…Until the first whif of Ass Gas was released. It was a low rumble, deep in his bowels, and then the low humming sound of a diesel engine. The smell was horrid.
The burritos were confiscated of course, but it was too late.
Another rip of the ol’ chainsaw and I was feeling nauseous. But I still saw the look of abject horror on the face of B.
They say third time’s a charm. And they are right, but also so wrong. What came next forever changed the policy of eating in class.
The sound of a shart is distinct. And certainly more conspicuous. When heard it I knew, but I didn’t say anything. And neither did B. He sat there, pale faced and terrified, trying to focus on the lecture.
Eventually Mrs. J smelled it. When questioned, B did the only thing that made sense, he ran.
And I realized that he hadn’t sharted. He’d full on shit himself. Watery, runny, grossness followed him from his seat to the door, leaving a river of disappointment on the floor.
Class was cancelled, the hallway was quarantined, and most of the student body spent the day in the gym waiting for the halls to be cleansed of swamp water. I heard later that he’d been picked up by a police officer, as he was out of school without permission.
Apparently he smeared shit all over the cop and the squad car. As rumor has it, he resisted arrest.
No food in class after that. – LivelyGamer