Fart-buster underpants selling well among Japanese salarymen Pairs of fart-absorbing underpants designed to contain the copious trouser cough output from Irritable Bowel Syndrome sufferers have proved a hit with Japanese businessmen. A model sports a pair of Seiren guff-busting underpants Manufacturer Seiren expressed pleasant surprise that their guff-busting smalls had attracted the …
I can def confirm that that is NOT the case after trying to "sneak out" a quiet one while sat in a crowded, un-carpeted lounge at Vienna airport while sitting on those bloody awful plastic chairs wearing a set of headphones. The looks of every other people sharing my lounge told me that my sneaky one was not so sneaky and def not quiet
You care too much about what strangers think of you. I take Aussie pride in being a pig in public.
When I drop my guts in public, I let it roar load and proud. Leaning to one side and lifting a leg during the release clearly identifies me to bystanders as the source as well as giving vastly improved echo and reverb. I do agree with your prognosis, though, that those plastic chairs are absolutely the best sounding boards for amplifying the anal rattle.
Given that this is behaviour one would normally expect of bogan (chav) schoolboys, seeing a 46 year old man (usually wearing office clothes) carrying on like this definitely gets a reaction. It works a treat when you're in a crowded bus or train and need a bit of space...
Are there any adults who really haven't mastered the silent fart yet? Your sphincter control should be such that you can accurately let the gas out silently and without accidentally soiling yourself. The myth about women never farting is because they master this at a young age.
Sphincter control mastery is not a subject that we see to often on El Reg... I am not sure that it is a very common subject outside of the proctologists cabinet....
Ok those that practice their Kegels regulary might occasionaly give it a crossing thought but probably not for the same reason....
"Now they would be fun to test out."
Speak for yourself! Some of us consdider ourselves craftsmen in this particular avenue of life, and take joy and pride in the range of sounds and smells that can be achieved.
From the richly pungent, warm, fruity, sulphurous aroma of a good daisy cutter, right through to the sort of tasteable, dry, acrid phosphorous grenade. Or the lingering cumin-like background waft of a medium artillery salvo. Or the deeply aromatic shit-scented "bypass", invariably when you're touching cloth in a business meeting.
And as for the sounds - the creak of Dracula's coffin is a personal favourite, but a good noisy buttock-flapper is always one to raise the spirits. The hiss of death in a crowded lift can always be relied upon to strike fear into the hearts of fellow lift travellers. Or the perennial favourite, the SBD, or spod as it now seems to be more commonly referred to. And this last one is celebrated in music, being the inspiration for John Cage's seminal work, 4'33".
<--- You complete and utter bastard.
Trying to type through the tears here. You forgot to mention that you should never try to hold one in while trapped in a meeting. That way lies the Rising Squeaker. Correct technique is to relax completely and go for the SBD, although this does run the risk of the Basso Burble.
Can I point out an error in your terminology? If you're trying to suppress one, then it's not you that's trapped in the meeting, it's everybody else. As they will soon discover, once you manage to release the nostril offending goodness, in all it's glory. Preferably in a silent, non-traceable manner.
Can the trump sequestering wunderpants be temporarily disabled, if, for instance, one is in an elevator?
I'd like to see version 2 using the methane in a phone charging fuel cell, although I'm not sure how the collection interface might work. Presumably it would have to conform to standard skid-mark dimensions.
Can the trump sequestering wunderpants be temporarily disabled, if, for instance, one is in an elevator?
Presumably the only time you want to release a throat-gripper in the lift is while you are alone and to ensure that the next user gets to appreciate the full benefit of your digestive fermentations in a confined space. So, as there are no witnesses, just drop 'em and let rip.
The first law of farting already states that "Drop a gut buster in an empty lift, and it will stop at the next floor and one or more attractive women will get in, and give you a filthy look".
Your suggested strategem now involves the risk of the lift doors opening to reveal the Farticifer in the act with his trollies down, which is likely to have graver consequences than a dirty look. Of course, if you have the "car control" key, and can keep the doors closed at will then your proposal has some merit.
"The Japanese commercial looks like a gang of victims picking on the accused"
This could set a worrying precedent. Hopefully I will be protected by the UK's "hate crime" laws. In fact, should the lynch mob set upon me or my behind, I might even get a bob or two because my feelings have been hurt by the intolerance of my fellow workers.
for Natsume Souseki..
'You seem to do quite a lot of wandering about from place to place. This is so that you paint, is it?'
'Yes. All I take with me is my colour-box, but whether I actually produce a picture or not doesn't worry me.'
'So these trips are half for pleasure, are they?'
'Yes, I suppose you could say that. The fact is, I don't like having people count how many times I break wind.'
Zen priest though he was, this was one metaphor that apparently the abbot could not understand.
'What do you mean by "counting how many times you break wind"?'
'If you live in Tokyo for any length of time, you have your farts reckoned up.'
'How do you mean?'
'If that were all it wouldn't be so bad, but they do such unwarranted things as examining your backside to see whether your anus is triangular or square.'
From 'The Three-Cornered World', 1906.
ok this is quite the dilemma. I can hear my wife draining our bank account and ordering me one pair for every day of the year. However, nothing gives me more joy than to bust ass in an empty elevator (or full, assuming it wasn't chilli night, the previous evening). Or cropdusting HR, the mall, the grocery store, the movie theater, the houses of friends and families, aircraft during take off and landing, every government building I can get my ass into, and any new car I test drive.
I suppose I'd be interested in a low rise thong, but over all, I'm gonna miss sharing the funk
Or cropdusting HR, ..... and ..... every government building I can get my ass into"
No longer, young padawan, no longer.
Having 'fessed up on El Reg, the homeland security people will be on your case, and you are looking at a future every bit as gloomy (and every bit as undeserved) as Bradley Manning.
If it doesn't, everyone will be sniffing waiting for the inevitable result, which is probably just as bad. The best prevention is to be as silent as one can be, and ignore the "result".
On the other hand, methane is a major "greenhouse gas" if there ever was one (even more potent than CO2!). If this magic apparel reduces the methane by some magic means, will it be far behind (sorry) as being required to be work by every man, woman and child. Just sayin'
Well at last, a sensible solution for [gas] cloud storage - if you can access your output later - but count me out, I don't want to be around when you restore your viles.
On another note, I certainly did not know so many - er, men, right men? - were anally offensive and proud of it. Yes you are real pieces of work. Tell me again how fabulous you are? OOH you made a stinky smell. What the hell.
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