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Farting during a show
- Thread starter jive1
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O.K. here's my first of two.
There's a very cool "Bass Only" shop near my home in Northern Virginia.This place has every high end piece of gear that a Bass player could possably want.There two listening rooms.One has Agulair,Bergantino,Accugroove..ect. the other room has Euphonics Audio equiptment.What I really wanted to try was an E.A. 800 with several different cabs.The only problem is that this store is only open on Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons.Everytime I go there it seems that every hotshot Bass player in the Washington D.C. area is in there thumpin away.I'm not the greatest player in the world..but I get by..I'm just a little self conscious in front of a crowd of killer players.And it is hard to evaluate the sound of "Your"amp with others playing in close proximity.
Well this particular Saturday I came with the bombays loaded for cropdusting.Lots of bran in the morning..Starbucks frappichino and Slim jims.When I got to the store it was already full of people and my guns were not yet ready to fire so I went down the street to Al's Steak and Cheese for a tripple fried onion grease dripping mushroom (cloud) Philly cheese steak.Three beers later I was ready.
When I got back both rooms were still full..and so was I. I stood over in the corner pretending to check out the Dingwalls and Laklands in the E.A. room.Cropdusting never felt so good.I saw one Thumper flinch when the stink hit him.Two more flatulent favors was all it took.The door of that room looked like a D.C. 10 during a WWII Parachute jump.Needless to say I had the room to myself for the short time that I needed.For some reason the other room down the hall was packed to the gills.As I left I noticed several guys with nasty faces on passing out spearment gum..seems that everyone was taking one.
I did return to the establishment later the next week to close the deal on a new E.A.800,which I am thrilled with.It's my small gig killer.Without methane I may never have had the chance to try new gear...By myself..
Behold...the power of flatulence.
Cheers.
There's a very cool "Bass Only" shop near my home in Northern Virginia.This place has every high end piece of gear that a Bass player could possably want.There two listening rooms.One has Agulair,Bergantino,Accugroove..ect. the other room has Euphonics Audio equiptment.What I really wanted to try was an E.A. 800 with several different cabs.The only problem is that this store is only open on Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons.Everytime I go there it seems that every hotshot Bass player in the Washington D.C. area is in there thumpin away.I'm not the greatest player in the world..but I get by..I'm just a little self conscious in front of a crowd of killer players.And it is hard to evaluate the sound of "Your"amp with others playing in close proximity.
Well this particular Saturday I came with the bombays loaded for cropdusting.Lots of bran in the morning..Starbucks frappichino and Slim jims.When I got to the store it was already full of people and my guns were not yet ready to fire so I went down the street to Al's Steak and Cheese for a tripple fried onion grease dripping mushroom (cloud) Philly cheese steak.Three beers later I was ready.
When I got back both rooms were still full..and so was I. I stood over in the corner pretending to check out the Dingwalls and Laklands in the E.A. room.Cropdusting never felt so good.I saw one Thumper flinch when the stink hit him.Two more flatulent favors was all it took.The door of that room looked like a D.C. 10 during a WWII Parachute jump.Needless to say I had the room to myself for the short time that I needed.For some reason the other room down the hall was packed to the gills.As I left I noticed several guys with nasty faces on passing out spearment gum..seems that everyone was taking one.
I did return to the establishment later the next week to close the deal on a new E.A.800,which I am thrilled with.It's my small gig killer.Without methane I may never have had the chance to try new gear...By myself..
Behold...the power of flatulence.
Cheers.
This is the sort of story that can immortalize a person in the world of farts and gaseous bodily emmissions.
Thank god for bass face. Letting one rip while making the unassuming bass face feels so nice. My band mates never suspect me because of bass face. I in return always point and blame the drummer, who has a built that says i love farting.
You should have said something witty like "Wow, that cab sounds farty" as they left the room!
You should have said something witty like "Wow, that cab sounds farty" as they left the room!
