CSB time:

Our family was on safari in Kenya and South Africa about 12 and a half years ago. My older brother, a doctor now, is notorious for being able to fall asleep anywhere for long periods of time (his friends call it time warping when he does it on a plane), and for his ability to enact chemical warfare on a scale not seen since the the Battle of Ypres on the Western Front in 1915. There were many instances on our trip where we'd take small, 8 or 10 seat planes, to remote areas. And my brother would sleep for these short flights, and flatulate without regard for those around him. We traveled as 6, and our guide made 7, so there usually were an additional one or two people on each plane. As the trip went on, he'd pretend to be sleeping, and when he would let one go, he'd just smile with his eyes closed. Our eyes might be watering from the attack on our nasal passages, but we had grown accustomed to these foul disturbances. However, other passengers had not, and we could see that the unprovoked chemical attacks were taking their toll. He took perverse pleasure in the suffering of others due to his flatulence. In one case, the pilot thought he might have an engine problem due to such a strong, foul odor in the cabin. We were quite lucky that most of the vehicles we traveled in on the ground were open and well ventilated.

But the absolute worst incident on our trip was on a short flight on a larger plane (about 80 people) between Cape Town and Kruger National Park. The first two rows of this plane had seats facing each other, so my 3 siblings and I sat together on one side of the plane. I had the pleasure of sitting next to my brother, while my sisters sat across from us. From the moment he sat down, the he closed his eyes and the attack was on. Every passenger that boarded the flight was subjected to his initial bombardment. But that was just the beginning.

As the plane took off, we saw the South African Airways flight attendant sitting at the front of the plane wrinkled her nose. My brother, actually sleeping at this point, but with a grin from ear to ear, continued the assault. When we reached cruising altitude, his release of noxious fumes had begun to take its toll on the flight attendant and the other passengers in the surrounding area. My parents would not claim ownership of their four children sitting across the aisle from them, for fear that the passengers would take vengeance upon them. The rather obese and obnoxious ham beast (clearly a fellow American, but also from somewhere in Bible Belt based on the accent) who was sitting behind us, complained to my sisters that my brother should learn to control his bodily functions. At this point, the poor flight attendant realized the situation was hopeless, and began to laugh manically given her dire situation. She attempted to roll her beverage cart down the aisle, to cross the boundary between sweet recycled air and the aura of dimethyl and hydrogen sulfide in a bubble at the front of the plane. But she could not do it; her laughter became so uncontrolled that the co-pilot came out of the cockpit to see what was going on (this was about a month before 9/11, so cockpit doors were kept open sometimes for whatever reason). When he entered "the zone," we could see his eyes begin to tear, and his nose scrunching up. He immediately bolted back to the cockpit and closed the door, to prevent any further attack on his olfactory glands. We could only assume he latched on his oxygen mask to breath some pure air to cleanse himself of the foul odor he still tasted in the back of his mouth. The flight attendant made an announcement to apologize for the lack of beverage service on the flight, claiming the pilot informed her they expected too much turbulence. But we knew what happened, because while we did not experience any turbulence on the flight, we were subjected to 70 minutes of death incarnate in the recycled air around us.

When we arrived at the private game reserve outside of Kruger, we were ecstatic to learn that the off road vehicles there did not have any tops. The final week of our safari would be rather pleasant in the open topped vehicles, able to breath fresh air.

tl;dr: my brother has such bad gas he prevented a flight attendant from passing by to conduct beverage service on a short flight.

In the catering biz it's called "carpet bombing".  When you walk amongst the tables rapidly whilst breaking wind. So nobody can pin it on you.

It's quite fun.

It's not news, it's fart?

wambu: FNG: A brief squeeze out is a lot better than the permanent BO, or the lingering fumes of the nasty food eater sitting next to you.

