I was kicking ass on the treadmill at the gym, and was totally in the zone. It was awesome!
Then, it hit my nostrils like a bee smacking the glass door. Worse even, it was one of those thick stanky rotten egg laced with some skunk clouds that you can practically taste and my mouth was open. Major disgusting! I gagged some and had to put my towel over my nose and mouth until the fart twister moved to the south.
I was on the end treadmill in a bank of four. The fart funk came from the left side of me, and of course I looked to see who the culprit could be. Now, everyone smells the fart cyclone yet most are polite and stay focused on their TV monitor in front of them as if nothing ever happened.
Not me man! I looked because damn! this wasn't just a simple waspy fart that created slight discomfort. Nope, this was the vile kind of vapor that could knock out small animals. It enters your pie hole and lands on your tongue, and that is just not acceptable to me. Someone has to break the wall of politeness and think about the welfare of everyone's noses and mouths.
There were two possible perps. (more after the jump)
Directly next to me was a tiny zaftig Mexican woman about 5'2" about late 40's-early 50's. I wanna call her Rosa. Next to her one treadmill apart was a tall Black man about 6'1" about my dad's age who looked like he could be Bill Cosby's cousin on his dad's side. I'll call him Frank.
...I need a gas mask! ...
Frank and Rosa were doing their power walks, sweating up a storm, and both intently focused on the TV monitors. Now, staring hard at the TV monitor to me is a distinct give away that you are guilty because you don't want to take the chance of anyone looking at you in the eye. You'll break down. Both, though were doing the guilt walk. Shoot! Need to find another clue.
Just as I was trying to find another clue as to the identity of the criminal farter, another f-bomb dropped, and this one was worse than the first one. Oh Lordie! I need a gas mask. I think I felt a little vomit come up on that on. Again, I put the towel over my nose and mouth, but I was not going to let my workout be cut short because of some rude fraken-farter. I only had 12 minutes left. Damn you fart freak! I'm so close to being done. Stop it for the sake of gym humanity.
Now with tears not sweat dripping from my cheek, I was determined to solve the mystery. Who farted on the treadmill? I had 11 minutes to figure it out. Was it Frank? Was it Rosa? Frank? Rosa? And then at minute 6.
"OMG! Richard Simmons tap dancing to the oldies" a third fart projectile landed like an atomic bomb on Hiroshima. This time it mushroomed in my eyes. The fart bomb took out three of my five senses, and I was not going to stick around for it to take away touch and hearing. I lept off my treadmill like an obvious diva and ran to the nearest exit for some fresh air. Awwww! The smell of fresh summer air. I'm alive!
I never did figure out who the farting criminal was, and probably never will. All I can say is this, "People, please be considerate of your fellow gym goers and leave before your state of gaseousness hurts us all." Thank you!
