To push, or not to push, That was the question...

Yesterday, while enjoying a rare Sunday off from work, I stopped at the store to pick up a little of this and that. They had cashews on sale, so I figured I'd indulge myself.

When I got home, I opened the jar, and had one. Then another. And another... and so on, until, in short order, I was staring at an empty jar. Whoops.

Having not had nuts of any kind for some time (sorry Allman), I forgot the effect they would have on me.

By mid-afternoon, my digestive tract was rumbling. By the evening, the methane assault was in full gear. This was unusual, however. Normally, I either have SBD (no sound, but lethal odor, for the unoriented), or The Rips (ear-splitting decibel levels, but not much smell). This episode left no room for error. The windows were rattling with each blast, much to the amusement of my kids, but the malodorous hydrogen sulfide/methane mix was near-vomit-inducing, much to the chagrin of my wife.

As the night wore on, the emissions only increased in intensity, frequency, and foulness. I ended up sleeping on my stomach, an involuntary position perhaps brought on by my body's unwillingness to endure a self Dutch Oven. I awoke several times by the rumble of greenhouse gas emissions, which were promptly blown back at my face by the AC. I'd estimate that overnight, I probably produced enough natural gas to power a moderate sized city for an entire winter. I had an idea of how rough the night had been, as when I awoke, I saw my cat, sprawled in a corner, covering his nose with a napkin, flipping me off.

The expulsions continued as I went to work this morning, which concerned me. My boss is away this week, so I'm working with his wife. Well, I can't just cut loose in front of her, can I? So, several times, I stepped out the back door to cut loose, causing small animals to scatter and flowers to sag. But then, suddenly, I... couldn't. The gas was trapped. I likened it to a tectonic plate that had suddenl;y seized along a fault line, building pressure until the inevitable rupture, producing shock waves and devastation (or, at least, an embarrassingly loud fart). I knew I had to visit... the bathroom from hell.

Inside the radiation-damaged commode, I sat down and faced a dilemma. This particular bathroom was anything but soundproof. Should I push hard, and risk a humiliatingly noisy butt belch, or should I squeeze gently, and hope it would seep out quietly? I opted for the latter. I very gently squeezed, shifting from side to side. Nothing. Again, but a little harder. Still nothing. The pressure built. This was in danger of rivaling the Dec. '04 Sumatra quake. I kept trying...

And then, suddenly, it happened.

The tiny little buttnugget that had been causing the crisis suddenly broke loose, and the gas, suddenly freed, rushed out. Try and imagine the sound of a really bad bugle player, combined with the tearing of a thousand sheets of paper, all at once. My attempt at suttlety resulted in the loudest fart in the history of the universe, displacing several ceiling tiles and causing the vent fan to strain ominously.

I emerged sheepishly from the bathroom, hoping beyond hope that maybe, by some miracle, she didn't hear the cataclysmic blast. No such luck. She didn't say anything, but looked at me with her hand covering her mouth. I then realized that she was stifling an hysterical laugh. I then retreated to my work station, hoping that time would lessen the deep shade of red I had turned.

The next time I see cashews on sale, I'm giving them all to my kids... but only in the morning, before I go to work.