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Beans, beans, the musical fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot, the more you toot, the better you feel, so, eat your beans at every meal!  That was a poem that every kid learned as a rite of passage.  Actually, I’m referring to boys, not girls.

Passing gas, passing wind, and tooting are just a few nicknames for farting.

For those who find this topic a bit unsettling, please go back to your rocking chair and do a little rock and rolling.

When I was a young lad, I used to go camping with the 8th Oshawa Sea Scouts.  We were similar to regular scouting, but our hat and uniform were completely different.  And that’s what made us unique.  We also learned a bit about boating and had a couple of large rowboats that held four rowers and a skipper.  The boats were stored at a small building at the Oshawa harbor.

But this story isn’t about boating – it’s about passing wind.  And when you’re a young boy, you often try to ‘mirror’ what the older boys are doing – because they’re cool and you aren’t even close to that level of coolness.

Oh, please don’t get me wrong.  Nobody had to teach me how to fart because it’s just a natural body function.  And although I never researched the subject, I believe that passing wind is the result of certain things we eat or drink.  And beans are right there at the top of the list.

But I never ate beans, not even the green ones.  And I can honestly add that I have not eaten more than a forkful of pork ‘n beans in my entire life!  And even the forkful was consumed over a long period of time.  It was back in the day when your parents forced you to eat everything on your plate.

In our family of eight, my mom would dish out everyone’s plate before we were called to the table.  I can’t give you my exact reaction to my first taste of pork ‘n beans but I do remember that my parents made me sit at the table until I had finished eating everything on my plate.  And the only thing that I ever left was the nasty-tasting beans.

On the one and only night, I ever had to stay behind at the dinner table for not eating my pork ‘n beans.  I honestly remember taking one bean on my fork and then closing my eyes and grimacing as I chewed quickly before trying to swallow it.  And it was a long time that evening, trying to eat those nasty tasty beans.  My mom finally gave in and let me leave the table.

But years later, when my Ma and I talked about it, she confessed that she felt terrible when she watched me trying to eat the beans – one-by-one.

And I was only served pork ‘n beans that one time.  My mom would always substitute another food in place of the beans for me.  My dad would often complain that Ma was spoiling me because she let me get away from eating beans.  She also knew I wouldn’t eat onions or peppers, period!

When I was camping or hiking with the sea scouts, we brought our own food from home.  We also had pots and pans in our knack sacks, and we’d cook our meals over an open campfire.

And a lot of my friends brought along a can or two of pork ‘n beans.

Sharing a tent with four or five others was scary because farts are like snowflakes – no two farts are the same.  And that applies to both sound, duration, and fragrance.  Boys at that age are impressed by whomever could let out the best in each category.  (I know of middle-aged men who still brag about a memorable toot).

Danny, why are you writing about farting?  Are you that desperate to write that you could not find something more interesting to write about?

Relax, Spanky, the best is yet to come.  Go back to reading your comics if this is too difficult a read for you.

Anyway, there is another thing about farting when you are a boy.  If you were not able to muster up a fart – you could simply place you hand under your armpit and then begin pumping your arm up and down to mimic the sound.  And if your palms were a bit moist, you could really impress your buddies!

At this point, I have probably lost all my female readers but before you go, let me add another interesting tidbit of information for you.  It was not until I was in my mid-teens that I learned that girls were also able to pass wind.  I had thought that it was something only boys could do.  But I’ve always known that girls become mature at a much younger age than boys.

And now we get to the part of the story when things get a bit grosser.

You probably should close your screen to what is about to follow on this page.

Consider yourself as warned.

The foulest, worst-smelling farts are ‘beer farts.’  The typical response from its victims is an immediate gasping for clean air; while the farter usually has a smile that is beaming with pride.

I remember the worst, most embarrassing flatulence episode imaginable, one night at the Delta Hotel in Calgary.  It was a business trip and there were several of us present from the western region.  We had been entertaining a few of our customers from Saskatchewan and we all had consumed several pitchers of ice-cold draft beer.

On our return to the hotel that night, we got on to the elevator and just as the door closed, one of my customers let out a ten second, non-stop, three-decibel fart that would melt the paint off a car, it was so foul-smelling.  The elevator had already begun its ascent upwards to our floor when he had let hit loose and we were all gagging in disgust.

But then it got even weirder!

The elevator suddenly stopped, and the door opened, and two elderly couples entered the elevator.  I tried to jump out, but someone grabbed my arm and forced me to stay.

Talk about a humiliating experience!

I bet you were not expecting this type of story when you logged onto my site.

No need to thank me.

You’re welcome!

Dedicated to Eric K., Hudsy and Spanky

I hope that my stories are a gift to your head and heart. 

Stay safe. Be well. Laugh often.

Hugs,

Danny

Today’s tune from Danny’s library (purchased):

 

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About Post Author

Daniel (Danny) St. Andrews

An almost famous Film, Television & Stage Actor (as in almost pregnant) living in Vancouver, BC His other passions include cancer patient advocate (he had stage 3 throat cancer), walking with the Vancouver 'Venturers Walking Club, and of course, spoiling his dog, Holly Golightly. If you like the stuff he writes about - please leave a hug (or a comment).
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