Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:
Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:
20 Common Questions About Farts
A Lonely, Wayward Fart Named Steve (Episode 1)
Bottling Farts (English, Spanish, Italian)
Bottling Farts, Inc. (Episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)
Crazy Authors Volume 1
Finding Floofy (English, Spanish)
Five Reasons Why Dating Hot Chicks is a Bad Idea
Four Stinky Stories Vol. 1 (English, Spanish)
Four Stinky Stories Vol. 2 (English, Spanish)
Going Dutch (English, Spanish)
Marriage Stinks (English, Spanish)
The $500 Question (English, Spanish)
The Chapped-Ass Critic (English, Spanish)
The Would Be Asstronaut (English, Spanish)
Till Death Do Us Fart (English, Spanish, Dutch)
Weekend Getaway (English, Spanish)
© 2015 Donald Rump. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form (electronic, mechanical or otherwise) without the express written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
E-book layout, formatting and design by Donald Rump.
Written, edited and produced in the United States of America.
Image(s) licensed by DepositPhotos.com and © Roman Yakovliev (cover, #26123481), Askold Romanov (Weekend Getaway, #53323761), Santalucia Art Inc. (Till Death Do Us Fart, #10024679), Dennis Cox (The $500 Question, #28418341) and Matthew Britton (The $500 Question, #13570860). Fart drawings by Mel Casipit.
The background image for Finding Floofy is © Larisa Koshkina and used accordance with the public domain license found here:http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=31461&picture=bright-background-with-heart
First Edition (v1.4)
Published on March 17, 2015
Last updated on May 1, 2016
Also by Donald Rump
The $500 Question
Till Death Do Us Fart
My Two Cents
About the Author
“If distance makes the heart grow fonder, cabbage blows us all asunder.”
“So son, what would you like for Christmas?” Perkins Deadwood flashed his million-dollar smile. The Thanksgiving holiday had been good to him, enabling Bottom Dollar Buick to sell half of its fleet of used cars.
“Well,” his twelve-year-old son Nelson scratched his head, “I’d really like a pet pedo for Christmas.”
Perkins angled his head, his smile melting away. “A pedo? What’s that?”
“Oh, that’s Spanish for fart.” Nelson smiled.
“So you want a fart for Christmas?”
“Yes, sir. But not just any fart. A Spanish fart.”
“What’s so special about Spanish farts?” Perkins tried to hide the horror creeping onto his face.
“I don’t know. They’re just spicier, like Jennifer Lopez. Didn’t you say that you like your food and women spicy?”
“Yeah, but...I was just trying to make your mother laugh, and get some, well...you know...” Perkins winked.
Even though Perkins was borderline retarded in just about every conceivable area, he certainly had a talent when it came to the ladies. And when Felice Belassi came into his life, he really hit the jackpot. Felice was a Colombian bombshell with incredible curves, a voracious appetite for sex and fiery personality. She even cooked and cleaned, a bonus considering low Perkins set the bar.
“You’re joking, right? Trying to catch me off guard? Well you’re quite good at it. You really had me going for a second there. Heh, I might have a job for you one day if you play your cards right.” The smile returned to Perkins’ face.
“No, seriously. I want a pet fart. They’re all the rage these days.” Nelson continued playing his Playstation Vita.
Perkins couldn’t believe his ears. “So what are you going to do with a pet fart, anyways?”
“Oh, lots of things.” Nelson glanced at his father briefly. “Farts are fully trainable and can even speak multiple languages. They make good lifelong friends and are great at keeping the riff raff away. Besides, didn’t you say that you wanted me to learn Spanish so that I could speak to mom in her native language?”
“Well, here’s the opportunity.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to buy you a pet fart so that you can learn Spanish?” Perkins asked.
“Among other things...”
“And where would I buy such a thing? Food Lion? Or perhaps you saw one on the Home Shopping Network for $19.99?”
“Oh, no. You have to buy them directly from a breeder. Luckily we have one near the mall.”
“Breeder? You can’t be serious!”
“Sure am. But you can’t just buy a Spanish fart on any street corner, you know. They take years to perfect,” Nelson replied.
“So what is it going to set me back? $5?” Perkins couldn’t believe that he was considering such an idea.
“$500,” Nelson replied.
“$500?” Perkins squealed. “What in the hell do you get for $500?”
“A Spanish fart.”