No, I like the way he handled the situation, thats my style. I just rip it non chalantly and with much satisfaction, revel in the aftermath.
I cut a pretty solid one at the end of a rehearsal in church once... 'And ending this on a good note' I believe was the pastors way on gracefully continuing to close the evening
Heh. Some months back, my drummer and I were prowling through Long & McQuade's. He knelt down to check out some drum mics. . . and I cut one in his face, point blank. I still haven't heard the end of it. . . 'Nasty ass' is about the nicest thing he's called me ever since. . .
I prefer to munch on these protein/fiber bars that are good if I have to miss dinner for practice or a show. So there are 2 things I have to think about during a show. One, not nailing my lead singer in the face with my tree trunk of a bass and two, feeling bad for my drummer since he is downwind of everything I throw at him. It's pretty funny to hear his b*tching between the songs.
Dam looks like we'll be on the farting megathread II soon.
Dam looks like we'll be on the farting megathread II soon.
I used to be in a band with a few mates of mine, all of us aged about 16 we were basically just dicking around y'know how it goes...
But we always used to practice in this tiny little room about the size of a prison cell which wasn't the best considering one of the guitarists measured in at a heft 6"7.
This guitarist also happened to have a certain penchant for flatulence, being 16 years old who can blame him?
But every time he used to fart he would bend his knees as it went on, so the more he farted the more his knees bent, which was always a hilarious sight, but what followed was pure agony.
The stench that this guy could create was like getting hit in the face with sewage, it burned the nostrils. So anyway we were playing live one time and I'd had my fair share of curry and beer (as was our custom) before getting on stage and felt a little rumble in my tum tum.
So between songs I noticed this hulk of a man kneeling down to fiddle with his fancy-pants little pedal board to re-arrange all his effects and so on and so forth, and I saw a golden opportunity of revenge, as let's be honest, firing out a good stink towards a 6"7 mammoth isn't going to fully reach it's target unless one has added height or the other has height taken away. So I pounced, knowing full well the risk I was undertaking.
You all remember the first few times you've been gigging right? The fear of your jack input coming out is always present in your mind, so I, with the utmost care, cautiously shuffled along this stage, trying to avoid the attention of singer/guitarist boy to my prey, and as I got closer I slowly saw him start to rise, at this point it was like I could hear the clock off of 24 ticking down in my head and I took a small leap then turned and shot, it was an epic moment as not only did he receive full farty goodness he also rolled onto his back thinking he was gonna get a literal face full of my ass.
Several members of the audience cottoned on and let out a little laughter at the expense of mammoth guitarist and I returned satisfied to my spot.
Good times.
But we always used to practice in this tiny little room about the size of a prison cell which wasn't the best considering one of the guitarists measured in at a heft 6"7.
This guitarist also happened to have a certain penchant for flatulence, being 16 years old who can blame him?
But every time he used to fart he would bend his knees as it went on, so the more he farted the more his knees bent, which was always a hilarious sight, but what followed was pure agony.
The stench that this guy could create was like getting hit in the face with sewage, it burned the nostrils. So anyway we were playing live one time and I'd had my fair share of curry and beer (as was our custom) before getting on stage and felt a little rumble in my tum tum.
So between songs I noticed this hulk of a man kneeling down to fiddle with his fancy-pants little pedal board to re-arrange all his effects and so on and so forth, and I saw a golden opportunity of revenge, as let's be honest, firing out a good stink towards a 6"7 mammoth isn't going to fully reach it's target unless one has added height or the other has height taken away. So I pounced, knowing full well the risk I was undertaking.
You all remember the first few times you've been gigging right? The fear of your jack input coming out is always present in your mind, so I, with the utmost care, cautiously shuffled along this stage, trying to avoid the attention of singer/guitarist boy to my prey, and as I got closer I slowly saw him start to rise, at this point it was like I could hear the clock off of 24 ticking down in my head and I took a small leap then turned and shot, it was an epic moment as not only did he receive full farty goodness he also rolled onto his back thinking he was gonna get a literal face full of my ass.
