IT'S A CURRY!

Inexperienced Curry Taster

Notes from an inexperienced curry taster named Frank, who was visiting Phoenix, Durban from the U.S.

"Recently I was honoured to be selected as a judge at a curry cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking directions to the beer wagon when the call came. I was assured by the other two judges (couple of local Indians) that the curry wouldn't be all that spicy, and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted. Here are the scorecards from the event."

Curry # 1: Manoj's Maniac Mobster Monster Curry

Judge One: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.

Judge Two: Nice, smooth tomato flavour. Very mild.

Frank: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These char o's are crazy.

Curry # 2: Applesamy's Afterburner Curry

Judge One: Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.

Judge Two: Exciting BBQ flavour, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.

Frank: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich manoeuvre. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

Curry # 3: Farouk's Famous Burn Down the Barn curry

Judge One: Excellent firehouse curry! Great kick. Needs more beans.

Judge Two: A beanless curry, a bit salty, good use of red peppers.

Frank: Call Colesburg, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now, get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced from all the beer.

Curry # 4: Barbu's Black Magic

Judge One: Black bean curry with almost no spice. Disappointing.

Judge Two: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a curry.

Frank: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it, is it possible to burn-out taste buds? Savathree, the bar maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. bitch is starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear waste I'm eating. Is curry an aphrodisiac?

Curry # 5: Laveshnee's Legal Lip Remover

Judge One: Meaty, strong curry. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.

Judge Two: Curry using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.

Frank: My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her curry had given me brain damage. Savathree saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off? It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw those char o's!

Curry # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety

Judge One: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety curry. Good balance of spice and peppers.

Judge Two: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.

Frank: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I shit myself when I farted and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut Savathree, she must be kinkier than I thought. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!

Curry # 7: Sugash's Screaming Sensation Curry

Judge One: A mediocre curry with too much reliance on canned peppers.

Judge Two: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of curry peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.

Frank: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel damn thing. I've lost the sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with curry which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava-like shit to match my damn shirt. At least during the autopsy they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful. Screw it, I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4 inch hole in my stomach.

Curry # 8: Hansraj's Mount Saint Curry

Judge One: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend curry, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.

Judge Two: This final entry is a good, balanced curry, neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out, fell over and pulled the curry pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor Yank, wonder how he'd have reacted to a really hot curry?

Frank: (editor's note: Judge #3 was unable to report)

JUST A SHIT JOKE....

