The Revenge of an East Bohemian Gas Warrior


Danger of letting one rip when chopping of feet by dropping something of 18kg or heavierThe Chili is bubbling away on the pot like a witch’s cauldron. I am sitting at the table, sipping a Gambrinus while eating an appetizer of sausages with Sauerkraut.

My stomach sends forth a rumble from its very pit and I smile like an evil genius. I seal the deal by opening the soy dip and crackers and filling up a bowl with chili.

After I eat and drink to absolute capacity, it is ready for action. I feel another angry lurch in my intestinal system and leave my flat. I hit the button to the lift.

See, it all started today at 7 a.m.

First there was the drilling and the hammering. This lasted for so long that it was like that recurring nightmare of being locked in a room with Megadeath. When that stopped, the momentary and joyous quiet was filled with several idiots shouting to each other in either incredibly bad Czech or incredibly drunken Ukrainian. I stepped into the shower and turned on the water, which refused to go from bitter cold to warm. My mood was less than good.

My neighbors had left two notes of apology on the door to the building, a social norm in Prague. As if the hours of disruption and annoyance are nullified by a piece of paper on a door. The first was an apology for the noisy flat renovation and the other for the lack of hot water, which was due to a different flat renovation. A woman coming into the building refused to reply to my “Dobrý den” (good day).

Enough is enough. Revenge was now warranted.

I went off to the grocery store and while roaming the aisles, decided that a gastronomical revenge was the best way to get even with my rude neighbors. Everything I bought at the store was meant to aggravate one’s flatulent reflex – cabbage, beer, chili con carne, beans, milk, sausage, soy dip, Becherovka. I am not sure about the Becherovka, but it goes really well with the other stuff.

And now, after a day of consuming these products my stomach and intestines begin sending urgent messages that beg for relief. These messages become more and more urgent as my day of ill-consumption continues and peaks with the chili.

As each pang of flatulent urgency hits, I step into the hallway with a handful of mail or a bag of trash and hit the button for the lift. On my way down to running my chores, I satisfy these intestinal urges with esoteric enthusiasm and get out at my appointed junction. Each time, I am wearing a smile of genuine happiness.

I find myself in the common areas of the building more often today than in the last three months combined – checking the mail (3x), bringing out trash (3x), recycling (4x), meandering aimlessly (8x), admiring the bulletin board (2x: ironically, there is an advertisement concerning a gas relief medication).

Each time I get off the lift, I leave my gaseous revenge behind me in the seven-foot by three-foot space.

On my last journey of the day – who knew how exhausting revenge-farting was – I steal the gas medication flier and prop it to the wall in the lift.

My rewards are the myriad shouts of “Ty Vole!” and “Jesus Maria!” and “Fuj!” of my neighbors as they get on the lift. It’s too good to miss, so I sit by my front door with a bag of popcorn and enjoy the music of suffering.

The moral to this story – don’t piss off a guy who lacks morals and a sense of smell.

What should my apology note read?

  1. #1 by Nate on December 12, 2011 - 3:21 pm

    Your note should say “So sorry, but loud noises and lack of sleep make me fart in elevators.“Dobrý den (good day).”

    Brilliant post, Damien.

    • #2 by Damien Galeone on December 12, 2011 - 3:53 pm

      Thanks, Nate! You know, I could always use a comrade in mustard gassing if you should ever want to visit Prague.

  2. #3 by Chris on December 12, 2011 - 3:54 pm

    Several notes of interest.
    1- I don’t believe you went shopping for the items in order to produce the desired results… I think you bought them and you started ripping ass like Norm in a late Cheers and decided to use it to your advantage… All in all…. still well played.
    2- At first I thought it was strange that a non-response to your ‘Good Day’ would send you over the edge.. then I realized you’re a Galeone… That actually makes perfect sense..
    3- Lastly, for people that think Damien is exaggerating about the size of his elevator please see for yourself. This thing is tiny… It is the opposite contraption two drunken Galeone boys (whose combined weight is closer to 500 than 400) should be on.

    Great post.

  3. #4 by Andy on December 12, 2011 - 4:45 pm

    I swear I remember that elevator’s size being measured in inches, not feet; though considering its current use, perhaps volume would be a better unit of measurement. Great post, D.

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