Fart Dissemination

I have recently come up with a stirling scheme, which helps me to get through my working day.

At our work, we all sit at those little desks, separated by little partitions that you can peep over whilst your sat down. It's great for a wee bit of privacy, but is absolute murder when you've dropped one and you want to share it with your colleagues. This morning i've been sh-itting like a good 'un. We were given some poncey pasta at Christmas and my wife cooked it up last night with a bit of a creamy sauce. You never what the correct mix is for farting gold, but the two cans of Guinness I had, followed by one of the kids Kinder eggs, seemed to have paid off and i've been reaping rich, marsh gas dividends since I came in.

This was all very good, but how could I be a jack bas-tard and leave my mates out.

The bloke who sits next to me posts on here as URFA, and is an unrefined Geordie schweinhund. My technique is thus.

As soon as I get that bubbly feeling and theres one in the pipe, I bomb the fan up and shout to him,

"FAN ON THREE" (three being the highest setting)

He simply replies in an increasingly more feeble voice.


The trouble is, he's been out of the army for years. He could bang all the mess tins in the world together, but no respirator would be forthcoming. Anyway, even if he had one, he wouldn't get it on quick enough. To beat the fan he'd have to follow the slogan,

"Avoid Convoy's poo - Mask in Two"

My ricker has been on permanent send all afternoon. The disseminating properties of the fan are proving to be so effective, someone who sits over 20 metres away has just described the smell permeating the office as being reminiscent of the time he found a half eaten cat in his wheelie bin.

Has anyone else used office furniture to further establish their genetic footprint?
Can't say as I have mate. I am a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to sharing my trumps. When I feel one brewing, I just take to my leather personnel carriers and walk around a bit to distribute the bum gas.
I call it 'Crop dusting'


You can also store one up at home by utilising an empty plastic bottle (3 Ltr Coke Bottles are ideal) Simply fart into the bottle and quickly screw the lid down. Repeat this procedure as necessary and take the bottle into work. When bored simpley unscrew the top and quickly squeeze the air biscuit into the face of your victim..... The results are highly amusing...

ps don't do this to your CO.

Pte (Formerly WO2) anon.
Herrenbloke said:
Simply fart into the bottle and quickly screw the lid down.
No - you're going to have to help me here. There's no 'simply farting' about it. Given the width of said bottle's top (2cm?) and the fact that you're not always going to have the little devil to hand, I should imagine the mechanics of 'simply farting into the bottle' are going to be at best amusing and at worst arrestable (unless the site of a fully grown man shovelling the neck of a plastic bottle towards his sphincter as he pushes one out is normal behaviour in your neck of the woods).

...and then there's the question - what colour is it, you know - the fart gas?

Hey - this could turn into a money making experience too!


Edited to show that I could use Google effectively.


Best if this is carried out whilst drunk and on your scratcher...

The gas is invisible.... uhmmm or so i'm led to believe.......
Ah - very obvious and often too confrontational, CC - you need stealth:

This ancient and mysterious art was passed to me by my mate - who attacked me in the following manner - which is known as 'Lorry Driver's Seat Syndrome'.

You must sit squarely upon a cushioned seat - office chair, but sofas work better. Summon a strong trump from your depths and issue forth in a robust manner. You will inject the fetid gas deep into the cushioned seat, where it will fester some more.

Slowly raise yourself from this seat - the more trumping, the higher the concentration - and leave this veritable timebomb for the next person to sit - or the victim - as they are known.

Their sitting down will activate the pungent deposit you carefully injected into their chair, thus inflicting your hell upon them.

This is the ancient way of the 'Lorry Driver's Seat' stealth wind attack. Use it wisely.
I like rigger use the LPC approach, but most often I wind up in a co-workers office let rip and proudly ask "Guess what I had for dinner last night?" before leaving the poor sod retching in pain and agony.
I enjoy the Sainsbury's isle fart. After an especially good night of curries and beer. Dump your guts and then walk down the isle somewhat, get yourself in a good op and watch cnuts just walk into the ambush. Fantastic. The faces are the funniest and the old people bring the most entertainment.

Mick me mate the master farter!
:lol: The amount of times I've walked into people's farts, what worries me the most is when people walk into it while I'm present and suspect it's me...

My ex-boyfriend farted on a bus, which was nicely packed at 5.30pm when everyone was heading home from work etc he called me a dirty b!tch extra loud... and told me I should have waited. Cringe moment.

I'm absolutely no good with farts that are really vile - I end up reeching so bad :(
My girlfriend has a habit of squeeking them out (like most women"it was'nt me!") & blaming the poor cat! Mind you,he (the cat) can sometimes let rip a stinker!!
She's even blamed the leather seats in the car!!!
Stinky bitch!!lol
I work in Germany and have the luxury of my own office so I can freely fart and savour the produce of my Rumbling Bowels as and when I please. The best times are though, when an unsuspecting Victim enters shortly after I have let Rip. Making sure that the windows are tightly shut - I offer them a seat, place myself between them and the door and engage them in conversation. Its extremely amusing to watch them turn green and try to cut the conversation in order to escape. Being German, they don`t understand Squaddie Humour and certainly wouldn`t say outright "have you farted you dirty Fcucker!" A couple of days ago I carried out this very exercise with my victim firmly in place...when another colleague entered my office....."boah...whats that smell" says he....to which I replied "Oh..that..It´s only Willi, He`s just Farted" - Willi hasn`t spoken or visited me since - I wonder why?
I heard this the other day, its sounds as if it could possibly work.