I was on a late commuter flight leaving Washing, D.C. in August some 30 years ago. It was one of those German boxcars with wings and noisy propellers with a ugly curtain separating the pilot from the passengers. The late afternoon air was hot and muggy and I was glad that the only empty seat remaining was the one next to me. With a small commotion at the front of the plane, I could tell  that a last-minute passenger was boarding; my heart sank. Suddenly, the most beautiful woman in the world stepped through that door. I couldn't believe my luck. If I had to surrender my comfort and my spare seat, it would certainly be worth it. My heart raced as my my mind attempted to select the most sincere, most endearing and most effective greeting for this heavenly creature. She pasued before sitting to remove her jacket, uncovering a red silk blouse that caressed her every soft, ample curve. As my eyes bathed in the glow of her beauty, my nostrils began to twitch at the encounter of the most rancid body odor this side of a high school locker room on a hot day. Now the dark stains under her armpits became apparent, oozing a kind of oily shimmering that revealed their true horror. I smiled weakly and saw in her eyes the revealed knowledge of my revulsion to her radiating malodorous presence. I thought any hopes I had for a meaningless romantic adventure were over. As she sat, a low rumble escaped from near her seat cushion and a foul stench slowly crept into my sinuses. The noises and odors continued into the flight; she had obviously eaten something exotic and greasy for lunch that did not agree with her and the heat of the day and the confines of the plane were only making it worse. I prayed for death to overtake me and free me from this gross, frightening scourge.of stank who had only moments before been the object of my desire. I A.) murdered h ...

I always try to let one rip as I'm going through the 1st class or business sections on my way to the cheap seats.

My wife is very particular about farts. If you're going to fart you should roll down the window or step out of the room. Despite that, she married me, a man famous for loud and potent flatus.

Anyway, we were in hour six a trans-pacific flight that had been having horrible turbulence for hours and we hadn't been let out of our seats. I finally had to let one go. She shot me a death stare and told me I should've gone to the lavatory, despite the fact that I couldn't.

/csb

Better to let a fart and shame ya, than bust a gut and lame ya.

Pressure reduction favors a gas producing reaction.
Simple chemistry states that *everyone* is more apt to fart on a flight.

I think Beano is missing out on a fantastic marketing opportunity.

I can tolerate the farts, but for everyone's sake, please be sure that's what you're going to do...

While attending an army school, they sent us to what we called 'The Vault' - no windows, just a big block building.
Because more sailors showed up for the class than expected, they formed a special night class for us.
Also, because they posited that we were on TDY, we got COMRATS instead of eating in the mess.
Combining these two, we found ourselves in a dilemma that most restaurants were closed by the time we got out of class.
Searching for the nearest place to the base, we ended up at Sally Raybos (sp?) every night.
Sally would ask why we didn't make it for 'Happy Hour', and when we explained our plight, she said she would try to keep the kitchen open late for us, and we would pay happy hour prices for beer.
On the nights the kitchen was closed, dinner consisted of some cheap beer on tap in pitchers, jerky, and they would bring the jar of pickled eggs to the table.
Needless to say, the day after was not pleasant for anyone near us.
We could clear out an entire wing of the Vault on a good night - and we did more than once.
Of course, we all took our cues from the resident bubblehead - he didn't need the cheap beer or pickled eggs, he could fart on demand - with stench.

/Good times...

?WTF, swype

giant eagle angioplasty bar has roasted garlic.and small sample cups for free tasting.one of those and I can melt paint right off the walls about a half hour latermakes the wife consider whether she REALLY needs me to drop by the grocery store on the way homethere's no way this happens to everyone; you would think they would stop selling known chemical weapon components if it didthat or giant eagle is way cooler than I thought

Hey, that's my only defense against smelly people, smelly food, noisy kids, noisy people--you name it.  Let a silent but deadly one roll and then look around annoyed.  Since I am a proper looking old woman in real life, I doubt anyone suspects me or even believes I think improper thoughts.
Wheeee!!

Lsherm: I fart on planes all the time.  All you have to do is look at someone sitting next to you with a "WTF?" look and it's all good.

That's a good strategy, but timing is important. For example, never give the "WTF?" look and allow a moment's awkward silence before ripping ass.