“Oh yeah? Well, what’s wrong with American farts?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
“Great! Then I’ll make one for you right now, free of change. And I won’t even have to break the bank to do it, just my ass.” Perkins bent over. “Say hello to my little friend, Squeaky.” He stuck out his rump and farted in his son’s face. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Are you feeling the holiday spirit now?” He added another for good measure.
“No, dad. That’s not how it works.” Nelson wafted the ghastly cloud away with his hand.
“What do you mean? That was some of my best work. Just ask your mom,” said Perkins.
“These aren’t just ordinary farts. They’re self-aware. Alive! And they can do things that most people can’t.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” Perkins crossed his arms.
“They can penetrate walls,” said Nelson.
“I can penetrate things, too. Isn’t that right, Felice?”
“And they’re strong.”
“You know, their smell.”
“I guess you’ve never smelled my armpits, have you?” Perkins offered a sample.
Nelson shrugged him off. “And they’re practically indestructible.”
“Just wait until they get married. Women have a unique gift for destroying everything.”
“Dad, what if I told you that I could sell every car on your lot just by bringing along my pet fart?” said Nelson.
“Stop kidding around, son. Once customers get a whiff of him, they’ll run for the hills and I won’t make a dime.” Perkins was quickly running out of patience.
“Not if signing the paperwork means the difference between life and death.”
The father scratched his head for a moment and pondered. “Go on...”
“If you threw a big sale and attracted lots of people, my gaseous anomaly could encircle them and force them make a purchase or else. You’d have a 100% success rate.”
“Hmm...you might be on to something, son.” Perkins nearly fell over when the stench hit his nostrils. Even he couldn’t stand the smell of his own farts.
“Does that mean that you’ll give me $500 to buy one?”
“$500?” Perkins choked. It seemed like an exorbitant amount of money, even for an advertising budget. In the past, he’d never spent that much money on such a thing, relying on word-of-mouth instead. Occasionally, he spent $5-$10 on promotion, giving the money to crackheads or homeless folks who could barely hold a sign. He indulged in free publicity whenever possible: Craig’s List, Facebook, Youtube, and that pain-in-the-ass website called Twitter that he still couldn’t figure out. “There are a lot of things you could buy with $500. Aren’t there any cheaper alternatives?”
“No, dad. That’s the going rate.”
“For a fart?”
“A Spanish fart.”
“Right. Well, if you want a Spanish fart so bad why don’t you ask your mother to float a premium roasted fluffy bunny for you?”
“Oh, no. That’s a bad idea.” Nelson frowned.
“Hey honey?” Perkins called.
“No, dad. Just...never mind. Forget I said anything!”
“What is it, baby?” Felice stepped into the room, kissed Perkins gently on the lips and then smacked him across the face. She had a deep tan and curly blond highlights that gave many a used car salesman a rise.
“Your son has a special request for Christmas.” Perkins rubbed his cheek.
“Sure, anything. What would you like, Nellie?” She kissed him on the forehead.
“Go ahead, tell her, son.” Perkins grinned.
“Well.” Nelson looked away. “I’d like El Gran Apestoso.”
“You know...a Spanish fart.” Nelson gestured.
Felice looked at her son carefully and then burst into laughter. “You loco, Nellie?”
“Yeah, what the hell’s wrong with you, son?” Perkins smacked him upside the head.
“Hey, I’ll handle this.” Felice pushed Perkins aside. “Is this really what you want for Christmas? Un pedo?”
“Not just any pedo. A Spanish pedo. They make great house pets.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ve heard that line before.” Perkins raised his hand again to the child.
“I said I’ll deal with this!” Felice shot her husband a dirty look. “Honey, why can’t you be normal like other kids?”
“But you encouraged me to be different.” Tears filled the boy’s eyes.
“Yeah, but not like this. You can do better, baby. Look at you. Your hair’s getting so long you could be mistaken for a girl. Are you sure I can’t interest you in something else, like a haircut? Or perhaps we could get you a car?”
“But I’m too young to drive,” said Nelson.
“A toy car, you knucklehead!” Perkins screamed.
“Quiet! Or you’ll be setting off fireworks alone tonight.” Felice gestured with her hand.
“Dag nabbit.” Perkins shut his yapper.
“How about a cell phone? Perhaps it’s time you got your own.” Felice turned back to Nelson.
“Can they help me communicate with my farts?” he asked.
“Nelson, you’re impossible.” Felice shook her pretty head. “I know you’re under a lot of stress lately with school and puberty and all those things that little boys do after school. Have you had sex yet?”
“Who, me? No!”