The Winds of Romance

Story Sent in by Barbara:

I was having a decent if boring time out at dinner with Dale when he farted. He whooped and cheered, then raised his arms like a touchdown.

He asked, "What would you rate that one? A six? A seven?"

I said, "Ugh... like, a zero?"

He grabbed his beer and said, "Ah, fart juice," and drank down nearly half his glass at once.

He farted twice more over the course of the meal, each time cheering loudly for himself and rating the flatulence.

After the final time I asked him, "Could you stop that? It's sick."

He laughed and said, "Get used to it, if you really wanna spend a lifetime with me!"

I said, "Well, I don't."

That shut him up. It was as if he really didn't expect that answer and it really upset him. We split the check and he hurried away, never to take me out on another date again.


  1. Who the hell did this guy think he was, farting like it was some sort of super power?

  2. It's been said before. Welcome to guys. Or maybe it should be "Welcome to guys who have never mentally left junior high."


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.

Content Policy

A Bad Case of the Dates reserves the right to publish or not publish any submitted content at any time, and by submitting content to A Bad Case of the Dates, you retain original copyright, but are granting us the right to post, edit, and/or republish your content forever and in any media throughout the universe. If Zeta Reticulans come down from their home planet to harvest bad dating stories, you could become an intergalactic megastar. Go you!

A Bad Case of the Dates is not responsible for user comments. We also reserve the right to delete any comments at any time and for any reason. We're hoping to not have to, though.

Aching to reach us? abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com.