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R. Linda:
You shifted to turn back around when your tee shirt got caught on a piece of metal strapping. As you went to grab it off the protruding metal, the pocket of your tee spilled out a packet of chocolate flavored chewing gum into our outstretched hands below.
"NOOO!" You screamed, as we stuffed our faces devouring the stuff.
"Ya noz aftah a few bities dis stuffins loses its flavour." Weasil said trying to chew with his broken teeth.
You had your face covered by your hands as you shook your head back and forth in consternation.
Suddenly all of us knew why. We all rushed for the rest rooms, getting wedged in the doorway struggling to get into the water closet. It was terrible, there we were with no outlet, and gassing ourselves to death. Oi!
"If you had all waited, I would have told you it was laxative gum!" You shouted down at us. "I got it for my dad and forgot I even had it until now."
To get away from the ghastly smell you turned tail and headed back down the air shaft, not so much to find a way out, but to get away from us. Once you got to the cross ducts you made a left turn this time and crawled as fast as you could to be ahead of the gaseous mass floating into the ducts.
You made it to the lobby and discovered with glee, you were ground level and the vent casing was loose. The lobby was practically empty as people ran screaming for the exits. Their noses covered, Fat Farm employees ran for fresh air, yes, the gas from our enclosed room was being circulated throughout the entire building and you can guess the effect it was having.
You started laughing hysterically as you got out of the vent and made it to the outside free of the Fat Farm Patrol (who were too busy gasping for air) and into the fresh air. You took off running across the street, climbed the fence to your chopper. The key was on the wall of the open garage and there you had it and away you went out the back way, over the dirt bike field to the wide hole in the fence that the teenage bikers made so they could use the dirt bike field when no one was around. Out you went to the Colorado Underground Mall and if we were to see you again, we'd be lucky.
Meanwhile, we were passing out in an enclosed room, as we desperately tried to build a pyramid from the folding chairs to get us up the air shafts, so we too could escape not only the gas in the room, but each other. It took some courage and mighty breath holding but we managed to get a ladder of sorts built of folding chairs, and the empty banquet table that had held the gigantic salad that started all the ruckus in the first place.
The ladies went first, then the men, me and Weasil holding the chairs as still and steady as we could until we were the last ones. Frantically we climbed up until we realised we WERE the last ones and the gas coming at us from ahead and below, was enough to kill an elephant. But we prevailed. We had ripped our shirts to make masks for our faces, now we tucked the cloth into our shirt collars to keep the air we were breathing as gas free as possible. We could hear shouting, "Go left, go left!" and knew everyone didn't make the potato mistake, they kept on until we all, one by one, made it the lobby and out the doors. Some collapsed on the ground from the stench, but not me and Weasil, I had donuts swimming in me head for some unknown reason, and was determined to get me one somewhere, no matter what. I ran off down the street toward the underground mall knowing there was a donut haven down there. As for Weasil, I don't know what direction he went, but he was the last thing on me mind as I ran down the middle of the street, me long legs kicking up dirt, the shirt mask still over me mouth, me arms pumping, I must have looked like Ichabod Crane fleeing the headless horseman.
Once I reached that mall, I swore to meself I was never coming out. If I gained 250 lbs. so be it, I'd become Jabba the Hut so what. I didn't care, I never wanted to see a salad again, never wanted to be picked up by the Fat Farm Police, and never, ever wanted to be without a donut ever agin. CHOCIE FOREVER!
THE END
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
You shifted to turn back around when your tee shirt got caught on a piece of metal strapping. As you went to grab it off the protruding metal, the pocket of your tee spilled out a packet of chocolate flavored chewing gum into our outstretched hands below.
"NOOO!" You screamed, as we stuffed our faces devouring the stuff.
"Ya noz aftah a few bities dis stuffins loses its flavour." Weasil said trying to chew with his broken teeth.
You had your face covered by your hands as you shook your head back and forth in consternation.
Suddenly all of us knew why. We all rushed for the rest rooms, getting wedged in the doorway struggling to get into the water closet. It was terrible, there we were with no outlet, and gassing ourselves to death. Oi!
"If you had all waited, I would have told you it was laxative gum!" You shouted down at us. "I got it for my dad and forgot I even had it until now."
To get away from the ghastly smell you turned tail and headed back down the air shaft, not so much to find a way out, but to get away from us. Once you got to the cross ducts you made a left turn this time and crawled as fast as you could to be ahead of the gaseous mass floating into the ducts.
You made it to the lobby and discovered with glee, you were ground level and the vent casing was loose. The lobby was practically empty as people ran screaming for the exits. Their noses covered, Fat Farm employees ran for fresh air, yes, the gas from our enclosed room was being circulated throughout the entire building and you can guess the effect it was having.
You started laughing hysterically as you got out of the vent and made it to the outside free of the Fat Farm Patrol (who were too busy gasping for air) and into the fresh air. You took off running across the street, climbed the fence to your chopper. The key was on the wall of the open garage and there you had it and away you went out the back way, over the dirt bike field to the wide hole in the fence that the teenage bikers made so they could use the dirt bike field when no one was around. Out you went to the Colorado Underground Mall and if we were to see you again, we'd be lucky.
Meanwhile, we were passing out in an enclosed room, as we desperately tried to build a pyramid from the folding chairs to get us up the air shafts, so we too could escape not only the gas in the room, but each other. It took some courage and mighty breath holding but we managed to get a ladder of sorts built of folding chairs, and the empty banquet table that had held the gigantic salad that started all the ruckus in the first place.
The ladies went first, then the men, me and Weasil holding the chairs as still and steady as we could until we were the last ones. Frantically we climbed up until we realised we WERE the last ones and the gas coming at us from ahead and below, was enough to kill an elephant. But we prevailed. We had ripped our shirts to make masks for our faces, now we tucked the cloth into our shirt collars to keep the air we were breathing as gas free as possible. We could hear shouting, "Go left, go left!" and knew everyone didn't make the potato mistake, they kept on until we all, one by one, made it the lobby and out the doors. Some collapsed on the ground from the stench, but not me and Weasil, I had donuts swimming in me head for some unknown reason, and was determined to get me one somewhere, no matter what. I ran off down the street toward the underground mall knowing there was a donut haven down there. As for Weasil, I don't know what direction he went, but he was the last thing on me mind as I ran down the middle of the street, me long legs kicking up dirt, the shirt mask still over me mouth, me arms pumping, I must have looked like Ichabod Crane fleeing the headless horseman.
Once I reached that mall, I swore to meself I was never coming out. If I gained 250 lbs. so be it, I'd become Jabba the Hut so what. I didn't care, I never wanted to see a salad again, never wanted to be picked up by the Fat Farm Police, and never, ever wanted to be without a donut ever agin. CHOCIE FOREVER!
THE END
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
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