THE GHOST SHIT The kind where you feel shit come out, see shit on the toilet paper, but there's no shit in the bowl. THE CLEAN SHIT The kind where you feel shit come out, see shit in the bowl, but there's no shit on the toilet paper. THE WET SHIT You wipe your ass fifty times and it still feels unwiped. So you end up putting toilet paper between your ass and your underwear so you dont ruin them with those dreadful skid marks. THE SECOND WAVE SHIT This shit happens when you've finished, your pants are up to your knees,and you suddenly realize you have to shit some more. THE BRAIN HEMORRAHAGE THROUGH YOUR NOSE SHIT Also known as "Pop a Vein in your Forehead Shit". You have to strain so much to get it out that you turn purple and practically have a stroke. THE CORN SHIT No explanation necessary. THE LINCOLN LOG SHIT The kind of shit that's so enormous you're afraid to flush it down without first breaking it up into little pieces with the toilet brush. THE NOTORIOUS DRINKER SHIT The kind of shit you have the morning after a long night of drinking. It's most noticeable trait is the tread mark left on the bottom of the toilet bowl after you flush. THE "GEE, I REALLY WISH I COULD SHIT" SHIT- The kind where you want to shit, but even after straining your guts out all you can do is sit on the toilet, cramped and farting. THE WET CHEEKS SHIT Also known as the "Power Dump". That's the kind that comes out of your ass so fast that your butt cheeks get splashed with the toilet water. THE LIQUID SHIT That's the kind where yellowish-brown liquid shoots out of your butt, splashes all over the side of the toilet bowl and, at the same time, chronically burns your tender poop-chute. THE MEXICAN FOOD SHIT A class all its own. THE CROWD PLEASER This shit is so intriguing in size and/or appearance that you have to show it to someone before flushing. THE MOOD ENHANCER This shit occurs after a lengthy period of constipation, thereby allowing you to be your old self again. THE RITUAL This shit occurs at the same time each day and is accomplished with the aid of a newspaper. THE GUINNESS BOOK OF RECORDS SHIT A shit so noteworthy it should be recorded for future generations. THE AFTERSHOCK SHIT This shit has an odour so powerful than anyone entering the vicinity within the next 7 hours is affected. THE "HONEYMOON'S OVER" SHIT This is any shit created in the presence of another person. THE GROANER A shit so huge it cannot exit without vocal assistance. THE FLOATER Characterized by its floatability, this shit has been known to resurface after many flushings. THE RANGER A shit which refuses to let go. It is usually necessary to engage in a rocking or bouncing motion, but quite often the only solution is to push it away with a small piece of toilet paper. THE PHANTOM SHIT This appears in the toilet mysteriously and no one will admit to putting it there. THE PEEK-A-BOO SHIT Now you see it, now you don't. This shit is playing games with you. Requires patience and muscle control. THE BOMBSHELL A shit that comes as a complete surprise at a time that is either inappropriate to shit (ie. during lovemaking or a root canal) or you are nowhere near shitting facilities. THE SNAKE CHARMER A long skinny shit which has managed to coil itself into a frightening position - usually harmless. THE OLYMPIC SHIT This shit occurs exactly one hour prior to the start of any competitive event in which you are entered and bears a close resemblance to the Drinker's Shit. THE BACK-TO-NATURE SHIT This shit may be of any variety but is always deposited either in the woods or while hiding behind the passenger side of your car. THE PEBBLES-FROM-HEAVEN SHIT An adorable collection of small turds in a cluster, often a gift from God when you actually CAN'T shit. PREMEDITATED SHIT Laxative induced. Doesn't count. SHITZOPHERENIA Fear of shitting - can be fatal! ENERGIZER vs DURACELL SHIT Also known as a "Still Going" shit. THE POWER DUMP SHIT The kind that comes out so fast, you barely get your pants down when you're done. THE LIQUID PLUMBER SHIT This kind of shit is so big it plugs up the toilet and it overflows all over the floor. (You should have followed the advice from the Lincoln Log Shit.) THE SPINAL TAP SHIT The kind of shit that hurts so much coming out, you'd swear it's got to be coming out sideways. THE "I THINK I'M GIVING BIRTH THROUGH MY ASSHOLE" SHIT Similar to the Lincoln Log and The Spinal Tap Shits. The shape and size of the turd resembles a tall boy beer can. Vacuous air space remains in the rectum for some time afterwards. THE PORRIDGE SHIT The type that comes out like toothpaste, and just keeps on coming. You have two chooces: (a) flush and keep gong, or (b) risk it piling up to your butt while you sit there helpless. THE "I'M GOING TO CHEW MY FOOD BETTER" SHIT When the bag of Dorritos you ate last night lacerates the insides of your rectum on the way out in the morning. THE "I THINK I'M TURNING INTO A BUNNY" SHIT When you drop lots of cute, little round ones that look like marbles and make tiny splashing sounds when they hit the water. THE "WHAT THE HELL DIED IN HERE?" SHIT Also sometimes referred to as The Toxic Dump. Of course you don't warn anyone of the poisonous bathroom odour. Instead, you stand innocently near the door and enjoy the show as they run out gaggin and gasping for air. THE "I JUST KNOW THERE'S A TURN STILL DANGLING THERE" SHIT Where you just sit there patiently and wait for the last cling-on to drop off because if you wipe now, it's going to smear all over the place. THE "YOU'VE GOT SHIT ON YOUR SHOES, YOU SHIT SHOE BASTARD" SHIT No explanation required.

