There was a bloke who was absoulutely devoted to Baked beans. He ate thm at every chance he got. He adored them. He even found himself dreamimg about them. Unfortunately, they were not as fond of him as he was to them, and they always had a vicious reaction, making him fart like an elephant. One day he met a girl, and they fell in love. As their relationship deepened, he came to understand that they would get married, and he thought to himself, "She's a sweet and gentle girl. She'd never understand me farting all the time like a platoon of troopers," and realising how much it would embarrass and humiliate her, he decided to do the only thing he could- he gave up Baked Beans. Shortly after, they got married. Some months later, his car broke down, and, working in a village not that far from his home, he decided to walk home, there not being any taxis. He explained to his wife that he would be an hour or two late for dinner because of the breakdown. As he left his office, he thought, "I'll just pop in and grab a quick snack round the corner at the cafe, to fortify myself for the journey." But when he walked into the cafe, the scent of Baked Beans overwhelmed him. He thought about it, and decided that he would be able to walk the effects off on the way home, and he'd been so good for so long, and so he would treat himself, just this once. Next thing he knew, he had eaten four plates of beans. Even as he was leaving the cafe, he could feel the effects; he barely made it out the door before letting out a fart that rattled the window- panes. He farted constantly all the way home. Two hours latter, he was feeling confident that he had farted his last. He knocked on the door and his wife rushed out, hugging him impulsively and said "Oh, I'm glad to see you, darling. I have the most wonderful surprise for you for dinner tonight." She then blindfolded him, led him by the hand to the table and sat him down. She was about to remove the blindfold when the telephone rang. "I'll just be a moment, love," she told him. "Now wait there, and don't you dare touch that blindfold!" She dashed into the hall and closed the door. As she did so, a terrible spasm ripppled through his intestines- the beans' final message to his bottom. Thanking God that his wife was in the hall, he eased his weight onto one buttock and farted. It was a legendary thing; a fart that from the pages of history itself. It started off slow and squeaky, then rapidy grew in volume as it dropped in pitch, becoming so thunderous that the table rattled . It went on and on, for over 30 seconds. It stank like the very Pit itself, too; thick and sulphurous, with the sickly- sweet odour of rotting fruit. It was enough for him to gag slightly, and he had been used to his own wind for a long time. Grinning in amazement, he grapped his napkin from the table, and started fanning the air to disperse the astonishing last stand before his wife got back. The last vestiges of the scent of the stench were just fading, five minutes latter when his wife came back from the hall and apologised for taking so long. "Did you peek, darling?" He smiled and assured her that he had not moved a muscle. She went round behind him, hugged him and whipped the blindfold off. "You're going to be a father," she gushed, "and everyone's come round to celebrate!" His parents, his wife's parents, the vicar and his wife, the local GP and her husband and his boss and his wife all stared back at him, reproachfully.