Ok Spaw I'm thowin down the gauntlet for a challenge of story tellin

True Story Tellin

I triple dog dare ya




On Niagara Blvd, north of Buffalo in Tonawanda there is a Volkswagen dealership named Schmidt's. Old man Schmidt was an honest guy who looked like a heavy set Bob Newhart. He was a hands off owner and didn't pressure or pry anyone especially the sales manager Lance Parker who impressed Mr. Schmidt because he was an intimidating guy.
Parker came from a military and law enforcement family going back 3 generations. Lance was sales manager since he was over the top assertive and also because he got thrown off the DC police force from one too many kills with his police weapon.

The sales staff was Don the soft spoken rookie who said he had been a hypnotist, soul brother Charlie with an infectious smile and finally Mark Levin who was top dog salesman and should have been a politician and might be one day since his dad was a judge. Mark Levin had come from his own business where he contracted to train and motivate sales staffs. His dynamic personality cut that career short when he jumped on a disagreeable sales manager's desk and pissed all over the desk and manager. The manager had apparently made a few disparaging remarks about Jews in which Mark voiced a fluid resignation speech.
Since Lance was a Viet Nam veteran, a disgraced dismissed policeman and a recent divorce' he relied on his sales staff for his therapy in the form of dishing out vengeance for all the grief that the world had dumped on him. One day he asked the rookie Don about how the Police Chief's son was doing after test driving the Wolfsburg GTI. Don mumbled something about the kid being a snotty show off and nearly wrecked the car. As if on cue Lance stood and shouted "what are you, some kind of hero to zero? He is the Chief's son you son of a bitch and you're not worthy to wipe his ass" Don said he was glad about that and was summarily told to get the F out of the office.
The next day Charlie told Don that he better watch out, Parker has a way of getting even the devil hates.
Charlie and Don were friends only after Don said he would kick Charlie's ass. Although Charlie was twice his size he took it as some kind of macho respect and sort of looked out for Don after that.
The showroom speaker barked "Don to the sales office" Don walked in sheepishly while Mark was writing two sales contracts at once. Don stood there for almost two minutes while Lance went through the motions of paperwork. There was a grilled chicken sandwich from Chick Fillet on the desk that smelled delicious. "Sit down" Lance said in a tone that almost sounded apologetic. "It looks like the Chief's son is buying a Charger, I guess it's a better fit. So anyway you need 3 more sales to beat your draw so show those Golf GTIs, they have the best spread. Don said OK while looking at the sandwich. Lance said "have you had lunch? 'no' "here take this extra sandwich, Debbie brought me lunch but I already ate" "Thanks". Don was not without suspicion but the sandwich said "I taste even better than my delicious aroma"
Despite the subtle warning, Don did not know that Lance had a older brother Randy in the FBI with total access to black ops labs. What you thought were rumors about the FBI carrying our covert operations in Cuba to discredit or even eliminate Castro, were all true. Even the chemical that purportedly caused such intestinal distress that they planned to give it Fidel in a drink to cause him pain or embarrassment while giving a speech. Randy gave some of this elixir as a present to Lance for a ex wife prank that they had only joked about until today.
Don jumped in his VW Golf and was on his way to pick up his girlfriend at University of Buffalo on the bright June evening. In the car his stomach was making a squeaking sound like clean tires on the showroom linoleum floor. Don had followed Cindy from Rochester and they had been together for 3 years. Don and Cindy stopped at the Hertel Ave sub shop and got 2 hot meatball and cheese subs if laid end to end were over 4 feet long.
Back at the apartment the bedroom was hot. The windows had been painted shut decades ago. The living room opened to a porch door but whenever the dog upstairs went to the bathroom the porch would rain dog pee so the door stayed closed except for this first really warm June night. Don had discovered that the TV in the tiny living room would work only if he took a spray bottle of water and squirted the back of the TV but Cindy wanted to get right to bed. While they both felt a bit like beached whales they laid spooning after love making for a bit when the persistent stomach noises all day changed frequencies into a much deeper register. Suddenly Don realized that he was actually swelling before his eyes. There was no pain but he knew time was up. First he had to lift a leg over Cindy to get out of bed. Oh my god that's impossible without unclamping the desperate sphincter of doom. Trapped on the inside of the bed he began to sweat trying to think of some kind of rolling move but the bed was right against the wall. He thought maybe I could just stand and run when Cindy asked "Are you OK?
He was halfway over Cindy when she broke the silence and all hell wanted to break loose. Don's failed choreography turned to plan B which was to just let go under the sheet and blanket and hope for the best. Just then a near perfect B flat tuba blast from Also Sprach Zarathustra began to sound and to both their amazement grew deeper down to the range of the bottom pedal bass note on the grand organ. The sound resonated in Don's chest. Maybe the submarine sandwich saved his life from an intestinal tear but it may have acted like cannon wadding. Ten seconds had passed and so had at least 6 liters of gas as it neared the 15 second mark. Cindy's eyes were as big as saucers, Don was looking for any opportunity to force some kind of emergency cut off valve attempt but the end wasn't even close.
Twenty miles away was Erie Lackawanna renown for the slinkiest steel mills in the country. Tonight Lackawanna was a garden of lilies compared to Don's bedroom. The only place that had more methane was the moon Titan. Just when the staggering duration of window rattling woofer splitting bass notes became truly terrifying as a cannon like retort introduced the finale like fireworks on the 4th of July. Bambambam BAAM Bam bam.
It was dark. There was no breathing. They both staggered out of the bedroom and breathed their first deep breath at the back porch door as though they had emerged from a deep dive while holding their breath. The only other door opened to a stale hallway so the apartment did not exchange a bit of air. There were flies on the floor spinning on their backs. Don and Cindy gasped for Oxygen.
Neither of them had anything to compare it to as they headed for the car at midnight. While they didn't know it yet they were actually drawn closer by this near cosmic event. It had been the fart of a lifetime, the fart of the century. There had been nothing like it for eons since the dinosaurs had died out.
Don returned to work the next day and felt Lance's eyes study every move for any detail, for any clue. He hovered nearby to catch any word or tell tale indication what had happened last night. Don never gave him the satisfaction. Even Mark cracked first and spilled the beans that he was told to find out if anything unusual happened last night.
What Lance didn't know was that he had given Don ten times the recommended dose of "FBI Castro Oil". The next time he tried it he gave his wife's new husband 100 times what he gave Don. It was the first case of spontaneous human combustion that Tonawanda had ever seen.