Story #2017

This story is second hand, buddy shared it after reading a recent story about fart-induced smoking.

The year was 2003. Buddy was a rare sight, almost as rare as a Warrant Officer in his office. Non-infantry guy at Ft Benning, Home of the Infantry (and administrative foul-ups) somehow slotted into an Infantry OSUT slot. The story, and flatulence, in question occurred during their eighth week, just after getting their dress greens.

The company was in formation, a dreaded formation. Open Ranks, Inspection Arms while in dress. His SDS was behind him, crouched down, inspecting the soldier’s god-knows-what behind him. He felt the urge… the tingle. We all know that feeling. He felt it and he knew with all his soul that to allow that gas to pass would be the end of his existence. He immediately clenched his butt cheeks in the hopes of staving off disaster… only for a sudden rectal spasm to cause his fart-gate to flap wide open and release the loudest, proudest, ass-gassiest fart you ever heard… the echoes had fully subsided from the CTA when his SDS stood up very slowly and about-faced on the spot. He felt that brown round digging into the back of his head and he knew, he knew, he was dead. He almost pre-empted the coming half-right FACE… only to be surprised.

“That… took a lot of guts, pog. Some brass-plated steel bearings hang between your legs if you really just did that. Did you do that, Private Pog?”

“YES DRILL SERGEANT!”

“Own it fucker. You get to be the one. You get to be the ONE FUCKING PRIVATE who farted in my formation and lived to tell the tale… because nobody will ever believe that fucking story, and it will give you the fortitude you need to carry on your non-infantry life in the face of adversity.”

And that ladies and gentleman, is how the worst moment to fart turned into one of the greatest basic training moments for my pog-ass buddy.

Submitted September 26, 2015