CYBERING

As all of you are well aware, online computers are often used to engage in cyber sex. Detailed and erotic fantasies are typed into the computer to be instantly transmitted over the Internet.

Sometimes these harmless fantasies become fairly raunchy. This is not the case with the following transcript of an on-line cyber sex session. It is reported to be true conversation but I have not been able to determine the original source.

If it is true, either this guy is clueless or has the greatest sense of humour known to mankind. ___________________________________________________ __

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing an expensive red silk blouse, a black leather mini skirt and high heeled boots. I am tan and very buffed. I workout everyday. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 lb. I wear glasses and have on a pair of blue sweatpants I just bought at Asda. I'm also wearing an old T-shirt, it's got some barbecue sauce stains on it and it smells kind of funny.

Sweetheart: I want you. Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK

Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom. There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my night-stand. I look up into your eyes and I'm smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and I begin to feel your huge swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I'm gulping. I'm beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now, I'm unbuttoning your blouse. My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.

Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and I'm sliding it softly off.

Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure. The cool silk slides off of my warm body. I'm rubbing your bulge faster now, rubbing and pulling.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and tears a hole in your blouse. I'm sorry.

Sweetheart: That's, OK. It wasn't really too expensive.

Wellhung: I'll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don't worry about it! I'm wearing a lacy black bra, my soft breasts are rising and falling as I breathe harder and harder.

Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp of your bra, I think it's stuck. Do you have scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly, I reach behind my back and undo the clasp. My bra slides off. The cool air caresses my breasts, my nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby, I just want to feel your tongue all over me.

Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!

Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.

Sweetheart: WHAT?

Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off of my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I'm taking your sopping wet blouse from you and throwing it in the corner of the room.

Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweatpants down and rubbing your hard tool.

Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman! Your hands are cold! Yeee!

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out and nibbling on you. Ummm, wait a second.

Sweetheart: What's the matter?

Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.

Sweetheart: Is there anything I can do to help?

Wellhung: running to the kitchen. Choking wildly. Looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups??

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink!

Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There that's better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I'm aching for you lover.

Wellhung: Now I'm drying the cup. I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait it's dark, I'm lost. Where is the bedroom?

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I'm tugging off your pants. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Sweetheart: I kiss you passionately. Our naked bodies pressed against each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don't you take your glasses off?

Wellhung: OK. But I can't see very well. I'm placing my glasses on the nightstand.

Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly to the bathroom

Sweetheart: Hurry back lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet and lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What's the matter now?

Wellhung: I just realised I peed in your hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bed now. Blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: Now I'm going to put my, you know, thing in your umm, woman's thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, Baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. Ma'am, I'm having a little problem here.

Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth. I can't wait another second. Slide it in! Screw me!

Wellhung: I'm flaccid.

Sweetheart: WHAT?

Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm looking for my glasses to see what the problem is.

Sweetheart: NO! Never mind. I'm getting dressed, I'm putting on my underwear and my wet nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait. I can't find the night table. I'm reaching across the dresser, knocking off cans of hairspray, your picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. I'm putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: Now I've found my glasses. My God! One of your candles fell on the curtain! The curtain is on fire. I'm pointing at it with a shocked look on my face.

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Nooooooo!

Sweetheart: Go to hell! I'm logging off......

BOTTOM TOOTING..

THIS IS DOING THE ROUNDS ON SOCIAL MEDIA AND ITS JUST TOO FUNNY NOT TO SHARE (come on ladies how many of you been in this situation)

My sister in law posted this and found it hysterical and thought you might also.
This is definitely one story you must read and pass on. Especially if you need a good laugh:

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history.

Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him.

Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry.

Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?

That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.

Then I realized

My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

HOW DO YOU TELL A MAN YOU JUST STARTED DATING, THAT THE REASON YOU ARE WRITHING IN PAIN IS BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO FART.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out.

The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.

However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it.

Maybe I’m home free.

Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way.

More like a “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you …”

then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes.

Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids,

“Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably.

I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.

“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

toot toot splatter ungodly noise

“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re …”

“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”

This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this … “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.