited fora table, I couldn't help but notice that all eyes in the place were on us, four drunken hoodlums, who some-how slipped in below the dress-code. The waiter lead us to the table and we ordered our food and began to wait. Over come by emense bordom, one of my friends started a gas war, seeing who could make the loudest, putridius, and/or grossest expulsion of gas (at this point, we forgot we were in a sophisticated resturant). Everyone who didn't leave in disgust, merely stared at our table as the tuba concert continued, until, savagely, one friend pulled out a lighter and lite his fart a-blaze.
It was kind of likea small spurt of exhaust flame, that was surprising, but nothing to oogle at, but we are, nonetheless, laughing uncontrollably. Unfortunately, this is the moment where things go too far. One friend pulls down his pants so you can see his ass cheeks and sets off a burning fart that mimiced a high temper flamethrower. The complaints forced the waiter to begin to approach to tell us to leave, that is, until he saw what had happened next. My other friend attempted to top this deadly puff of fire, by pulling down his pants and getting the lighter ready. As he squeezed his gut, he let out the most putrid diarreah I ever laid eyes upon. The waiter stopped dead in his tracks as the spray of brown-ness landed on the carpet and was actually burning a litle bit. Someone near-by poured water on the burning shit and the waiter ran (I believe it was to inform the clean-up crew). Att his point, the manager came out screaming at us, and told us to go and never come back again. We ran out as quickly as possible, (my friend who was still trying to pull up his pants over his diarreah ass, lagged behind). Til this day, I have NEVER set foot in that resturant again.
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I hated my step mom for multiple of reason and I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Regardless, one night she was at work late and I seized the opportunity to switch her allergy pills with Imodiums. She didn't notice because the pills were similar in appearance. Five days later she started to complain that she hadn't taken a dump in days. My dad recommended that she try a laxative and she would try it the next morning before they went to her boss' funeral. Over hearing this wonderful intel, I got up early and prepared her an extra strength laxative tea for breakfast. As we ate that morning I watched in extreme joy as she drank the laxative tea and popped two Duolax pills. Although I was not at the funeral my father game me a summary.
