Skip to content
A ship’s crew spots a man drifting alone in the middle of the ocean, clinging to life.
They rush to haul him aboard, dripping and sunburned, a pitiful sight after what must’ve been days at sea.
As the captain steps forward to greet him, the man suddenly lets out the most vile, thunderous, gut-wrenching fart ever heard on the seven seas.
It’s long, wet, and unapologetically proud—like something that could peel paint off the hull.
The crew reels back, gagging and gasping for air.
Even the captain, a man who’d weathered storms and smelled bilge water in every port, stumbles back clutching his nose.
“Good Lord, man!” the captain chokes out. “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you do that in the water?”
The castaway looks up weakly, wipes the salt from his eyes, and says, “What do you think was keeping me afloat?”
