Just to give you an idea of what sort of stinky things interest the unwashed masses, here are the top ten posts, as measured in pageviews, for the last four months. In countdown style, a la Letterman–
Whether you’re on the sending or the receiving end of the “pause that refreshes/repulses,” Dairiair LLC makes a line of products that dampen the smell, or both the sound and the smell. One of their products which seems particularly useful in this respect - and which I think may catch on - is the “GasBGon Seat Cushion.” Retailing at $24.95 U.S., and offered in a variety of designs subsumed under the themes of sport (“Tush Down Sport Series”), gambling, (“Holdem Big Slick Chillin’ Series”) and the swanky, upscale (“Black Cushion Signature Series”), one of these is a gift that is sure to please not only the recipient, but all those who have to be around him/her.
The GasBGon® flatulence odor control seat cushion is a high performance air filter designed to look and feel like a conventional seat cushion incorporating a sound dampening filter and a proprietary activated carbon odor filter. The seat cushion functions as a powerful passive control device to effectively muffle the sound and adsorb the odor associated with flatulence. Each cushion is complete with a washable zippered cover for filter insertion/replacement, they are lightweight (less than 1 lb) and are nominally 15 inches square and 1 inch thick. Each cushion comes complete with a sound and odor filter and a Tally-Toot card. A downloadable wind instrument award can be provided for those gift giving occasions. Each cushion can accept a second odor filter for those heavy end users and should be purchased separately. Installation by purchaser.
I begin by noting that this is a true story, as Snopes.com details.
Scrotum Self-Repair
From the Unusual Case column of the July 1991 issue of “Medical Aspects of Human Sexuality,”
by William A. Morton, Jr.
One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse. She directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other than to say that he “needed a doctor who took care of men’s troubles.”
The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and had little to say as he gingerly opened his trousers to expose a bit of angry red and black-and-blue scrotal skin.
After I asked the nurse to leave us, the patient permitted me to remove
his trousers, shorts, and two or three yards of foul-smelling stained
gauze wrapped about his scrotum, which was swollen to twice the size of
a grapefruit and extremely tender. A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing
pus and blood, extended down the left scrotum.
Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw some
half-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they were.
Several days earlier, he replied, he had injured himself in the machine
shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself with a
heavy-duty stapling gun. The dark objects were one-inch staples of the
type used in putting up wallboard.
My late Dad was off of southern stock, so he was well-acquainted with various foods that northerners tend to shy away from. I’ve always remembered how he once told me, “I don’t care for pig liver. It tastes like pig shit smells.”
I guess there’s no accounting for taste. The author of “Foodie Paradise” states that the Singaporean pig liver soup pictured below - breakfast fare in that part of the world - was “delicious.”
1 hog liver, cut up, washed and picked clean of the membranes
3/4 cups of coarse ground cornmeal
Salt & black pepper
1 Tbsp thyme
1 Tbsp sage
1 tsp flake red pepper
Cook liver in salted water until tender. Drain and mash to a paste. Make a sluice of the liver and one cup of the liver juice. Put in a pot and bring up to a boil while adding the cornmeal, till it gits (sic) good and thick. Add seasonings. Scrape into a mold of some kind and let it get cold. Remove and slice. It’s a meal in one.
Comments: Sick. When I was a kid, my mom used to boil liver for the cat, and I can personally vouch for the fact that it stinks.
HOG LIGHTS STEW
(”lights” are the lungs and the liver of a pig, cooked together)
1 set of hog lights
1 large onion, chopped
2 toes garlic, chopped
Salt and black pepper to taste
Flour
Chop your lights up into bite-size pieces. Fry down in a heavy pot with the onion and garlic till it is brown. Add water to cover, salt and pepper, and stew till tender. If it’s not thick enough for you, use a little flour to make it thicker. Spoon that over rice and some Scratch Backs* on the side, and you’re fixed.
* Scratch backs are pig skin and attached fat, salted, rolled in cornmeal, and fried. They turn out very crunchy, thus the name “Scratch Backs” - they “scratch your back” going down.
According to a variety of news sources, a change in normal weather patterns has caused a stench from continental Europe to waft across the UK, generating masses of complaints. Predictably, the British wry sense of humor has named this malodorous wind “Das Stink” and “Le Pong.”
