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Thursday, 13 September 2012

TSB gets into a Sticky Situation (1)

I have an admission to make.
I'm getting old.

There I've said it.

Please don't get me wrong, I don't feel old; I actually feel in my innermost being that I'm about 31, but my physical body has other ideas.

Like many people in my age group I take medications for hypertension and cholesterol, and I've recently been diagnosed as a Type 2 diabetic, so I'm quite careful about my diet.

No, no, this is a lie, my Beloved is quite careful about my diet.

As she said, she didn't spend the best years of her life with me, just to watch me crumple into a "Jellied and bloated bag of quivering and insensate flesh" (Her words, not mine) so she takes care of me.

But other things don't quite work as they used to.

I don't care what they say, this is not supposed to happen.
Hair sprouts from the most amazing places.

Wrinkles get deeper and more pronounced.

Memory, especially of recent events, can get rather vague, although m'son told me that he thinks it may be due to my intake of spirituous beverages.  The Curmudgeon noted that the statins used for cholesterol control are believed also to cause some short-term memory loss, and that's the probable cause, not the whisky.

This is supposed to be what it's like, but goodness knows what mine looks like by now.

But the problem I occasionally have is with my digestive tract.

I've noticed that the production of methanoic gases is definitely up, and causes longer, more aromatic and frequent release of gases.  I've been fortunate so far, as I can usually blame the kids in class for the occasional rude noise and unpleasant aromas so produced, but it's getting to be a problem.

Now this next bit may be offensive to those of a more gentle nature, so you may wish to avert your eyes from the following text.

Don't look.  It's nasty.
My bowels can get in an uproar.

(Look, I'm really trying to use the nicest language possible, but the appropriate vocabulary is a bit limited, so I may have to use some technical words here and there)

One day everything is normal, then the next day I might get a little "solid".  Then things can really fall apart and, to put it nicely, everything turns to the consistency of Pea and Ham soup (with added lentils).

Hmmm...and about the same colour.
The real problem is that I don't know what will happen on any given day, so I've started to take precautions.

The need for precautions became apparent last month, when I accompanied my Beloved on a shopping trip to Wellington.  There was no real need for me to be there, apart from acting as the taxi driver, as I have absolutely no fashion sense, and even less appreciation of the subtle nuances of colour that most women seem to take for granted. (peach is NOT a colour, damnit)

While she was prowling around the shop, lifting and examing the various garments on offer, and browbeating the poor sales staff, I was mooching about outside, looking in computing stores, book stores and the Sony Centre, but I could only look around for so long, as some of the staff were begining to look at me in a suspicious manner.

What's he doing?

So I returned to the clothes shop to see if my Beloved had finished. Almost an hour had passed, so she must be finished by now.


Still looking and comparing, so I (like a couple of other bored looking blokes) stayed out of the way and leaned against the side wall, just inside the store.

I felt gas pressure building up, and carefully looking nonchalant, I attempted to release the gas quietly.


Things were going wrong.

Just at the moment of release, the sensory feedback from the nerves down there indicated that what was being released was probably not gaseous, but of a more fluid consistency.

The dreaded Shart had Struck.

I attempted to get my Beloved's attention, but she was still happily reaming through the clothes racks and ignored my rapidly wiggling eyebrows, the only subtle method of communication my shocked brain could concieve of.

WHY can't you read my eyebrows.  It's as plain as the nose on my face.
I won't go into the gross details of how I finally got out and home, but it did entail sitting on a plastic bag to protect the leather seats of my car, and driving with the windows wide open, with my Beloved gagging quietly beside me.

But Dear Reader, this is not the sticky situation which the title refers to.

It's much. much worse.

I'm running out of time to complete this today, and I feel I may have to quickly depart in search of a quiet and lonely toilet, so I'll need to finish this tomorrow, peristalsis permitting.

Just to give you an idea of what's to come, I got the main concept from Victor Melgrew.

If you don't know who Victor is, here's a clip to give you the general impression.


  1. Mayhap your bowels are commenting on your, ahem, execrable taste in...amongst other things...women's clothing.

    Just sayin'...

    1. What's wrong with my taste in women's clothing?

      I like to think of myself as a minimalist.

    2. Then you'll just LOVE my next Pash for Fash post dahlin'!

      So if peach is a fruit and not a colour, what is orange? Is it strange that I after reading your post I have "Will you still need me/ will you still feed me/ when I'm 64?"

    3. Pash for Fash?

      The only Pash I have these days is for Laphroig.

      But what about raspberry, banana and grapes?

      I remember that song. Very apt, especially as my Beloved hit 64 yesterday. AND I REMEMBERED TO GET A PREZZY AND A CARD.

    4. What a good TSB! I may not post the picture of plaid adult nappies then...

      Btw, I've now taken to calling my husband SSB.

    5. No image of tartan (sorry, but plaid is an American abomination)nappies is a good thing.



      Do tell.

    6. Sadistic Scottish Bastard.......Sidney Devine after all.

      Why say sorry when you aren't the least bit sorry?

    7. Did I upset your delicate constitution with my post TSB? So very sorry, at least it took your mind off the lentils? By the by, did I mention that I'm a SAB?

      Like all good things, apples should be eaten in the raw.

    8. Sorry, no you didn't upset me with your mention of food, but I went into shock agin when I read the fatefull words "Sidney Devine" There's just too many bad memories related to that name.

      Sarcastic American Blogger?

