Watch Him As He Goes

So I was trying to think of something to write about the economy when I came across this article . I immediately archived my economy draft because this story is much, much more interesting.

A Florida teenager was recently suspended from riding the school bus because he farted to make his bus-mates laugh, and his fart, according to the bus driver, “creat[ed] a stench so bad that it was difficult to breathe.”

The article goes on to say that farting is not explicitly listed as inappropriate behavior, but that “disturbances” on the bus are suspension-worthy offenses. I can’t even imagine what that kid had to eat to achieve that level of fart-win.

This story made me think of an incident I witnessed in my High School. Big surprise, I know.

We used to relentlessly terrorize our chemistry teacher, Mr. Oliver. Terrorizing Mr. Oliver wasn’t a past-time–it was a competitive sport. Mr. Oliver was an older gentleman, and he was a bit of an odd duck. He would get insanely upset if a student called him “dude,” which, of course, prompted us to call him “dude” whenever the opportunity arose. On one occasion, one of my friends wrote “dude” in huge, capital letters on the chalk board, and then pulled down a map so the word was obscured. Mr. Oliver came in, asked why the map was pulled down, and then rolled it up revealing the gigantic “dude” on the board. It was like a curtain at a theater rising to reveal a magnificent set design. He just stared at it, unbelieving, for what seemed like forever.

One day another friend of mine, Paul, asked us if we dared him to go up and fart directly on Mr. Oliver. Of course we said yes, and Paul walked up to Mr. Oliver’s desk with a worksheet to “ask” him a question. Paul kept sneaking glances up at us as he presumably cropdusted the clueless Mr. Oliver’s workspace.

When Paul got back to our desk, it was high-fives and congratulations all around. Another guy in the class, Roy–who was in fact not my friend but a clingy dickhead who merely sat next to us to absorb and bask in our awesomeness–said he wanted to give it a go. Even though we thought he was a clingy dickhead, we encouraged Roy to spray Mr. Oliver as best he could.

Roy walked up to Mr. Oliver, who was still sitting at his desk, and without pretense, without even pretending to be up there for any legitimate reason, Roy positioned his ass mere inches from Mr. Oliver’s shoulder, looked over at us, clinched his face up in a grunt, balled his hands into fists as he squeezed, and proceeded to rip the loudest, nastiest fart I had ever heard. You could almost see Mr. Oliver’s hair waving in the breeze.

It was truly a beautiful thing to behold.

Mr. Oliver exploded in fury and drug Roy out of the room. And despite the fact that we thought Roy was a complete dimwit, that day, as he blew Mr. Oliver the most bodacious butt-kiss I had ever heard, Roy became our hero.

Categories: Jackassery, Texaspecific | 5 Comments

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5 thoughts on “Watch Him As He Goes

  1. Do you know why I read you? It’s the level of discourse.

  2. Unknown

    Mark here is the economy for you.

    Well here we are another year 2009 ahhhhhhhh

    Well what I have for sale is a life of Debt, illusions and bill collectors

    I think for 1,000,000 I’ll let it go. The price will include a complete 20,000 equipment only fabrication shop a beautiful house in the country 3,500 sqft 30 x 40 barn 13 acres ahhh the American dream!!!!!! It will also buy you 12 useless employees 4 large break even contracts and a business name that has become completely ruined because CORPORATE AMERICA SUCKS DICK. I have however made it 5 years so I guess I beat the statistic.

    If you don’t want to buy the dream that’s fine I’m just going to FUCK everybody Like I got fucked. Bankruptcy FUCKERS

    Chrysler financial, you can have my diesel truck back, that’s 20,000 over mileage and smashed because I just hit a deer. I looked cool in it for a while, but I just bought a 95 S-10 cash and I love it. So stop calling me five times a day and come get the piece of shit.

    Btw, how do you expect people to pay your late charges if they can’t even make the regular payment? Also if you called me on Tuesday I bet my situation won’t be any different Wednesday. Bastards. Fuck you I’m going to hide it

    American express I was a good customer to you. Once I was 10 days late you canceled my card. You will never get your money. Bastards

    53rd I would really like to keep my camper but if you insist on coming to get it because I’m 45 days late come and get it. I’ve got a fucking tent. Chryslers going to take my fucking truck and I’m sure my S-10 won’t pull it. Bring a fucking shovel because there’s 8 feet of snow pushed in front of it because all it fucking does is snow around here.

