>>10923975It's just you man.
I wallow in my farts. A good farting session sees me cover up in a blanket just so I can imbibe my own rotten, foul, stinking gases for longer. Then I go out and immediately agree with with everyone I see.
It wasn't always like this. As a teen I rarely used to fart, maybe mom cooked us kids good food, maybe it was cos I used to chew my food rather than gulp it down. Anyway, things changed later on in life. I started to fart more, a lot more, massively in fact, and with that came an epiphany. The forced fart. Yes. I learned I could actually force my farts out. Rather than being an unwilling victim of my own intestinal gas I could pump the fuckers out. Be warned: Once the secret of pumping has been learned it can not be unlearned.
My farting was so massive and on such a scale I developed my own lexicon to describe my gaseous excretions. "Burpers" were large wet farts, "Squealers" were those long narrow farts, "Buttons" were for those series of small sneaky farts that pop out one after the other like rabbit's poo. And many more types.
With such variety also came a love of my own stench. I developed a lexicon for that too. "Dung pile" for those rich earthy aromas. "Hercules" for those strong sulfuric stenches. "Bites" for those fecal rancid smells.
I think the very act of labeling your own creations engenders a form of love which most people dont appreciate. I began to deeply appreciate my own farts, both the noise and the smell and their feel, wet, dry, sandpapery, whatever. I was blessed to fart prodigiously. Wake up, fart. Walk to door, fart, Go to kitchen, fart. Like that. All fucking day long. Anyway I felt more agreeable about everything. So OP, you are just doing it wrong.
