I really can't believe I haven't blogged this one yet. It comes from 1989 (give or take).
My friend Maija and I were babysitting at a friend's house and we were playing pool after the kids went to bed. I was twelve. Maija was always a lot cooler than me, in many ways, but this story has to do with her ability to fart on command. So she farted, on command, and I was pretty jealous. I decided it couldn't be that hard to do, and started trying to push a fart out. Pushing and pushing and...suddenly I had to RUN to the bathroom.
Up the stairs I ran. Into the bathroom. Whipped down my shorts. Sat down. I thought for sure I had crapped my pants. I looked in my underwear. Nothing. I looked in my shorts. Nothing. I looked everywhere. Nothing. Hmmm. Curious.
But then I saw, on the OUTSIDE of my shorts, a tiny turd.
It's like my fart blew so fast through my underwear and shorts that it didn't have time to solidify until it made it safely outside. I don't know? You tell me.