Stench from Europe wafts over Britain
A vile stench emanating from the industrial heartlands of Europe has engulfed southern England as freak weather conditions blew pungent continental odours across the Channel on Friday.
The Met Office received hundreds of calls from members of the public complaining about the disgusting smell, which had migrated from the farming and industrial areas of Germany, Belgium and Holland.
Stench from Europe wafts over Britain
The smell even offended nostrils in London
“Das stink” or “le pong” even infiltrated BBC television studios through the corporation’s air conditioning system.
The gut-wrenching smell was reported in Suffolk, Surrey, Oxfordshire, Berkshire, Kent, Hertfordshire and all across London….
Anyone who’s ever had an abcessed tooth and the resultant root canal knows the misery it can bring. It hurts like hell, and it stinks, both literally and figuratively. A rotten tooth literally stinks of putrefaction and decay, to the core. And paying $1000 for a root canal out of pocket, followed by another $1750 for the crown because you don’t have dental insurance, stinks too.
What stinks even more is when health care specialists go at their profession with the first and foremost goal of getting filthy, stinking rich on you. This stench amplifies when they botch a procedure. Which they do, more often than many people realize.
But what stinks most of all is the maggot who creates a codified system for health professionals, designed to facilitate their rise into the ranks of the rich and leisurely, with virtually no regard to the suffering engendered by the obscenely high cost of health care for young and old alike, in the United States.
Mind you, that’s just my opinion. This guy could be a saint, and I could be the bad guy here. Read it and decide for yourself.
What Sly Stallone would look like if he had an ass for a face.
On Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim next Sunday, 12:30 am.
I had a look at Assy’s website. There’s a “fartboard” there, featuring audio clips of Assy’s various gassy exclamations, e.g., the hard-boiled “Fart of Simmering Rage,” the poignant “2 a.m. Fart of Lonliness,” and the comedic “You can say that again Sanchez!” fart. Among others.
Quite a few years ago, my ex-wife worked with a young lady whose husband was beset by chronic flatulence. Apparently he had decided to embrace his condition, and so he would brazenly break wind and make rude comments about it, often in the most inappropriate social settings. For example, at my wife’s company picnic as we were eating, seated at picnic tables with various of her co-workers and their families, he would from time-to-time lift an ass-cheek, let one go, and say things like, “Whoa, you’d best get upwind from that one,” or “Smell the crack of the Earth…”
Charmed, I’m sure. I’d never seen anything like it. Despite my fascination with the vulgar, even I know where the line of propriety versus impropriety falls.
After we arrived home that evening, my wife told me that this odoriferous fellow, when at home with his wife, would cut enormous protracted farts beneath the bedclothes in the morning, and then forcibly confine the poor woman’s head underneath the blankets until she could hold her breath no longer.
This is tantamount to abuse to my thinking, but what’s worse is that she was beautiful. I mean, a tall, long-legged country girl descended from German milkmaids, with golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a face to lauch a thousand ships.
Sigh. There’s no accounting for taste. I guess there must have been something to love about the guy, despite the affrontery of his overactive butt.
The following article was the catalyst for my calling this stinky, stinky man to mind–
Sex life has gone with husband’s wind
Q: I AND my husband are having big arguments over his disgusting habit of getting into bed every night and then spending 10 minutes breaking wind, stinking out the room.After that, I obviously have no interest whatsoever in having sex with him.
He says it’s natural, but as I have pointed out to him many times, so is going to the lavatory, but no one would dream of doing it in the bed.
We have only been married for six months. He seldom did it when we were just engaged, but he says now we’re married, he wants to be able to relax in his own bed in his own house.
“If we have largely forgotten the physical discomforts of the itching, oppressive garments of the past … then we have mercifully forgotten, too, the smells of the past, the domestic odours—ill-washed flesh; infrequently changed underwear; chamber-pots; slop-pails; inadequately plumbed privies; rotting food; unattended teeth; and the streets are no fresher than indoors, the omnipresent acridity of horse piss and dung, drains, the sudden stench of old death from butchers’ shops, the amniotic horror of the fishmonger.”
Note: Some of the links above are to sites that are offering products or services related to "stinky problems." These are not posted as an inducement for you to buy anything, but because I find them humorous. Think of them as "anthropological curiosities" relating to the naked apes' (us) love/hate relationship with the stinky.
