This post is a response to a post on Usenet al.tasteless about flatulence. What’s Usenet? It’s what we had before web forums, Facebook, etc. What’s alt.tasteless? It was a Usenet group that specialized in… well… tastelessness; and body humor is a big part of that. Probably the best description, other than the one in the FAQ and found in the 1994 Wired article linked above about the AT war with rec.pets.cats, is that it “was created in the autumn of 1990 “as a place to keep the sick people away from rec.humor and other forums”. It’s what 4-chan thought it could be, before it it became infested with alt-right, MAGA types.

>Well I think I've figured out what the problem is here. I'm on a
>course of pills to try to overcome a long-term case of major
>flatulence that can come on oh-so-quickly with incredible strength
>(nostril-wise), a course of pills that involves 8 pills per day for a
>week.

Good god, man, why? Revel in the nebulous ether that is your flatulence! Why, in some circles, a person’s ability to rip a true stinker is tied to their promotability! I’m rather certain that my own ability in producing sphincter-tearing, paint-peeling methane emissions is largely responsible for my lofty position within the department. Many’s the trainee that has been laid low when they dared to challenge my dominance in this arena.

Picture a scene out of “The Matrix: An officer runs pell-mell into the locker room and shouts “The trainee’s trying to gas out Sarge!” The locker room empties and gathers around the door to the Sergeant’s office. The trainee, gripping the edge of the desk with whitened knuckles, strains until the veins in his neck bulge and corded muscle stands out along his forearms. He bears down with a “Hunnggghhh” and produces a watery, rippling fart that curls gelatinous tendrils around the nostrils of the onlookers. He smiles, surreptitiously patting his ass-crack to make sure he doesn’t need to change his underwear.

I lean back lazily in the chair, feet propped on the desk, and return his smile. “Yes, but-” I effortlessly release a subsonic rumbler that makes the paper-clip holder on the desk vibrate across the surface and tickles the inner ear in such a way as to cause vague feelings of panic and discomfort in the crowd. The titanic temblor continues unrelenting for nearly a full minute, singing the eyebrows of those who venture too close for a good view of my navy nylon-clad buttocks flapping together. The tired air-conditioning unit in the wall quits with a clunk and a sigh, refusing to process this vile effluvium through its filter.

The trainee slinks off dejected to the men’s restroom for a quick safety-wipe as the onlookers slowly shuffle back to the locker room, awed by the display. The first officer grabs a wizened Corporal and asks “But…. what does it mean?” The Corporal smiles and shakes his head.

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Everybody shits themselves, the first time.”