I had just finished eating take-out BBQ (pork ribs) with my fiancé (still hate that word), and had given some of the scraps to my dog because I knew it would be the most exciting part of her week. We were laying in bed watching TV and I got smacked in the face with this horrible, hot fart that was so disgusting that it barely seemed possible that it was even organic. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to see if he was gonna mention it, but he just kept staring straight ahead at the television. A few minutes later, another, more lethal one arrived. This time, I got up and walked over to the other side of the room and pretended to look for something in my purse. He obviously didn't want to talk about what was going on with his ass, and I thought that since he was too embarrassed to talk about it, it would be even more more embarrassing for me to confront him on it. And I figured that if the smell was any indication, he must be in severe stomach pain.

Thirty minutes and about 15 more incidents like that later I started to get really annoyed. The farts were getting worse and more frequent, and it felt like they were altering the temperature in the room... and the stench was such that it was literally clouding my ability to complete a crossword puzzle. Finally, after another bomb was dropped, I slammed my book down in annoyance and looked at him. In a super bitchy tone I was like, "It stinks in here."

Then he said, "I know. I think Edie [the dog] is farting like crazy." I was like, "Wait, that's not you!?"

He said, "No way! I thought it was you, because I know you just got your period and you have diarrhea and I felt bad for you at first but then I realized that this is so bad that it can't be human." My heart warmed up like a pork-ribs dog fart at the idea that he 1.) knows that I get diarrhea on the first day of my period and 2.) he accepts it as a way of life. We kicked the dog out of the room and locked the door.

The moral of the story is that if we hadn't been so polite to each other, we wouldn't have had to sit in unimaginable stink for a good portion of the night. The problem though, is that farting, accidental spitting, hanging boogers, stinking up the bathroom, etc. are such taboo topics that even etiquette experts are too polite to discuss solutions for how to deal with such situations, so we're left to our own devices to make it up as we go along.

The silver lining is that now I'm mulling over my own etiquette rule for this (not just with my fiancé but with anyone that's stinking up the room with their asses): Ask the person you're with, in a really sympathetic way, furrowed brow and all, if they are feeling alright. Coming off as understanding of a belly ache will diffuse some of the embarrassment, and will also give them the hint to either plug it up or leave the room when they have to release. Then everyone will be able to breathe a little easier.

I know that feeling this way is misogynistic and very immature—so don't belabor those points, and if you must just e-mail me—but I really can't deal with the fact that women poop. Sorry. Hearing them fart is bad enough, but seeing them grab the Charmin Ultra economy pack gives me panic attacks the likes of which I haven't seen since I believed in cooties.

POINT (ANNA): Who would have thought that I'd ever defend Jessica Biel? But this sorta stuff is precisely why I often hate gossip blogs. (Sadly, Jezebel has been accused of being such a blog!). Most of them feature offensive, misogynist bullshit usually written by men with a penchant for objectifying and critiquing women's bodies. In fact, every day, one of these sites has at least one (although usually more like five to ten!) nasty posts about the latest starlet to you know, display some cellulite, leave the house without makeup, or — horrors — not starve herself to below 100 lbs. quickly enough after giving birth. It's their bread and butter. These bloggers get particularly up in arms over women displaying any sort of bodily function, like, you know, sweat stains. (For one particular blogger, crude scribblings meant to denote urine streams are a favorite insult.) Such posts, although funny at times, send the message readers (most of whom are fairly young, fairly impressionable females) that any woman who, you know, isn't a well-preserved living doll with perfectly formed breasts, a thick coat of makeup and 15% body fat, is somehow unclean, undesirable, unfeminine. Here's a news bulletin for all those men (and women!) out there who hate the idea that a woman has bodily functions: Get over it! I did! Like, when I was, oh, about fifteen (and I'm not even that mature!). In fact, right now, my uterus is about to begin contracting and expelling the lining that's been building up up in it for the past few days, just waiting for chance to nourish a baby. This lining will exit via my vagina, in the form of blood and, sometimes, clots of tissue. (As in the fleshy stuff, not Kleenex!) This happens about once a month. More than once a month? Other things happen. Like peeing! Shitting! Oh, and farting is also a common occurrence — did you read our post about farting from Monday? — and if I eat 'right' (read: 'eat bad') I can keep up with the best of 'em! (Sometimes I even fart in front of my boyfriend! If he does it, why can't I?). Call me gross (yes!), call me humorless (sure!), call me whatever. (Pre-menstrual? Absolutely!) But women are taught to hate themselves enough as it is. Let's not teach the young'uns out there that fucking toilet paper is something to be ashamed of.

COUNTERPOINT (MOE): In China, where I happened to endure puberty, one of the ways Mao humbled (humiliated, same diff) the population was by making all the bathrooms these communal open air affairs where you'd literally just pick a spot over an anemic stream of water and defecate into a hole, all in front of your fellow womyn. If I grew up in that country and still have problems with other people knowing I shit then it must be in my DNA somehow. And even during the height of the Cultural Revolution they allowed the men and the ladies to shit separately. I am making that up but I'm pretty sure it's true, because if they hadn't no one would have ever gotten laid! And then they'd have worse population problems than they already do. Fantasies like the shitless Jessica Biel might just keep the human race human.

No Shit [MollyGood]
Earlier: Farts Are Funny! Except, You Know, At The Gym, During Sex, Etc.
Related: The Wow Of Poo [Nerve]

I was kicking ass on the treadmill at the gym, and was totally in the zone. It was awesome! Then, it hit my nostrils like a bee smacking the glass door. Worse even, it was one of those thick stanky rotten egg laced with some skunk clouds that you can practically taste and my mouth was open. Major disgusting! I gagged some and had to put my towel over my nose and mouth until the fart twister moved to the south.

That description — "major disgusting" even by our pathetic standards — comes courtesy of Stephanie Quilao, the blogger behind the blog Back In Skinny Jeans. Stephanie was so repulsed by the fart she encountered, that instead of, you know, simply switching machines, she stuck around to try and figure out who the culprit was.

Directly next to me was a tiny zaftig Mexican woman about 5'2" about late 40's-early 50's. I wanna call her Rosa. Next to her one treadmill apart was a tall Black man about 6'1" about my dad's age who looked like he could be Bill Cosby's cousin on his dad's side. I'll call him Frank.

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Blowing Hot Air [OneDAtATime]
Who Farted On The Treadmill? [BackInSkinnyJeans]