Several members of the audience cottoned on and let out a little laughter at the expense of mammoth guitarist and I returned satisfied to my spot.
Good times.
This post is what this here thread is all about. Good work mate!! BTW. what do expect to happen if you have curry and beer?
We knew we were playing with fire, man, but it was tradition!
However on the topic of curries, my friends drum teacher told me an absolute gem from his days on the road. Headin down the motorway in the back of their van the guitarist had eaten a bad curry and wasn't feelin too fresh, the drummer, who by all accounts is a nutter, casually opened up the back doors of the van grabbed the guitarists head and made him be sick all down the motorway as he 'didn't want none of it in his van'.
Apparently cars behind were swerving all over the road to avoid this guys curried up sick.
Not a fart story and not one of my own, but it still makes me laugh.
However on the topic of curries, my friends drum teacher told me an absolute gem from his days on the road. Headin down the motorway in the back of their van the guitarist had eaten a bad curry and wasn't feelin too fresh, the drummer, who by all accounts is a nutter, casually opened up the back doors of the van grabbed the guitarists head and made him be sick all down the motorway as he 'didn't want none of it in his van'.
Apparently cars behind were swerving all over the road to avoid this guys curried up sick.
Not a fart story and not one of my own, but it still makes me laugh.
OK, one last one for the original thread from me...
We were playing a gig that is semi-outside, and it's hot. I have a squirrel cage fan, one of those ones that looks like a snail, and the last time I used it, I farted in it and pointed it at the drummer just before I packed it up.
So we're setting up, and I plug in the fan. The fan has a light rime of pet fur on the side intakes. That alone is kind of gnarly, but one of the heretofore unknown physical properties of pet fur (cat dog combo) seems to be its ability to "Catch and Release" odors. I turned it on its lowest setting, and was totally unprepared for what emanated from the outlet vent...
It was my fart from about two weeks ago! It was not quite as potent, but the scent was unmistakable...I quickly turned the fan off, and jammed a cocktail straw into the intake to stop the fan. I didn't want to lose the effect of this one, since it had been a real paint-peeler, a definite signature moment of flatulent glory that was going to have it's renaissance...
The drummer was getting a little sweaty, and though he had a fan of his own, it wasn't set up yet...so he said to me
"Hey man, you mind pointing that fan a little toward me? Mine isn't set up yet."
"Sure, no problem!" I carefully slid it into place under his hi-hat stand, and pointed it directly at his face, and turned it on...
And then walked away.
I heard his complaint, though...
"Holy shid! What the hill is that smell?" A few seconds later, I heard the hi-hat stand tip over onto the ground and a string of curse words flowed from him as he sought out the off switch on this evil gas generator...
I was over by the bar getting myself some water. He came flying over with a pissed-off look on his face and confronted me.
"You bastard! You bombed me and pointed it into the fan! When I turned it on, it about killed me!"
I looked over at him with a quizzical look and said "Dude, I haven't farted in days! Really! Go try it again!"
So he did. And, with predictable results.
Now he accuses me of "throwing my farts" like some kind of anal ventriloquist! I'm good, but I'm not THAT good...
I walk over, turn it back on. Yup, it's still there. The reeking stench from two weeks ago. I turn it back off. This is curious, so I run a damp napkin across the intake grating, which releases a fine layer of polluted pet fur and sawdust from the garage...I steel my nerves and take a whiff, and OMG! The same smell from two weeks ago penetrates my sinuses! I carefully wrap the offensive fur up in the napkin, and placed it carefully behind the drummer's fan, reclaiming mine in the process. Now, his fan is on the floor tom side of his kit, so I'm nowhere near being able to waft my essence on his airflow. Fifteen minutes into the first set, he reaches over and turns on his fan.
