the musical fruit

I enjoyed a nice back to back trip in the middle seat of a stinky airplane from Austin to San Jose the other day. Balancing out the good karma of my previous ill fated trip below, this time lady luck spun the wheel and landed me next to an old guy who smelled like green onions and insisted on opening his newspaper half across my lap to read it. When he wasn't using me like his personal desk, we has working some serious elbow jabs into my side as he fought to maintain supremacy over both armrests.

Well in the face of this I responded like any rational adult would, mainly by farting towards him as much as possible. Yes, I know its a bit nasty but its one of the few defense mechanisms you have on a plane to get back at your fellow passengers without getting into a fist fight. I had a few that swelled up so large I rose up off the seat, like a happy smurf sitting on a mushroom. In my mind, I was the 'winner'.

All this of course brought back another fond memory of farting on a plane. It was a bumpy ride from New Jersey to Detroit. The plane was mostly empty and several people including myself stretched out to lie longways across the row (I think the FAA allows flight crews to tazer or pepper spray you if you do this nowadays). Unfortunately the guy in front of me was an avid 'sleep farter', which was to mean he was pumping more gas than a freeway service station on Memorial Day. As I lay slowly dying from methane asphyixation, the stewardess came by and noticing the 'issue' deployed a series of 10 coffee filter bags around the offending gas source. They were like mini fart land mines, strewn across the plans seats and floor, and they miraculously contained the stink.

The look on the guys face when he woke up was priceless.