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The Fart of War by Havok Halcyon
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...presents... The Fart of War
by Havok Halcyon
>>> a cDc publication.......1993 <<<
-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
I stride toward Period 6, Global Studies. Brooding intently and knowing
full well that I'm armed and dangerous, I grin to myself. The anger in me has
been building over countless periods. I hate this class, despise it. There is
not a more vile group of students and teacher put together on Earth. But,
today, now, things will change. Today it's my turn to cause the suffering.
I approach the door, slowly, rethinking my plan, and then walk confidently
into the doorway. Surveying the classroom, I nod approvingly. I make my way
to my seat, being sure to take off my coat insuring full exposure. It's
brewing. I can feel it. Bubbles slowly coalescing in my colon. It's brewing.
I seat myself firmly in my chair and wait. I turn and look at the back of
the seat, smiling inwardly, as I realize that it is the kind with that weird
hole in the back for no reason. Well today, that hole couldn't serve a better
purpose than for my revenge. You see, last night, at exactly 12:30 a.m. I
prepared my plan. Spread out before me was the gas connoisseur's delight.
Refried beans, a deep bowl of chili with extra beans, five tortillas, a large
container of beef and broccoli from The Golden Palace, and a box of prunes in
syrup to speed up the entire process. By 1:05, I was finished.
It takes about twelve hours for the fuel to work its way through my
system. I've timed things perfectly. It is now 12:20 in the afternoon and the
prunes obviously worked.
Fortunately, I remembered not to wear my boxers, so as to get as much
release with the least amount of filtration. Peeling back the velcro, I open
the patch on my pants and expose my dark anus beneath.
Small, quiet, heavy, perfect. It hangs stealthily.
The first victim is struck. The ugly cheerleader next to me rolls her
eyes back into her head, turning the corners of her overused mouth in two 70
degree down angles. Out comes a horrific yelp synonymous to a puppy being
slowly fed into a meat grinder. She throws her head back in an attempt to put
her nostrils above the slowly spreading brown cloud, but the cheerleader's
frail try for survival is without success, and she falls to the ground cold and
dead.
As the toxic fumes continue to spread, one victim after another is smote
by the Stench of Death. Muuuwaahahahahahahahah!!!! I laugh a black laugh.
Next to fall is the 'roided-up jock. Down prick, down! And then the prom
queen is felled, grabbing faithlessly at her superficial friends who are too
busy dying themselves. They are followed by my greasy, ignorant boob of a
teacher. Yes, down you balding weenie, down! One after another. All
horrible, painful deaths I love it.
The cloud consumes all, sucking the life from their lungs and filling them
with my life-stealing gas.
The room is quiet now. The death-struggles of my victims have created a
scene of scattered bodies, the faces of vicious death have surrounded me.
I laugh.
But wait, movement! Someone has survived! Did he hold his breath, does
he have a gas mask, is he immortal!?
Marc slowly staggers to his feet, grinning broadly. He is in awfully good
heath for someone who just faced a fate worse than the gas showers of
Auschwitz. "My nose is stuffed, you asshole," he utters. The bastard.
"SUCK METHANE, YOU PUTRID ENEMA FROM THE NEATHERWORLD!" I scream. With
that, I release my second wave of attack.
His face cringes, as if he had really nasty constipation. Have I got him?
Has the second gas offensive broken through his defenses?
No. Damnit. He smiles as the walls begin to shake and the floor rumbles.
I feel the pain of terror creep into my spine. He cut wind.
Marc opens his eyes and speaks. "I ate TWO cans of refried beans, THREE
deep bowls of chili with extra beans, TEN tortillas, an EXTRA large container
of beef and broccoli, TWO POUNDS of prunes in syrup, AND A WHOLE CURRY
CHICKEN!!!"
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. My second barrage
had no effect, and his cloud nearly has its mitts on me. I try, in a final
attempt to save my life, to release another gaseous volley. But alas, my
weapon jams, only to dump a load in my pants.
I feel the ghostly hands wring their dark fingers around my neck and
squeeze the life out of my body. The world becomes only flashing images of
brown with squishy sounds in the background... then black, then silence.
_______ __________________________________________________________________
/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
((___)) |Cool Beans!..........510/THE-COOL|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
[ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/468-5802|Moody Loners w/Guns.415/221-8608|
\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|The Body Electric...916/673-8412|
(' ') |ftp - zero.cypher.com in pub/cdc |ftp - ftp.eff.org in pub/cud/cdc|
(U) |==================================================================|
.ooM |1993 cDc communications by Havok Halcyon 07/01/93-#237|
\_______/|Seven SUPER-CALI-FRAGIL-ISTIC-EXPI-ALI-DOCIOUS years of cDc. K! |
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