NOTE: The following story is fictional. Any similarities to real people or events is purely coincidental.
I had always been a crazy kid. My parents often needed to restrict me from eating foods that might cause me to get hyperactive. But, I always had ways to get around my limitations... well, almost always...
This one time, my parents sent me to my room immediately after dinner, saying I couldn't have dessert. They told me they were having blueberry pie, and it "would be for my own good if I didn't have it" because it supposedly made me hyper and gave me gas. I sauntered upstairs and dejectedly slammed my bedroom door shut. Kicking at my shoes in the middle of the room, I plopped down on my bed and mumbled foul words under my breath.
I've always been a crafty one, as my mom says, and I never gave up without a fight. My mind raced as I tried to find a way to get out of my assigned "imprisonment". Then , a light bulb flashed over my head and I had an idea! I grabbed my bedsheet and tied it to my lovely leather whip, making a rope over 20 feet long. Fortunately, the kitchen was right under my bedroom, and the kitchen door was always unlocked. I secured one end of my homemade rope to my bedpost, and lowered myself out the window. After rappelling down the length of the gutter, I jumped down onto the walkway and slowly pushed the door open. I peered inside to make sure the coast was clear. I crept inside the kitchen, and looked up at the pie, which was sitting tantalizingly on the counter. I slowly extended my hand up, and right as I was about to grab the pie tin, a huge fart escaped my bowels. I heard my dad yelling, "What the hell was that?!" from the living room and the pounding of feet coming towards me. "Greg! Was that you?" he yelled as he approached me. I quickly scrambled to my feet, dropping the pie, and bolted towards the open door. My escape failed; my dad saw my rear end as I flew out the door. I tried climbing back up the rope, but by that time my dad was grabbing my ankles. Hopeless, I finally let go of the rope and fell to the floor. Without saying a word, my dad grabbed me, slung me over his shoulder and carried me through the kitchen and into the living room. My mom and brother were watching Wheel of Fortune on television, and my dad announced that "there was going to be a better show right there in the living room". He bent me over and pulled down my pants, exposing my white butt to the audience of my giggling brother and my clearly shocked mom. He drew his hand back, and right as he slapped my buttocks, guess what? --"SLAAAP!---FRRRRRT!" Yes, I farted. "Aw, damn!" my dad yelled, "Get your stinking butt out of my face!" I pulled up my pants, laughing uncontrollably, and as I left the room my brother gave me a congratulatory wink.
It seemed I always had the best timing when it came to gas (this includes belches and farts) , which I must say is my field of expertise. One bright and sunny afternoon we were to attend a wedding. I never really enjoyed weddings -- for some reason, they depressed me. Maybe because it was such a big commitment to make, one that would change the rest of your life, take away your freedom, and turn you into a whipped, spineless, stationwagon-driving bundle of nerves who is no longer worthy to be called "man". Anyway, I had to go to some dippy wedding with my parents. My brother, the lucky bum, had gotten out of it by getting mono and was at home, lying in bed and choking on his own tongue. At the wedding, I discovered the location of the refreshments, which were to be served after the ceremony. I slipped a Sprite into my jacket pocket. I can honestly say that I was dying of thirst, because it was some lame outdoor ceremony and all of the nicely done up brides' maids were probably getting all sweaty and nasty in their fancy dresses under the 90 degree sun.
Well, I stepped behind a tree, popped open the can and took a long swig, draining all the sweet soda I could get. I sighed satisfactedly, and walked over to where my parents were sitting and casually joined them. It was halfway through the ceremony that I realized that I hadn't had a sprelch. To those of you who don't know what a sprelch is, I better explain right now. Sprite was my favorite soda, and every time I drank one, and I really mean every time, I would always have one huge belch afterwards. This special burp came to be known as a sprelch among me and my friends, resulting in the combination of the two words: SPRite + bELCH= SPRELCH. Well, this time at the wedding was the first time I hadn't sprelched in my life. I nervously began wringing my hands, knowing that sooner or later, I would have to sprelch. I felt the gas coming up my esophagus, and I could tell it was going to be HUGE. I figured that if I was going to sprelch right then and there at the wedding, I might as well make it worth it. I really didn't care about the bride or the groom; they were both a couple of slack-jawed, buck-toothed geeks who probably deserved the punishment of spending the rest of their lives with the other. I could keep myself from sprelching for long enough until I had the best opportunity, which finally presented itself: the minister babbled on, "... if anyone objects to these two people gettting married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace...". It was perfectly silent, until I literally exploded, letting out all the gas I could in the shortest amount of time, creating the biggest sprelch known to man.
The dorky groom was the first one to respond, and he let out a goofy "hyuck!". I think he was trying to chuckle, but whatever the case was, my parents grabbed me by the arms and, trying to excuse themselves as politely as they could under the circumstances, they carried me off into the church. I had created an uproar among the rest of the guests, who responded in different ways. The other slack-jawed goofballs who I guessed were the bride's and groom's relatives actually laughed and applauded! The other guests, who were for the most part normal, remained flabberghasted at my nerve and my crudeness. My parents whisked me into the church, where they gave me the biggest lecture in my life. As I expected, they kept saying how much they've done for me and how could I embarass them like this? I gave my apology and they shook their heads in disbelief as we walked back outside. They told me after the ceremony was over, they would make me get up in front of everyone and apologize. Oh, wonderful, I thought to myself. When I got up in front of everyone I saw both grins and frowns on the faces of the guests, and a low murmur came over the crowd. I looked over at my parents who were coaxing me with their hands to get on with it. And would you guess what I did then? I had the first post-sprelch I ever had in my life and I belched the phrase, "I'M SO SORRY FOLKS!". Everyone was shocked at my incredible gall to give an encore presentation to my previous performance.
Needless to say, I was taken home, where I was given the biggest lecture and punishment I have ever had in my life.
Continued in Part II...