    Speaking of snow got some snowmobiles, there going back to! I loved riding them but I financed them to pay the 12 useless employees to work on the 4 large break even contracts I have. Behind on them same story come and get em bastards

    Material bull shit.
    We learned our lesson.

    Love to tell you more but I’ve got to search for a job so I can pay taxes to support all the Bailout money we gave the people that are going to repo my shit and put America in this situation. I wonder what I’ll be paid with food.

    Don’t think the dollar illusion can go on much longer.

    Keep the faith protect your kids. Your family is all that matters

  3. Tank

    …and yet the value of flatulence remains constant.

  4. unknown

    Mr Oliver also later on Lost his mind. After he stopped teaching he knew nobody. Went to visit with him and he did not remember he was a teacher. He did not know his own name. Not much longer after that he died. It made me feel sad for him. I had thought about all the terrible (but funny) things we did to him. But in all he was a great man to be able to put up with us.

  5. unknown

    Tank so you do not go on to search where this came from It also came from craigslist.
    This one is great.

    This Letter of Apology is not only for the staff at the Best Buy #305 in Schaumburg, Illinois, but also to the gentleman in the middle stall in the men’s restroom at about 5:17 CST on Saturday, January 31st. You had been in there for awhile, so this Letter of Apology is as much for you. Please let me expand”¦

    I recently finished reading The Chris Farley Show (I strongly recommend this book for everyone) and have been wanting to buy SNL’s Best of Chris Farley. After my fiancee’s grandmother’s 90th birthday party in the northwest suburbs (very lovely gathering, by the way) Saturday late afternoon/early evening, I decide to stop by and buy it. Right away, I find the last one on the shelf as my fiancée is looking for other “bargains,” and I pass it to her when I realize my stomach is rumbling. I decide to take a trip to the men’s room in search of a better life for myself. That’s when complications began to arise.

    As I walk towards the men’s room, a mother is telling her son “it’s okay, use the bathroom, I’ll be right here” or something like that. I remember being that age (about 7-9) and public bathrooms were not your friend. I walk in just behind the little boy and see him glance at the urinal for a brief second ”“ and then he walks to the rear stall. DAMMIT!! The middle stall is taken, and I think pooping in a urinal on a Saturday afternoon is a felony in most states. I sigh, leave, and take a couple of more (fast) laps around all of the movies and Wii games.

    I return to the restroom about four minutes and ten seconds later, and the rear stall is now open. PAYDIRT!!! The middle stall is still occupied by the same dude as before (I can tell by seeing the same shoes and pants on the floor underneath the door). I actually think to myself, “that sucks, poor guy.” After wiping the toilet seat, I sit down and take a refreshing and cleansing poo. Things are looking up in life again.

    I go to flush the toilet and sneer at how ugly it looks in there. It’s bad. Really bad. It is actually too gross for me to follow-through on taking a picture of it and texting it to my friend Steve.

    Anyway, here is where things went awry. Very. I flush the toilet. Bubble. Bubbling. Rumbling. Uh-oh. The water rises a little. Please go down. Please. The water rises a little more. Nervousness settles in. Quickly. Shit. Dammit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Stop the water. Industrial toilet. It’s not an option. WTF. Shit. Please go down. Water still rising. Not going down. Really bad. 1” to go. Fuck Fuck Fuck. Please just stop. 1/2” left. Time to think of an exit strategy. Water overflows. Well, I guess you can call it water, but it doesn’t really look like water anymore. And, I just remember about the poor guy in the middle stall. Stay calm. And get out of there. Now.

    “Watch your feet, dude, I’ll get somebody quick.” I said it as calm as I possibly could.

    I almost immediately find a Best Buy employee: “I just wanted you to know that a toilet is overflowing in the men’s restroom, and you’re going to want to get somebody in there quick.”

    I find my fiancée almost immediately. I walk very (very) fast towards her. “Can you get the movies? I’ll get the car.” She knows something is wrong. Very wrong. I guess I won’t argue with her buying Forgetting Sarah Marshall, then. I go to the car and circle around the parking lot for about eight minutes. I am hoping that the guy from the middle stall isn’t scouring the parking lot yet for the guy with brown hair in the black pullover and dark green vest. My fiancée walks out, she jumps in, and I speed away as fast as a 5 MPH speed limit in a parking lot permits.

    So, please accept my apology, the guy in the middle stall, and also the fine employees at the Best Buy #305. I sincerely apologize for any heartache, headaches, and pain I may have caused you. And for ruining your weekend. Every time I watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall with my lovely soon-to-be wife, a special cloud of guilt will hang over my head for you.



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