Frutas Del Diablo
I must tell you of an unfortunate incident that happened a while ago. I was in Costco – where all good things come from – and happened to see a bag of dried plums. Unknowingly I purchased this article, not realizing that dried plums are actually prunes. I consumed more than I should have and later on was beset by rumblings and twisting of the bowel. When the fermented gas reached its final home and cried for release, the effect was devastating. Not only were the volume, the length and the staccato rhythm of greatness, but the smell, oh lord, the smell. While not up to a serious episode, it was very very close. I myself was forced to retreat several times from the immediate area, and unfortunately in one closed space, there was a scattering of those in attendance.
Such is life – I’m deciding whether or not to sue for false Advertisement.
Traveling to Roosevelt, Utah I found the bag of dry plums stashed in the rear of my Subaru Baja. Remembering the previous near fatal encounter, I decided that just a few would keep the bowel movement regular. I had had lunch at the Thai Bangkok restaurant and laid in a foundation of green curry and Yom Tum Soup. Possibly a mistake. Anyway on the way to the Uintah Basin, I only went one beyond my limit and the six dried delicacies seem to sit quit well, albeit there were some lower bowel sounds and a cramp or two.
Upon arriving at the Cattleman’s Steak House – just beyond Bottle Hollow and situated off the roadway to avoid those with Vanilla, hairspray, glue and everclear in their systems – I consumed a one pound Sirloin covered with mushrooms and onions and accompanied by sautéed asparagus - I perhaps consumed just a little too freely, but did avoid dessert and carbonated beverages. The thought came over me that perhaps a visit to the WC would be in order but I was in a hurry to get going so I didn’t pause.
I did however have a faint hungering for some sweets and since nothing else was available in the vehicle, my eye turned once again to the glassine bag containing what I now call The Fruitas del Diablo. I ate one then two and before I noticed a fullness, approximately twenty of the pitted fruits had passed the tonsils. Despite some concern, I was sated and continued over the darkening cedar strewn landscape.
About 20 miles out of Heber there were rumblings from the alimentary canal and I began to feel the first symptoms of real distress. Then it hit. Methane, Methane, Methane – Tora, Tora, Tora. Before I could get the window down, I was encased in a scent that would have made a swollen Dead Dog rise in deference. These emissions came with astonishing regularity and even with sunroof and windows open, seemingly to cling to the inside. Chocking, eyes streaming, nose hairs tingling – it was difficult to see or control the vehicle. Wave after wave of Rambling Faducas, mudsuckers, drum rolls, machine guns, howitzers and hisses continued unabated.
Now the problem was not only one of self-gassing, but my entire lower area began to swell and pulse and struggle, like something was alive in the lower bowel. The pressure was significant and I finally had to release my belt and zip down my trousers. It became evident that by Deer Creek Dam that I needed to release some of the Thai food from earlier. But where – the road is narrow and squatting by the car would not give me privacy – plus I had no disposable tissue on board. No public establishments anywhere – I would just have to tough it out. Huge emissions of methane continued – I needed to be extremely careful that nothing else slipped by. The abdomen was now swollen like something out of Alien. By Canyon Glenn, I was clawing at myself with my fingernails. I made it to the mouth of the canyon, racing to canyon road; then roaring up to Mile High Drive at BAJA WARP speed. By now it was a race against unbelievable pressure on the sphincter and extreme pain.
I jumped from the car, pants help up with one hand and crab walked to the half bath – before I could sit down, a release like Niagara boomed forth. The inside porcelain was completely covered with a black tarry substance that clung despite numerous flushings. And the odor – the dead dog smell had now progressed to a rotting goat corpse – the fan was no use and because the bowel was ongoing in expunging the contents – I was trapped. After a five-minute battle, I finally staggered to my bedroom and collapsed.
This should have been the end of the ordeal, but no, several trips to the Quarto de la Bano were necessary and the methane kept coming – much of it exiting with a noise like a sheet being ripped in half. Finally around 1:30 I took a sleeping pill and was able to hang on until 7:00 AM when things started up again.
As my attorney what would you say – do I have a case – should there be a surgeon general’s warning on the package – I shall await your response with eager anticipation.
Jose – Holding his own today
Unfortunately all men are affected by the emission of greenhouse gases when certain food varieties are consumed. In my group of friends we kept track of certain events where methane came forth and was of unbelievable potency, length, volume and distance.
There were three such incidents that live on in our stories of one another. First is the Grand Champion – Roland, a known lethicin consumer. He let fly in a theatre in Vernal Utah, giving a gentle laugh as he did so. It was the all time Grand Daddy of Silent but Deadly. At first we couldn’t believe the creeping rotten cabbage smell, which spread and increased in strength rather than dissipated. Eye’s reddened, nose hairs fell out, lungs ceased to function. Eventually we had to get up and leave the theatre along with the crowd who was rushing the exits. I’ve never seen an emission that could clear an entire theatre.
The Unfortunate Ruth Incident – four of us plus Glenn’s girlfriend Ruth were standing in concourse B at the Salt Lake Airport. All of a sudden the air became thick with the odor of sulphur mixed with rotten skunk. Our eyes began to water, breathing was painful, but none wanted to break away and be named the culprit. Ben did take a backward step or two, claiming he had to bail out or die. No one would fess up and so we blamed Ruth. Later on, in a moment of weakness, we found out that it was Stan, he of politeness and decorum. This revelation, was of course a mistake, since at every opportunity we tell and expand the story.
Ben, Steve, and Stan insist that I have a firm hold on third place, which I highly dispute. The unfortunate incident came during a tennis road to trip to Colorado. Being overcome with expansion after a meal of chow mien topped off with Cattle Drive Chili, I did release a bit of gas before winding down the window. There were instant gasps and cries, hands jumping toward the window handles and a screeching halt as the car slid sideways off the shoulder of the road. I was laughing and gasping at the same time as they jumped out of the car, doors left open, curses flying, running from the vehicle. It really wasn’t all that bad, certainly not bad enough to garner third place. But unfortunately I’ve had to defend this stain on my character over and over.