THE PAPARAZZI FART
by D. M. Larson
Have you ever farted in front of a fan? I call it a paparazzi, because farting in front of a fan is like some terrible stalker that follows you and you can’t escape.
The worst one I’ve ever done was my first. I had the ultimate silent but deadly gas bomb seep from me. I happened to be standing in front of a fan at the time. The results were glorious.
This ultimate gas passing experience was a mix of nerves and a bean burrito, one of those frozen burritos that are made from the cheapest mystery beans ever grown. I wanted to talk to my teacher about something personal and there was only a short time before the whole class would get back from gym. I snuck out early so I could talk to the teacher alone. It was a hot day in May and the teacher had a big fan pointed at the classroom to keep things cool. As I approached, I felt my stomach churn and deposit something painful into my bowels. I bent forward a bit and my teacher looked concerned. I started talking to hide the noise of the gas escaping out of me. At first I was thankful it was silent, but then I realized I was standing in front of the fan and the whole class walked in. The deadliest bottom sewage smell I ever produced oozed from me and filled the air. Students screamed and gasped. Chaos swarmed the room. I looked at the teacher who couldn’t tell what was going on since he was on the other side of the fan. The class struggled into their desks with their noses pinched and mouths moaning.
I don’t even remember what I wanted to talk to my teacher about, but I sure remember that fart. It was glorious.
END OF MONOLOGUE