When in a pub and bursting to let a ripper exit your ass, don't just waste it, make sure you only drink half your pint, fart into the glass, cover the glass with beer mat or hand, just before reaching the bar, remove beer mat or hand and shout "Oi barman this pint is fecking off, smell it" Hey presto a new pint. I will try it :lol:
How about this gem. When you see a gaggle of extremely desireable split arses in the pub, slink in next to them (after alerting the rest of the blokes to your plot), then let off a silent but foul dose of non-persistant fart-gas. The girls will soon start twitching their pretty little noses and looking about for the 'guilty' party. As soon as you make eye-contact with one, give them a winning 'yep, it was me' smile. They will be suitably disgusted and it provides your audience with a few minutes of hilarity. Never pulled many good looking ones, dunno why...
Like I said in 'My Proudest Moment', the key is to use jars from a canning set. Say someone's birthday is coming up, and you don't know what to get them? Put some trinket into a canning jar, whose opening is a good three to four inches across, and let loose. Wrap it up all nice. Give it to them. They'll tear off the paper, see the trinket in the jar, and open it up to get at it. That's when the true depth of your gift hits them all at once. On top of that, the gift will stink forever. It doesn't have to be a birthday, you could say a secret admirer left it. Remember though, if you really want it to be good, bottle some of that good old fart gold, and let it sit for a few weeks. The smells coming out of that bottle will be better than a teargas grenade. Enjoy!
I fully intended to go home last night, do a bit of exercise then go to bed early. However, my brother had other plans. He goes to Nepal on Wednesday and wanted to have a few beers with his little bruv, before the Maoist guerillas get him. We ended up going to a 'comedy' club and watched four comedians dying on their arrses. The only funny thing said all evening was by the first guy, an Irish catholic who said that, as far as he was concerned Priest was an abbreviation that stood for Paedophile Resident In Every Small Town.

Bit off thread all that, but needless to say I got leathered and ate some horse meat on the way home. Subsequently my anal offerings this morning are measuring 8.9 on the Ricker scale. I've just done a guff and fan-fired it at URFA. I consider his response to be my greatest farting achievement to date. He said if I do it one more time he is going to report me to our Health and Safety Officer. I immediately went to the bogs and saluted myself in the mirror.
I must admit bad drills this morning.

I'm a big fan of the old store a fart in a chair plan. As soon as someone sits on said chair they are enveloped by my marsh gasses.

I'd been brewing a nasty sh1te this morning and let out a bit of a pre-sh1te fart, at my desk. I kept my ricker tight and let it seep out. I soon realised that the full monty was coming and legged it down the corridor.

Upon returning to my desk, I didn't realise that I'd stored the fart, perfectly, in the chair.

By the time I'd sat down it was too late.

This fart business is clearly a dangerous occupation. Clock this bloke:

Once false move here (or blow back) and it would be more than his eyebrows which are lfted from his head.
StabTiffy2B said:
I must admit bad drills this morning.

I'm a big fan of the old store a fart in a chair plan. As soon as someone sits on said chair they are enveloped by my marsh gasses.

I'd been brewing a nasty sh1te this morning and let out a bit of a pre-sh1te fart, at my desk. I kept my ricker tight and let it seep out. I soon realised that the full monty was coming and legged it down the corridor.

Upon returning to my desk, I didn't realise that I'd stored the fart, perfectly, in the chair.

By the time I'd sat down it was too late.
Sorry - this, (above) was just aching for this (below):

Nobody on this board can outfart me, I don't care what you say. A British diet just doesn't contain the necessary ingredients for an apocalyptic a** bomb. Although a combination of boiled pigs blood (it's fish bait!) and vinegar laden chips sounds promising, it just won't do it. When I can make myself damn near puke, I know I've done it right. I hit on a formula a few months ago that I'm damn near afraid to repeat. broccoli, baked beans w/bread, and a 1/2 pound beef and cheese burrito followed by about 12 beers. I let loose so loud my cat ran from the room, and the dog next door barked in admiration. Blew out my hemorrhoids and made my eyes water. About that time, seismologists at St. Louis University reported a 2.5 tremor. I don't know if I caused that or not, but I cracked the foundation of my house, and blew out 6 windows. I passed out from the methane, and when I regained consciousness the local disaster siren was blaring. I'm not sure, but the broccoli may have been the catalyst.


We had an impromtu reunion in saturday-there we are in a pub, one retired staffie, one serving, on WO1 and an LE captain-almost 100 years of loyal service and within ten minutes it had reverted to a grade one farting comp-fantastic fun-picking the best looking birds to walk past whilst letting one go
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