Feast on My Rectal Savagery
I chose to
punish my enemies by farting on them.
This was not a flippant decision born of malice. I really had to fart. Might as well put that to good use, I
figured.
The hard
part (aside from holding back on farting until the situation was just right)
was gathering all of my enemies in one place.
One, small, airless place. A
place where they would be tightly packed together and find it hard to evacuate
quickly. I knew that they were such
horrible people that each would fight to be the first to leave.
Another
factor to consider was that some of my enemies were attached to people I didn’t
want subjected to the destruction to be unleashed. These were friends of mine for the most
part. Good friends, some of them, or, at
least, people undeserving of being farted on to the hellish degree that I
intended to fart. And when I say
“attached to” I mean it. These were
clusters of people, moving in intertwined (ineinandergreifend,
as we say in German) groups. I
determined to hand out personally addressed gas masks to those whom I intended
to spare. Just before the barrage I
would drop the life-saving protective gear and give the chosen ones a minute or
two to open their care packages, read the enclosed warning, grasp the import of
that message, and don the equipment.
Of course,
I haven’t even touched on the preparations I undertook to ensure that this
vengeful fart would be puissant enough to damage my enemies sufficiently, but
in a format such as this, it is important to follow the rules and end things on
time.
.