And the napkin comes open. The contents fly up and get stuck onto the grating on the back of his fan, he's looking at me, and it hits him. He about turned green. I could smell it on my side too.
So after the first set, he goes to the restroom. I dash over and remove the fur that is stuck on the bottom of his fan now, and wrap it.It goes in the trash. I head into the restroom to wash my hands of the whole sordid situation. He's in there at one sink, and I'm at the next one.
"How in the HAIL are you doing that?"
"What?"
"Throwing your farts like that! They got all the way around to the other side of my kit, and came up through my fan!"
Without admitting guilt, I asked if he had anything stuck in his fan...he went to check, and I still get a chuckle out of it...
We were playing a gig that is semi-outside, and it's hot. I have a squirrel cage fan, one of those ones that looks like a snail, and the last time I used it, I farted in it and pointed it at the drummer just before I packed it up.
So we're setting up, and I plug in the fan. The fan has a light rime of pet fur on the side intakes. That alone is kind of gnarly, but one of the heretofore unknown physical properties of pet fur (cat dog combo) seems to be its ability to "Catch and Release" odors. I turned it on its lowest setting, and was totally unprepared for what emanated from the outlet vent...
It was my fart from about two weeks ago! It was not quite as potent, but the scent was unmistakable...I quickly turned the fan off, and jammed a cocktail straw into the intake to stop the fan. I didn't want to lose the effect of this one, since it had been a real paint-peeler, a definite signature moment of flatulent glory that was going to have it's renaissance...
The drummer was getting a little sweaty, and though he had a fan of his own, it wasn't set up yet...so he said to me
"Hey man, you mind pointing that fan a little toward me? Mine isn't set up yet."
"Sure, no problem!" I carefully slid it into place under his hi-hat stand, and pointed it directly at his face, and turned it on...
And then walked away.
I heard his complaint, though...
"Holy shid! What the hill is that smell?" A few seconds later, I heard the hi-hat stand tip over onto the ground and a string of curse words flowed from him as he sought out the off switch on this evil gas generator...
I was over by the bar getting myself some water. He came flying over with a pissed-off look on his face and confronted me.
"You bastard! You bombed me and pointed it into the fan! When I turned it on, it about killed me!"
I looked over at him with a quizzical look and said "Dude, I haven't farted in days! Really! Go try it again!"
So he did. And, with predictable results.
Now he accuses me of "throwing my farts" like some kind of anal ventriloquist! I'm good, but I'm not THAT good...
I walk over, turn it back on. Yup, it's still there. The reeking stench from two weeks ago. I turn it back off. This is curious, so I run a damp napkin across the intake grating, which releases a fine layer of polluted pet fur and sawdust from the garage...I steel my nerves and take a whiff, and OMG! The same smell from two weeks ago penetrates my sinuses! I carefully wrap the offensive fur up in the napkin, and placed it carefully behind the drummer's fan, reclaiming mine in the process. Now, his fan is on the floor tom side of his kit, so I'm nowhere near being able to waft my essence on his airflow. Fifteen minutes into the first set, he reaches over and turns on his fan.
And the napkin comes open. The contents fly up and get stuck onto the grating on the back of his fan, he's looking at me, and it hits him. He about turned green. I could smell it on my side too.
So after the first set, he goes to the restroom. I dash over and remove the fur that is stuck on the bottom of his fan now, and wrap it.It goes in the trash. I head into the restroom to wash my hands of the whole sordid situation. He's in there at one sink, and I'm at the next one.
"How in the HAIL are you doing that?"
"What?"
"Throwing your farts like that! They got all the way around to the other side of my kit, and came up through my fan!"
Without admitting guilt, I asked if he had anything stuck in his fan...he went to check, and I still get a chuckle out of it...
This thread just keeps getting better and better.
It refuses to die, which come to think of it, is one of the important traits of a "quality" fart.
It refuses to die, which come to think of it, is one of the important traits of a "quality" fart.
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