    9. Oops, forgot. Apples are best in Apple Crumble, with extra cream and custard.

    10. Hmmmm, yes they are, but diabetes? Yeah, it sucks to have to keep that in mind.

      Almost right, Sarcastic American Broad.

    11. I tend to forget the diabetes when cream and custard is involved.

      The word "Broad" is forbidden in NZ. All of pur ladies are slim and perfect.

  2. I was so much older then, I am younger than that now.

    1. Nope, sorry, lost me ompletely. All I can hear is the scream of that comment as it passes supersonically over my head.

  3. This was funny, from a distance--& peach IS a color!!

    1. Thanks. Not so much fun close up and personal I can assure you.

      Sorry; Peach is a fruit.

  4. As Jack Nicholson said in the Bucket List, "never trust a fart"! Sounds like you need acidophilus! John had the same problem so now drinks a Yakult daily. Sorted his gut out a treat.


    1. Thanks Di, I'll try the yakult.

      Shart in health.

    2. Even just regular low-fat yoghurt works well in maintianing bowel health.

    3. I (my Beloved actually) believes in the effacacy of cabbage.

  5. There's no shame in wearing a nappy at your age - the Apollo astronauts were younger than you when they wore them on their way to the moon. But leave the mooning to the younger guys...

    1. Truth spoeken in jest. Just wait for the second exciting episode. I don't moon. Spoon and swoon perhaps.

  6. I feel bad for giggling at your misfortune, but ...


    1. Thanks Kellie. I'm glad my pain, embarassment and misfortune gives others a bit of joy.

  7. Hilarious and very brave of you to share this . . . I can't wait to read the "sticky bit" !?
    That dog looks a lot like one of my exes.

  8. Thanks you. The sticky bit (2) will be forthcoming if i can bear the pain.

    Funny you should say that about the dog. I think it looks a bit like Ringo.

  9. Replies
    1. Thanks Jen.

      Victor reminds me of a kinder, happier, less grouchy version of myself.

  10. I love confessions. Maybe I should have been a priest?

    I have the memory loss without the joy of having drank very much. How sad is that?! All the punishment without committing the sin!

    Get yourself some Fiber Con tablets. Make sure it's the non-fermenting kind. This shit will change your life.

    1. Being a priest has it's good points I would imagine; plenty of whisky, respect of the commnity, access to large amounts of Semtex and little boys, but it's the lack of female companionship that would be the worst aspect.

      I feel your pain about the memory loss, but I'm glad you're not a priest, because I don't really think drinking is a sin.

      I'll look into the Fiber Con shit, thank you.

  11. ooh that was quite disgusting
    luckily I have not sharted in a clothes store yet but hey a girl can dream can't she??

    1. Thanks for visiting and leaving a comment again EmmaK.

      I often feel the need to disgust. It makes some small but essential part of my psyche more complete somehow.

      Of course girls can dream; preferably in the kithcen while making my dinner.

  12. Love it.
    When I first read this yesterday I thought "poor old TSB has lost it, he's accelerating into old age and decrepitude" but then today when I was in the supermarket I forgot the warning of never trusting a fart and in short had to crab-walk out and hurried to get home. Thank you Richard (of RBB) for the big black underpants you gave me.

    1. Ah, TC, I feel for you. I just hope you didn't get "the dribbles".

      Leaving a trail behind one can be so awkward.

  13. These things are so disheartening. Even my cat has started to shart. I don't think she's as young as the shelter said. 4 year old cats don't shart. You have my sympathy, TSB.

    1. Thank you Austan.

      It's not every day I get compared to a (probably) elderly sharting cat.

      You've made my day.

  14. I have the same problem from time to time. It's my diet. I drink industrial strength real Italian coffee every morning, which then, as soon as the sun's over the yardarm (or getting close enough not to be important to quibble over six hours or so), is supplemented by several pints of ale. My diet is almost entirely vegetarian and heavily weighted towards pulses, being a cheap way of making you feel full up.

    Full up for a while, that is, until nature's plug gives way. You have my sympathy TSB.

    Still, at least Beloved might think twice about inviting you on her interminable shopping sprees.

    1. I do love pulses in every form, but I try and consume them with some moderation as my current condition is a wee bit delicate, and I really don't want to "stoke the furnace" and "increase the steam pressure" to any great extent.

      Bloody good point about the shopping spree. It's all almost worthwhile now.

      Big Grin *as shuffles rapidly sideways to a small but well ventilated room*

  15. Stuff happens, but boy do I love your humor.
    Dad's off hand remarks about his legendary skid marks keep the family in stitches. Mom gives him the stinkeye and keeps a baggie of spare shorts and skivies in the car trunk.

    1. It's always the Mums who are practical. My beloved does exactly the same, plus a 2 week supply of my normal medications. I was going to suggest a bottle of whisky as well, but I thought better of it.

      Thanks for the positive comment.
      At the moment I can barely sit down, as will be explained on the next exciting, yet hugely horrifying post.

  16. My husband regularly has to peer up people's behinds and he tells me this is such a risky business when a humble fart starts heading his way.

    Bananas are meant to be good - for eating, I hasten to add.

    1. My inate curiosity is begging me to ask you WHY your hubbie's peering up bottoms, but my inate good taste refuses to let me.

      Bananas are multi-use.

  17. Entering the observations late, am thinking more discussion of odd unwanted hair-sprouting could be soothing and possibly therapeutic.

    1. Thanks for dropping by and leaving a comment BDM.

      Methinks your definition of theraputic may differ in certain essentials from my own humble opinion.

      But it's diversity that keeps life interesting.


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