One time I was pretty drunk with a friend at a Target buying Risk. This little mexican 5-7 year old with a mohawk, was being an insufferable little shit in the action figure section. I heard him from like 5 aisles over and it was like nails on a chalkboard. I tell my friend, “I’m gonna fart on this kids head. Watch and learn.”
I saunter on over to the aisle in question and see the vile little prick calling his mom an “idiot” for not buying him a huge G.I. JOE The Movie vehicle. “I already bought that one for you and you broke it by throwing it down the stairs” “SHUT UP. I NEED IT. IT’S THE ONLY ONE I DON’T HAVE NOW.” The mother was younger than me (I’m mid twenties) and gave a defeated look, “I don’t have enough money right now.” “YOU ARE AN IDIOT,” and continued to just berate and publicly shame this woman.
At the time, I was on a strict Chipotle carnitas burrito diet. And while I was watching all this, my stomach gave me an initial warning gurgle (very courteous stomach) telling me I was about an hour away from punishing the toilet. Serendipity! Destiny!
The kid shouts “F**K YOU, I HATE YOU!” The mom rolls her eyes and turns her back to the kid to ignore him. And could you believe it, the kid gets on his hands and knees and starts taking the toy out of the box. It’s go time, mother**ker.
I position my back towards him and at this point am like 2 feet away from him. I bend down to reach for the one of the toys on the lower shelf. At this point, my ass is INCHES away from this kids head.
I’m so close that from a distance it looks like I’m about to sit on him,. My friend sees this happening and can no longer contain himself. He’s covering his mouth, but his ‘hee-haw’ hyperventilating donkey chortle is fairly audible over the late 90’s pop muzak playing on the loudspeakers.
The kid immediately looks up towards the laughter, but can’t help but notice there is an ass now directly in his face. Now, I’m trying not to laugh but also panicking as I just made eye contact with him. He furls his brow and I look over in the mother’s direction, still back towards us. I relish in the moment and the look on this child’s confused and naive face.
The initial blast was mighty and boisterous. I swear I saw his hair blowing in the wind (so to speak). If I wasn’t wearing jeans, I think it could have probably blown over an empty soda can. I would call it “a very fun fart” (A++ would buy again). However, what immediately followed that out the chamber was truly horrifying. The fart’s implication changed without notice and swiftly. It went from a joyous, dry airhorn squeal to a nefarious, hissing mephitis. I think the little moppet noticed the hateful metamorphosis before even I did because he wretched his neck violently trying to get away from the personified evil being fumigated into his soul. Because of his positioning (hovering over the toy, hands and knee), it was all in vain as the only way out was forward…and forward would mean certain death.
In total, it lasted about 4 seconds but for that kid, it must have seemed like time was frozen. The long-term severe brain damage which he no doubt suffered, only added to that effect.
When I finished, there was a silent, pregnant pause. The kid was clearly shocked and stunned. No one had ever stood up to this dwarf sociopath in his whole life. I had taken the words out of his mouth and filled it with fart.
I make my move first, picking up the toy I was “reaching for” off the low shelf, take a few steps forward and stare at it for a few seconds. The only thing the kid could manage to do was burst into tears. My friend senses danger ‘the jig is up’ and his head darts for cover. The mom turns around to see her kid with an open toy, crying on the floor and me minding my own business.
She walks up to him and asks what’s wrong but the kid can’t speak. All he gets out is, “BAWAWAAAWAFARTBAWAWA.” It took every fiber in my body not to laugh.
Sensing that his assailant was getting away scot-free, he somehow managed to compose himself for a moment. He shouts, “HE FARTED ON ME!” I was ALMOST around the corner when the mom goes:
I turn around nonplussed, “Uh…who? Me?” while pointing to myself.
“Yes. Did YOU just FART on my son?”
Weighing my options, I played dumb. “What? I mean, I did fart.”
“On my son?”
“Well, I mean, technically speaking…I mean…what is ‘on’?”
“Why did you fart on my son?”
At this point the little kid has the look of schadenfreude on his face, happy to see me in trouble. F**k you, I’M A MAN! I WILL FART ON YOU IF I PLEASE! I turn my attention to the little kid and stare at him, “Because the whole store could hear him being a little, rotten asshole to his mother so I thought I’d come over here and treat him like one.”
The mom looks at me, her son and the scattered GI JOE/wrappers/box on the floor. The mom is puzzled as to what to do and says, “Just..just go.” That’s my cue! I turn around, walk away with little extra step. As soon as I turn the corner, I book it outside as fast as I can.
We laugh on the car ride back about the whole scene. With a slight hint of seriousness in his tone, my friend asks me:
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Ahhh, not that much. Like once every 6 months or so.”
We both knew I was lying.
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